A Matter of Heart (15 page)

Oh, this is a nightmare, a
terrible, awful, cringe-worthy nightmare. Me? She’s stayed away because of
me
?
I bark out, “She’s your
mom
!”

“And I see her on a regular
basis, as you well know. But we figured, until you are comfortable with her
presence in our lives—”

I cut him off right there.
“Are you
serious
?”

He snatches the phone up
just before it buzzes off the table and sets it back in the middle. “Look, I
think you’re forgetting that I am very in tune with your feelings on the
matter. Not the ones you tell me that you think I want to hear, but the ones
you truly feel. And I
know
,” he stresses, hands shoved back into his
pockets, “that you are uneasy with my involvement with Astrid, since she’s a
link back to Callie. So, to go back to the original question, no—I’m not going
to answer Callie’s call. Because it’s been a really crappy week, and I’m sorry,
but I don’t want to have to deal with the fall-out that might arise from that
scenario.”

My mouth, so unattractively
hanging wide open, snaps shut. I feel lousy, so incredibly, selfishly crummy
that I can barely stand it. Astrid has been there for him for years, when
nobody else was. She took him and Kellan in as her sons, loved them, gave them
emotional support and care when none of their family members (save Joey prior
to his death) could. And while he claims he still sees and talks to her, it
can’t be much, because he and I are together most of our free time. This isn’t
okay.

It isn’t okay by a long
shot.

I have such a pathetic
relationship with my own mom. I can’t let Jonah fall prey to that. He’s got
somebody who loves him. Wants him. Cares enough about him to adhere to his
wishes. I’ve got to make this right.

I’m forced to clear my
throat a couple of times, because there’s a big wad of remorse clogging it.
“Have her come and visit. She should come here today. As soon as she can. If
she wants.”

Jonah merely studies me,
head cocked to the side, unmoving from his defensive position next to the
chair.

“And . . . and . . .” The
phone is going off again. A rabbit beats its feet against my ribcage. “Have
Callie . . . have her come, too. She’s friends with Kellan. Aren’t they like
best friends? She’s . . . she’s your . . .” I try to swallow that nasty clog,
but it just won’t go away. Which sucks, because it’s exacerbating the babbling.
“She should be here, too. She should see him. He’d want to see her. Wouldn’t he
want her to be here?”

“Chloe—”

The next words burst out of
my mouth before I can check them: “My mom hasn’t called, has she?”

“I called her, right after
you got here.”

“But she hasn’t come. She
hasn’t wanted to come.” Gods, why does it sting? Why do I always hope
differently? “Astrid does, though, doesn’t she? And . . . Callie, too. They
should come.” Another mangled attempt at removing the clog is attempted.
“They’re your
family
.”

“You’re my family,” he says
quietly. He motions towards me, then to his brother. “My family is right here
in this room.”

He blurs in front of me.
That’s so like him, so sweet and giving. “Still. So are they. Answer the damn
phone, Jonah.”

And he does, because he
understands that I’ve made up my mind. As he says hello, I get out of the chair
and move over toward the windows. It’s awkward enough for him to be talking to
his ex-girlfriend. Having just spent the night in the same bed with his
brother, my other Connection, only ups the awkward factor by a zillion, which I
can’t deal with at the moment. So I put that distance between us, all of us,
including Callie.

“He’s fine,” Jonah is
telling her. All of a sudden, he looks so tired, so incredibly worn down by all
of this. And I hate myself a little, because, while he’s been supporting Kellan
and me through this mess, nobody’s been there to support him.

Because of me. Because he,
like Kellan, puts my feelings before his own. I need to fix that, stat.

“There isn’t a lot more I
can tell you that Kate already hasn’t,” he’s saying, and his eyes are on me,
like he’s afraid I’m going to bolt any minute. A deep breath is taken. “You
should come down and see him for yourself.”

That rabbit is truly kicking
the crap out of my ribcage.

Jonah’s
free hand yanks at his messy hair. “Can you ask Astrid to come, too?” And then
there are few quick murmurings, a goodbye, and then the call between my
Connection and the ex-girlfriend who is still madly in love with him is over.

Callie arrives less than an
hour later, appearing in the doorway exactly as I remember her: tall and
willowy, with silver-blonde hair that practically glows. She’s not the person
you want standing next to you when you’re sick in a hospital, not if you want
to keep your ego intact.

With manners that must’ve
been beaten into his soul at an early age, Jonah stands up when she enters the
room. And they stand there, regarding one another uneasily, like they don’t
know what to do with each other. Jonah ends up shoving his hands into his
pockets and Callie folds her arms across her enviable chest.

“Hey,” she says to him.

“Hey,” he says in return.

“Hey,” I offer, making sure
that I add to the awkwardness.

Her attention shifts over to
where I’m resting, on a comfortable window seat I created, overlooking a pretty
spectacular view of Annar. She gives me a smile, one sincere enough, and a
greeting before telling Jonah, “Mom’s downstairs with Kate.”

He steps away from the chair
by his brother’s bed and offers her the seat. She shakes her head, reminding me
of a shampoo commercial, even though I’d lay down money she doesn’t mean to do
it in an overtly sexy way. It’s just . . . I think that’s just how Callie is.
But she does go over to where Kellan is, carefully sidestepping around Jonah,
who takes a couple steps back himself. “He looks so . . . vulnerable,” she says
quietly.

