Page 40 of Below the Shadow of the City

Perrie:

I’m in town, could we talk?

Fucking hell. I swipe the message away and I tuck my phone back into my pocket. My dad’s in the hospital for fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t be thinking about whatever is going on with Maddox, let alone whatever Perrie wants from me. The universe has a disturbing sense of humor with its timing.

Winding up and down the hospital corridors I finally find the room my dad’s staying in. When I enter they both look so much older than they did when I saw them a few months back. They live in a snow globe in my mind, never aging in a house that never changes. Right now, it feels like the snowglobe has been shaken up and I’m waiting for the flakes to finally settle.

My dad seems old and frail with his crinkling eyes and bald head, and my mom’s hair has grown out and is tied into a messy gray bun atop her head. I pause in the doorway before they notice me, my eyes involuntarily well up with tears at the sight of them alone. Surely it hasn’t been that long, right?

When I cough away the sobs my dad glances up with brightened eyes, “Siggy!” His excitement attempts to mask any weakness still remaining, but his voice is soft and hoarse. My mom’s eyes follow, and I notice how red and swollen they are, she’d been alone here for hours. I’m their only child, her siblings live halfway across the country, her parents are gone. It’s just her, my dad, and I. My chest tightens thinking about her having to call 911 and get my dad to the hospital on her own.

“Hi guys,” I mumble. Without any reasoning, I feel itchy in my skin. The smell of the hospital creeps into my brain and the fluorescent lights are already giving me a headache. My mom doesn’t move from her chair, and I stiffly embrace my dad while leaning over the various wires he’s hooked up to. My entire life I’d never seen him in anything besides t-shirts, his work polos, or his favorite Yankees sweatshirt. The neck of the hospital gown hangs loosely around his collarbone. He looks so small, so fragile.

I wrap my arms around my mom next, taking in the scent of the shampoo she’s used for as long as I can remember.

I search for somewhere to settle, once I realize there’s nowhere to go I stand beside her. “Oh,” she says like her mind is elsewhere. “We can probably get you a chair from another room.” Even in the midst of such a crisis, she goes into “mom mode.” Always making sure others are taken care of before herself.

Her eyes dart around before I take matters into my own hands and leave and talk to a nurse. I pull up a borrowed chair beside her, it’s hard plastic and uncomfortable and the minutes stretch out into hours. The last time I’d been in a hospital was when I broke my arm as a kid. I wasn’t acutely aware of the dry air, scent of antiseptics and chemical cleaners, and the sounds of machines and monitors then. It wasn’t lost on me that I was lucky to not be familiar with this environment.

None of the three of us know what to say to each other. My mom rattles off the treatments and surgery my dad had, while he comments on how cold he is and how stiff the bed feels. I sense he’s feeling far more jovial than my mom is but is forcing himself to show some restraint. Every so often our eyes meet and he gives me a little reassuring wink. Something to say, “it’ll all be fine.”

I think back to what my mom said, insisting I don’t come. This entire experience feels like I’m on an alien planet, but I had to be here. I had to look at my dad and make sure he was okay, I had to see my mom and make sure she wouldn’t be going through this alone.

“How’d you get here, hon?” My mom quietly asks, pushing through the hospital talk to bring up something else to detract from reciting my dad’s medical records.

“A friend,” I say stoically. “He was nice enough to bring me. I’ll take the train back on Sunday.” I speak of staying the next three nights and realize I’ve left my bag in Maddox’s car. Bothering him about it feels cruel, I already made him make the drive, I’m not going to make him turn around and come back. I could always wear whatever is left in my drawers at my parents’ place and stop at a store for some other essentials.

He’d been so adamant about bringing me, even though we hardly knew one another at this point. We’d gone on two dates, and obviously slept together, that’s not commitment. He certainly seems to want it to be, though. Each time our nightly phone calls trailed in that direction I’d change the subject. Just because two dates is more than I’ve had with anyone in months doesn’t mean I’m offering him anything that resembles real commitment.

Despite that, he’d still done more good than I deserved and driven me out here without thinking.

My phone burns a hole in my pocket. I’ve never been the type to overly rely on the device but between Perrie’s text and whatever happened when Maddox and I parted, my fingers are twitching.

Margo had sent me a litany of texts checking in. When she asked if I was okay I had to remember she only knew about my dad’s heart attack, not Maddox or Perrie’s reemergence. I’m actively pushing away a guy I genuinely like but am afraid of committing to and keeping half my life hidden from my best friend. My fortress has grown stories tall. I’m steadily drowning in a pool of my own making.

CHAPTER 17

I’d dozed off in my seat, only waking when I feel a soft hand grip my shoulder. I bristle, momentarily, expecting familiar claws and a rough padded palm. I blink my eyes and my mom is softly smiling at me in the same way she had when I was a kid and had fallen asleep in the backseat of the car.

“Why don’t you go stay at home tonight?” My mom asks wearily once I fully wake. Home, I repeat to myself. When she says it, it does feel like more than just the house I grew up in.

“You can’t sleep here, mom.” The hospital chairs are a pathetic excuse for a bed. I’m encroaching upon the age where the roles are reversed. I’m the one who has to look out for my parents, make sure they’re happy, comfortable, safe. Her eyes are glassy with bags under them. She needs the sleep, she needs to be in a real bed. Convincing her of such is a hefty task.

“I’ll be fine, and I’m not leaving him.” Her tone doesn’t leave room for debate. I shouldn’t be surprised, mothers rarely say anything without a sense of finality to it. She fishes her car keys from her purse and places them in my hand, wrapping my fingers around them. My dad is sleeping peacefully, so I place a light kiss on his hand and give my mom a prolonged embrace before leaving. I slink through the hospital, ignoring the beeping and hushed frantic whispers among nurses.

It’s been a while since I’ve driven. Even being in Maddox’s car earlier was the first time I’d been a passenger in something that wasn’t a cab or Uber in a long, long time. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, reminding myself of all the steps necessary to successfully start and drive a car. My mom’s newer SUV is much more complex than the older sedan I used to drive. After a few jerky movements and way too much time spent adjusting the seat, heater, and radio, I’m moving.

I find the alt rock station that carried me through high school and let songs of my youth soundtrack the half hour drive to my parents house. Maybe it’s for the best that the entire drive is in the dark, I can’t see my high school, or the Dunkin we used to walk to after class, or the houses of ex best friends. There was a reason I left, I’d outgrown this place and the Sigrid who resided here, and I’m far better for it now. The eighteen year old who was sad, lonely, and scared to move out still exists in me somewhere.

I walk into the house, the air feels still, my parents left in such a rush that there are still dirty dishes in the sink and a nearly full trash can. You never think to clean your house with the looming possibility of being hospitalized for a few days.

The place feels like a time capsule, in the decade since I left nothing has changed. The photos on the mantle are of a young, vibrant Sigrid, the armchair in the corner is perfectly contoured to my dad’s body, if I were to turn on the TV it would most definitely be set on ABC7. I fiddle with my mom’s car keys as I walk through the rest of the house. I’m being silent, sneaking around like I’m home after curfew. Next to the island my duffle bag has been deposited on the tile floor. My heart twinges.

“Maddox?” I ask the empty room to no reply. He wouldn’t still be here, he’s bound to be back in his apartment now, settled on his couch. Maybe not even thinking about me or the inconvenience I’d caused him.

You know that’s a lie.

Neatly sat on the counter is a vase of flowers, a store bought chocolate torte, and a few bags of groceries. Scribbled hastily there’s a note next to the bags.