Page 69 of That's Not a Thing

“No, I—”

“It’s okay.” He holds up a hand to stop my protests. “I mean, everything here.” He motions in the general direction of the room where his mom is. There’s a softness that I haven’t heard in his voice since before we fell apart. “But just come see my mom before you go.”

I follow him down the hallway, past the rooms of many other patients. I catch glimpses of tubes and machines of every stripe, everyone with their own personal mountain to climb. When we cross the entry to Gladys’s room, she puts her arms out wide to hug me. “Meredith.” she beckons.

I collapse into her embrace and instantaneously erupt into ugly sobs. Seeing her alive, hearing her voice, I realize how frightened I was that we would lose her, that I had somehow failed her.

“I’m okay now.” She strokes my hair for a moment, and I begin to collect myself. My tears have already left a wet mark on the shoulder of her hospital gown.

“I’m sorry.” I try to laugh through my tears.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’mgoing to befine. Just ask your friend here.” She jerks her head in Aaron’s direction.

Aaron is leaning against the air vent by the window, watching us. He shrugs. “Positive thinking is important,” he says, and I’m not sure whether he’s addressing Gladys or me. “There are so many studies.”

We visit for a few minutes longer, the conversation restrained and stilted as my eyes repeatedly stray toward Aaron. Finally, I begin to excuse myself, thinking I should give them their space after the day they’ve had.

“I’ll walk you out,” Aaron says, straightening off the back wall.

I’m surprised when the elevator arrives that he doesn’t say good-bye but follows me into the box. I push the button for the ground floor and then we stand, silent and stiff, as nurses and hospital patrons enter and exit on the various floors.

As we emerge into the lobby, I can tell Aaron wants to say something. I stop walking beside the door to the gift shop and turn toward him. “What is it?” I blurt, unable to tolerate the charged silence any longer.

He sighs, like he’s not sure he wants to divulge whatever is on his mind. I stand and wait while Aaron looks from me to the bustling hallway beside us and then back to me again.

“Why did you stay?” he finally asks. “Why didn’t you go to Wesley?”

I chew on my lip and decide I don’t have the energy to play it cool. I’m just going to lay it all out there. “I care about your mom, genuinely. And, you know, you.” I offer a matter-of-fact shrug, fully cognizant that I have little left to lose by being frank. “You may be finished with me, but my heart is still yours, and I would do anything to protect you. Which includes protecting the people you love.” I’m almost defiant as I admit my feelings, my so-sue-me attitude functioning as a shield.

He nods thoughtfully while I regard him. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he studies the floor as though he expects to locate a response to my statements somewhere within the linoleum tiles. I find myself feeling hopeful that something I’ve said may resonate with him, may produce a change of heart about our relationship. Maybe my loyalty has become apparent to him through my actions today and he might be willing to give me another chance. I take a step closer to him, but when he looks up, his eyes are rigid, impermeable.

“Well, I appreciate it.” There’s a finality to his voice. “Please let Wesley know I’m thinking of him.” He offers me a curt nod before he turns back toward the elevator, toward his family, away from me. I watch him go, sure that he is going to turn around, that he is going to come back, but the elevator doors open and he steps in without glancing in my direction. And then he is gone.

I hold it together until I reach the street, but as soon as I’m outside, I let the tears flow down my face, obscuring my vision while I search for a taxi. I don’t know why I let myself get my hopes up, why I thought that Aaron was softening his stance toward me. I curse myself for the umpteenth time, so angry that I let romanticized memories derail my future with Aaron. I picture what he must be doing now at his mother’s bedside, holding her hand and telling corny jokes to make her laugh while Mitch looks on from across the room with mild amusement. I should be there, holding Aaron’s hand, busting his chops for the bad jokes, lightening the mood. Instead, I’m trudging up First Avenue in the humid evening heat while strangers glance at my tear-stained face and then look away.

I finally snag a cab that’s coming down First Avenue, going south, and tell the driver I want to go to Mount Sinai. He points out that I am heading in the wrong direction. As if I didn’t already know.

Chapter Twenty-Six

July 2017

I’m sitting in a hospital room for the fifth day in a row, poking around on my laptop while Wesley naps. The doctors put a plate in his leg when they reattached all the pieces of his body that broke apart, that shattered and splintered when he fell. No one really has a sense yet how long it will take him to heal, though obviouslyhealingis a relative term. If he were a more typical patient, not already condemned to die, they would be trying to plan physical therapy, pushing him to start moving and rotating, but ALS complicates the recovery plan, just like it complicates everything else in its path.

I’m not entirely privy to the arrangements he has been making, nor the prognoses he’s received from the three different doctors currently overseeing his care. Wesley has made clear that he prefers privacy when the doctors provide updates on his condition, so I hang back and listen only when he wants to share information, which is not frequently. Beyond that, I’m just trying to keep him company, offer him some emotional comfort or a little entertainment until he can get out of here. Once they are ready to discharge him, he says he wants to go directly to that ALS care facility in Massachusetts. I understand his decision—the fall seems to have exacerbated many of his symptoms. He will be safer there with more help, more specialized care. Maybe if he had gone sooner, he never would have been in a position to lift himself out of a motorized chair on his own, never would have fallen and hurt himself so badly in the first place. His cousin Lulu told him yesterday that she is relocating from Nepal to be with him near the Bernard Mildred Center. She long ago ended her relationship with the man she followed to Nepal, and with her impressive résumé, she should have an easy time finding employment elsewhere. It’s a relief to know he will have family near him, that he won’t be utterly alone up there. From the way his facial muscles seem to relax every time Lulu’s name comes up, I get the sense he feels the same way.

I hear a light knock on the door, and I’m surprised to see Nicola, as in, my former office mate, in the doorway. I glance toward Wesley, who is still asleep, and hold a finger to my lips, hoping she won’t wake him. Scurrying out of my chair, I set my laptop down in my place and usher Nicola back into the hallway.

“Hi.” I nudge her a little farther down the corridor so we aren’t right outside his door, and we end up in a petite alcove next to an ice machine and a supply closet. “What are you doing here?” I try not to sound as shocked as I am. Her blond hair is stark and straight as it falls around her face, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it loose.

“I came to see how Wesley was doing. Ian told me he was still laid up.”

“You ... Why? You know Wesley? Since when?” I’m instantly running all these crazy scenarios in my head about the different ways they might have met. Her trip to London last summer, an event at his restaurant? Did they put it together, realize they both knewme? I’ve definitely complained to Wesley about her on more than one occasion in recent months. Did he realize it was the very same Nicola whom he already knew?

“Well, I don’t—or I didn’t—know him, but I came with Ian.”

I cock my head to the side, still trying to make sense of what she’s telling me.

“The other day,” she says. “Before the surgery.”