LoveLines (31 page)

Swelling. It was swe
lling in the chest. Fluid buildup in the lungs. I researched the flu several years ago when I had a bad case. I was laid up in bed for a week, and because I’m such a control freak, I had to understand every little thing that was happening to my body. In researching, I inadvertently freaked myself out about the rare possibility of dying from swelling and fluid buildup in the lungs.

I shared none of this with Erica
then. I certainly said nothing now.

“When was the last time you talked to someone?” I asked.

Erica shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes ago?”

I tried to thin
k of more questions to ask. I knew if I kept Erica talking, I could keep her calm. There was no hope for Noah. I watched as Reece tried to comfort him, but Noah was somewhere far away, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know if he was praying to or cursing God.

The doctor emerged, and Erica and Noah ran to him. I wanted answers, too, but Annie wasn’t my child, and her parents needed privacy.

“Please don’t cry, please don’t cry,” I whispered, watching the back of Erica’s head.

Reece put his arm around me. “It’s
gonna be okay.”

I wanted to believe him. I watched Erica and Noah nod their heads, and that provided a measure of relief. If something disastrous had happened, Erica would have collapsed on the floor. But she threw her arms around the doctor instead, and that’s when I thou
ght it was safe for us to approach.

“She’s okay!” Erica cried, gripping me in a bear hug. “Oh my God! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you . . .”

I’d never seen Erica cry that hard. Ever. The sweetest, most sincere relief. Like her mentality changed in an instant, going from sarcastic, tired mom to sacred life-giver.

“I love her!” she cried.

“I know,” I whispered.

“So much!”

“I know, Erica.”

“I’d die for her!”

“I know you would.”

“I wouldn’t think twice, B. I’d die for her!”

I held my best friend to my chest, listening to all the ways she would give up her life for her daughter, and my mind flashed back to that afternoon we sat on the couch at Erica’s and she bemoaned her “bad mother” fate.

“Erica
you’re the best mother ever,” I whispered in her ear.

She relayed the doctor’s message to Reece and me: Annie had to have an emergency tracheotomy for all the fluid that swelled her lungs. She really couldn’t breathe at all, and the doctor said they were currently monitoring her brain activity to see if any damage took place. Erica didn’t even explore that topic further. She was just happy her baby was breathing.

We stayed with Noah and Erica for hours, waiting for updates and swapping funny stories about Annie. I thought about the randomness of life—how I could go from naked outdoor sex with my brand new fiancé to an ER lobby in a matter of hours. I knew life moments happened that way. They made no sense, and I didn’t think we were supposed to make them. I think we were just supposed to experience them, grow from them, and hopefully come out the other side as better people.

Life is nothing but juxtaposing the good with the bad. We have to learn how to handle both—how to cope with the
frightening events and embrace the joyous ones. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. A proposal. A saved life. And love. Lots and lots of love.

***

“Bailey?” my mother said.

I held the phone up to my ear halfheartedly. “Yes?”

“Are you busy today?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Yes, I was still angry and hurt. I played nice at Nicki’s wedding because it was Nicki’s wedding, but I avoided my mother at all costs. She’d called dozens of times after that disastrous dinner and even popped by unannounced last weekend. I hid in the storage shed. I know it’s immature, but I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t let her see how her words affected me: “Don’t expect too much.” They played in a continuous loop in my brain, taunting me, making me double my efforts to be the perfect live-in fiancée. Reece noticed.

“What are you doing?” he asked one morning when I brought him breakfast in bed.

“I thought you might like this,” I replied, straddling the breakfast tray over his lap. It was filled with all his favorites: scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, hash browns, toast, coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice.

His eyes went wide. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?” He looked at me and frowned. “I never p
ulled those weeds yesterday like you asked me to,” he confessed.

I shrugged. “Who cares?” I leaned over and kissed his
stubbled cheek.

“Huh?” was his only reply.

Days later an odd cold front pushed through town, and we were forced into our flannel pajamas earlier than expected. I brought Reece his slippers and a mug of hot chocolate dressed with whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings as he lay sprawled on the couch.

“What is all this?” he asked.

“I thought your feet might be cold,” I replied. “And I thought you might wanna warm up with something hot.”

“Thank you?”

Yesterday I packed his lunch for work. I never pack his lunch. Half the time he runs down to Chick-fil-A for a sandwich and fries.

“Okay, that’s it!” he said, holding up the brown bag.

“What?” I replied. “I thought I’d pack you—”

“I know what you thought. You thought you’d bring me breakfast in bed even though you
abhor food of any kind near our comforter. You thought you’d make me hot chocolate and bring me my slippers even though you don’t drink hot chocolate—”

I opened my mouth to protest.

“I know you made a special trip to the store for that hot chocolate. Don’t lie,” Reece said.

I closed my mouth.

“Now you’re packing my lunch?”

“Can’t I do sweet things for you?” I asked.

“Bailey, of course you can, but I’m not a moron. I know the motivation behind all of this,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come off it already. You know exactly what I mean. ‘Don’t expect too much?’” he quoted.

I winced.

“Your mother said a shitty thing,” he said softly. “So shitty. The shittiest, really. But I don’t want that changing who you are. I don’t want you bending over backward because you think you have to.”

I sighed and wrapped the bread.

“Listen to me. When I said I expect a lot from you because I know you have a lot to give, I didn’t mean that I expect you to wait on me hand and foot and act like my slave,” Reece said.

The side of my mouth quirked up. “But I thought you liked when I acted like your slave.”

“In bed? Yes. In life? No.”

I giggled.

“I love you just the way you are. Stop trying to prove something to me. And for Christ’s sake, don’t let your mother have that kind of power over you. It was a shitty statement, yes. But it was one statement, Bailey. One. Four stupid words. Don’t let those words define you. You’re better than that.” He plopped the lunch bag on the counter and pulled me close. “You’re stronger than that.”

I came to at the sound of my mother’s plea.

“Bailey, please,” she said. “I know I said a terrible thing. I was angry. It’s no excuse, but I was angry and hurt. I wasn’t expecting Reece to ask me for advice. I was taken off guard.”

“Mom, it’s fine,” I said automatically.

“No!” she cried. “It’s not fine. I love you very much, and I expect great things from you, Bailey.”

I wasn’t sure what kind of “great” things she expected. I knew now what Reece expected, but I didn’t think the two were the same.

“Mom, I may just be a proofreader for the rest of my life and surf and marry Reece. That may be it.”

“And that’s perfect,” she said.

I rolled my eyes.

“Bailey?”

“Hmm?”

“I worry about you,” she said quietly.

I stiffened. “Why?”

“Because I want you to be happy, honey.”

“I am happy,” I said defensively, looking down at my engagement ring. “I’m very happy with Reece.”

“Good. I really do like Reece,” she said.

I wanted to tell her that I didn’t give a shit if she liked him or not. But she was trying. I guess, anyway.

I said nothing.

“Bailey?”

“Hmm?”

“When will you two come over for dinner again?”

I snorted. And then I coughed to try to cover it up.

“Soon, Mom.”

“Your father misses you,” she said.

Mom knew she could always use Dad to reel me in. All she had to say was that he missed me, and I’d drop everything and be at their house in ten minutes. Why couldn’t she just say she missed me? My only explanation is that she felt that wouldn’t be a good enough reason for me to visit. Somewhere along the way, my relationship with Mom fell apart completely. I wasn’t sure if it was deserving of repair.

“Your father misses you,” she repeated. She wanted to drive it home.

“I’ll come visit soon,” I replied. “But I have to go now, Mom.”

“Okay.” She sounded defeated. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I replied, and hung up.

I’ll be over soon,
I thought bitterly.
But don’t expect too much.

I sprayed the mosquito repellent again, and Dad waved his hand in front of his face.

“Take it easy,” he said.

I ignored him and
looked out onto the still early morning lake water. I usually didn’t visit my parents at this hour, and I’d only fished early with Dad a handful of times, but something compelled me to go to him today.

I watched Dad’s line pull taut—
ripples in the water the dead giveaway—and I told him to take his time. He chuckled and pulled his rod out of its holder.

“Bailey, I’ve been fishing way longer than you,” he repli
ed, reeling in the line slowly.

Another jerky tug, and I knew the fish had realized it’d been tricked. I felt rather sorry for it, even though I knew Dad would throw it back into the lake.
Dad pulled the fish out of the water, then stood up and lost his balance for a second before taking hold of the flailing perch.

“And I was hoping for something bigger,” he said, carefully unhooking his catch. He paused and looked it over before tossing it back into the lake. He carefully sank back into his chair then began the task of spearing another worm.

“No lures today?”

“Marvin brought over some bait,” he said.

I nodded and watched the sharp metal puncture the slimy worm casing. Gross.

“Poor worm,” I muttered.

Dad chuckled. “Bailey, I’ve no idea why you eat meat.”

“Huh?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Dad? How did Reece ask you?”

What do you mean?” he asked, standing up again. He cast his line and stood for a moment, reeling it in a fraction until he felt it was in the perfect spot.

“How did he ask you for permission to marry me?”

“That’s between us,” Dad replied, sitting down.

“Please tell me,” I begged.

“Why do you wanna know?” Dad asked. He adjusted his fishing hat—you know the ones with the lures attached all over—little badges of accomplishments like Boy Scout patches.

“Just curious. He really fooled me. I’d no idea he was planning to ask you
if he could marry me.” I smacked my leg, missing the mosquito by a hair. “Hell, I didn’t know that he was planning to ask me at all!”

“He said he loved you more than anything and that I’d make him the happiest man on the planet if I agreed to let you marry him,” Dad said.

“He did not,” I replied.

“Those were pretty much his exact words,” Dad said.

“Really?” I breathed.

“
Mmhmm.” Dad inhaled deeply and leaned his head to the left, stretching his neck.

We sat silent for a time.

“I’m glad he asked me,” Dad said softly.

“So he’ll automatically be your favorite son-in-law, huh?” I joked.

Dad smiled. “Automatically.”

I s
tared at the line as it sat waiting in a mirror lake. No movement. No breeze. The lake was frozen in a painting, suspended in time, and I imagined all the activity under the surface stopped cold—a computer glitch—before life moved again.

“I’m so happy to walk you down the aisle,” Dad whispered. It was the kind of soft talk that comes right before a deep sleep.

It wasn’t uncommon for my father to fall asleep fishing. The privacy of his fishing spot naturally lent itself to relaxation.

“I wanted to be the first,” I confessed. “But I’ll take seconds.”

Dad chuckled, and then he grew serious.

“Parents shouldn’t play favorites,” he said. “It’s not fair. Not right. But
Puddin’ Pop? You’re my favorite. And giving you away will break my heart.”

I was shocked.

Dad shifted in his chair, eyes glued to the lake.

“No man wants to ask permission to see his daughter,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“When you’re married, everything changes. It’s supposed to. The closest person in your life becomes your spouse. Priorities shift.” He paused then whispered, “I won’t get to see you as much.”

“Dad!” I cried. “That’s ridiculous! You act like we’re moving out of town. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here. And I’ll come and see you all the time. Whenever I want.”

Dad nodded. It was one of those “I don’t believe you” nods. I couldn’t know now what he meant, about the shifting of priorities. But I knew I loved my dad right up there with Reece, and I’d never squander the time I’d get to spend with him. Married or not.

Dad reached out and took my hand, squeezing it gently before releasing it in favor of his fishing pole. He caught another perch—perhaps the same one—and went through the routine of reeling it in, unhooking its mouth, and turning it over in his hand before throwing it back into the lake.

Another hour passed, mostly in silence, as Dad caught fish after fish.
It was, perhaps, the best fishing he’d ever done.

“I’m having a good day,” he said before falling asleep, head nestled against his favorite chair.

Sometime later I awoke with a start. I had no idea I drifted off, too, and rubbed my face roughly to wake up. I checked the time on my cell phone.

“Dad,” I croaked. “It’s time to get up. I
can’t believe we slept so long.”

Dad didn’t stir. He must be having a good dream, I thought.

“Daddy,” I sang softly. “Mom’s already having a fit, I’m sure.”

He dreamed on.

“Why does she care how long you spend out here, anyway? You’re a grown ass man. You’re retired. You can do whatever the hell you want,” I said. I poked his arm. “Now get up.”

He didn’t move.

“Dad.”

Stillness.

“Dad?”

Nothing.

You hear that expression all the time—how your world shifts. Shifting, like the plates under the ground reworking themselves into a new structure. You can’t keep them from shifting, but you sure as hell don’t want them to. You liked the old structure just fine. The old structure was safe. You knew it. You were comfortable with it. It was your reality.

This was not my reality. I stood shaking my father, screaming at him, staring straight into a new reality.

“Get up!” I roared.

His head rolled to the side.

“Get up, Daddy!!”

His hand fell off the armrest and dangled
lifelessly.

“DADDY!” I screamed into the morning.

The birds echoed my cry then took off, flapping fiercely, escaping my anger and fear.

My desperation.

I don’t remember making the call. I don’t remember watching my mother tear down the hill. I don’t remember the lights, the sirens, the people pushing me out of the way as I clung to my father. I remember only one thing—Tony Bennett singing a love song, his voice in perfect pitch with the strings and trumpet, pulling my father along into a memory. The thought of him. The very thought of him. I collapsed under its weighted lures and drowned in a lake of despair.

***

I sat in the corner, cradling a plate of untouched food on my lap, staring at my mother. I hadn’t taken my eyes off her since Dad died. I wanted her movements, her conversations with others, to tell me something—reveal to me that she felt the same agonizing pain I did. That she loved my father with everything she had, even if she wasn’t the best at showing it.

She moved through the motions—accepting sympathy, refilling serving plates, hugging family members and nodding with them. I imagine they agreed on what a great man my father was, how he loved his family, how he worked so hard to provide a good life for us. All
those generic statements—things said at every funeral that made me feel like they were dishonoring his memory, making him just like every other father and husband when he was so much more than that. He was
my
father.

“You want something to drink?” Reece asked.

I shook my head.

“Honey, I haven’t seen you drink anything all day,” Reece said.

“I’m fine.”

He picked up the
plate from my lap and hovered over me.

“I’m going to stay here tonight,” I said suddenly.

“Oh?”

“I need . . . to do some things,” I said. It was cryptic, and he had every right to pry, but he refrained instead and simply nodded.

Nicki approached me, her eyes swollen and tear-stained. She looked so young—like twelve-year-old Nicki during puberty. Her face was splotched over with several shades of red and pink. Her usually perfect hair and outfit looked tattered: tattered, oily blond hair and tattered sleeveless black dress. I never saw Nicki as a person to mourn. I couldn’t even imagine it, so when she stood in front of me just now, all I could do was stare. Stare at the imperfection and feel a sense of relief.

She has a heart after all.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

“I can’t eat either.”

I nodded.

“Will you stay tonight?” she asked.

“Yes. Will you?”

“Yes. Brad is staying, too,” Nicki said. “He didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“You’re not alone. You’re here with Mom and me,” I pointed out.

“I guess he doesn’t want the three of us to be alone,” Nicki clarified.

“What does he think we’ll do?”

“I think he just wants to be here to comfort us.”

“I can stay, too,” Reece offered. I knew he wanted to, but I could not let him witness what I planned to do. I didn’t even want Nicki to witness it, but she was blood, so it wouldn’t be as shocking.

“It’s okay,” I replied. “I’m fine here alone. You’ve gotta go home to Poppy anyway.”

I was so happy to have a legitimate excuse to send him away. And as I watched him pull out of the driveway hours later—hours after the last of the mourners left my mother and me alone—I waved at him and even smiled a little. I wanted him to believe I was all right.

But I was not all right. And my mother was about to know it.

She stood by the sink washing the last of the serving dishes. She still wore her black dress, and somewhere, she’d found a black apron. I’d never seen my mother wear a black apron
in all my life. Did she buy it specifically for this occasion?

I cleared my throat. She turn
ed her head a fraction, glimpsing me in her peripheral vision.

“Oh good, Bailey. You can help. Come dry these plates over here,” she said.

I approached her cautiously. I don’t know why I thought I was sneaking up on a spider. Perhaps it was her all black. Even made her brown hair look black, and I knew I was witnessing a transformation: from mother to black widow.

I picked up the tea to
wel and began wiping the plates, stacking them carefully on the counter. These were her special occasion serving dishes, and I wanted them in a neat, tidy stack before hurling them across the room. Should I decide I needed to.

“Where are Brad and Nicki?” I asked.

“Upstairs. Nicki needed to lie down,” Mom replied.

“Or
avoid helping clean up the kitchen,” I joked.

Mom turned to me. “Is that funny?”

I stared at her blankly. She resumed her work. I resumed mine.

“Why did you decide to stay over?” Mom asked after a moment.
There was an edge in her voice. “And why isn’t Reece with you?”

“We have a dog. He needed to go home.”

“Well, he could have brought the dog over,” Mom said.

“He could have,” I said, “but I didn’t want him around all this.”

“Around all what?” Mom snapped. “Around all what, Bailey?”

“The dysfunction that is our family,” I replied. “I mean, ever since the night you gave him the advice—”

“Why are you even bringing that up right now?” Mom asked. She slapped the dishcloth in the sink. “I called you and apologized!”

“Yeah, because Dad made you,” I retorted.

“Excuse me?”

“I know he made you. And then he probably went fishing
afterward to get away from you.”