And it surprises me, because
that’s what I’ve been thinking.

“He’d hate you telling
anyone that,” Jonah says after a long moment. The two of them laugh, just a
little, but enough that I can see them doing this—sharing jokes at the expense
of someone else in their little group—more times than not over the years.

That stings, too. That
shared history that I was never really part of, except in his head while he
slept. She had him in real life. She got to know him in ways I didn’t, I can’t
help but think.

He looks over at me, alarmed
and unfortunately aware of all of these jumbled emotions radiating out of me,
so I offer a smile in return. A genuine one, one that assures him I’m glad
that, despite everything else, somebody is here for him. For them.

“Mom’s drank about fifty
cups of tea a day to steady her nerves.” Callie takes Kellan’s hand and
squeezes. I hope he can feel it, know she’s here. “She’s been crying a lot,
too.”

I shrink back into my seat,
too ashamed to enter the conversation.

Jonah bites his lip and manages
to look even guiltier.

Callie lifts up Kellan’s
hand to kiss it and then carefully lays it back down on the bed. “It’s tough on
her, you know? She understands your jobs, naturally. But she can’t help but
worry. And stuff like this, when you guys haven’t even been working for a
year?” She crosses her arms across her chest again, like she’s afraid too much
will spill out. “I try to remind her that at least she doesn’t have to worry
about that with a half-breed non like me.”

“Don’t do this, Cal,” he says,
voice low. “Not now.”

Callie won’t even look at
him. “Kellan is breaking her heart.”

“Cal,” he warns, and I get
the feeling that they’ve suddenly forgotten I’m in the room.

“He’s an idiot for what he
puts her through! Don’t tell me you disagree, because I’ve overheard too many
of your arguments.”

He takes a step towards her.
“This isn’t the time—”

“When is? When Mom’s here,
pretending to be okay with him in a coma, just so—”

He moves in another step,
close enough that their shoes nearly touch. “Cal,
drop it
.”

Anger erupts across her face
with pink cheeks. “You think you can—”

“I don’t think,” he says in
that scary, quiet even voice. “I know. And I can just as easily revoke your
visitation privileges—”

“Jonah!” I squeak out,
appalled.

“Because,” he continues, not
looking at me, “as I’m sure you are well-aware of, Kate has explicitly
instructed that Chloe—
and
Kellan—are not to be upset during their
recoveries.”

Her rosy lips flatten, and I
swear her nostrils flare, but she gives him a nod of consent.

And then the door opens, and
Astrid Lotus comes in, carrying a vase of exotic flowers I’ve never seen
before. Jonah and Callie take several steps back from one another—not quickly,
but leisurely, like it doesn’t bother them in the slightest that Astrid has
caught them mid-fight. “Hello, Chloe,” she says to me, ignoring them as she
crosses the room. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought you these. Flowers
always cheer me up when I’m not feeling my best.”

I take the flowers, feeling
even more uncomfortable, as if that was even possible, and thank her. She leans
down and hugs me, and it’s just like I remember from our session last year.
It’s the perfect kind of motherly hug, all warm and firm and accepting.

Yet brief. Because she’s
gone far too quickly, back over to where her kids are. “You look terrible,” she
says to Jonah. “Please tell me you got some rest this morning.”

He kisses her cheek and she
smooshes him into a hug. A big, long, loving one that I can’t help but envy.
What must that be like, to have a mom who hugs you whenever she wants like
that? Who
wants
to hug you like that? And, in return, not feel
privileged or surprised, but simply know and accept that this is how hugs are
between the two of you?

It’s too painful to watch.
Karnach in the distance is easier to focus on, less likely to inspire tears.
Mom, I think, desperately sending the words out past the glass and into the
air, where are you? Why aren’t we hugging like this?

I want my mom.

“I’m fine,” Jonah is saying
behind me, and it’s done with an indulgent hint of loving exasperation. Like he
has to suffer through these sorts of questions more often than not.

“Liar,” Callie mutters.

“She’s right,” Astrid says
fondly.

“You think after mastering
inscrutability, you could control your tell-tale bat signal that lets us all
know when you’re stressed out,” Callie adds.

My eyes swing back
involuntarily towards them. He has a tic that gives away when he lies?

Astrid touches his hand
gently and he actually blushes. “I, for one, am glad for this. It’ll be a sad
day for me, indeed, when I can no longer tell if my boys are lying to me or
not.”

To say I feel betrayed is an
understatement. It’s completely irrational, but for these people to know Jonah
so well that they instantly can identify a lie when I never have been able to,
well . . . it’s like a huge slap in the face.

His eyes meet mine,
unnecessarily apologetic and sad. Like he’s already regretting inviting Astrid
and Callie here. So, I say, as cheerily as I can, “I’m really glad you guys are
here.” And I mean it.

I really do.

Astrid kisses Jonah’s
temple. “I’m glad we’re here, too,” she says softly. And then she goes over to
where her other son is, to kiss his forehead and his cheek and to squeeze his
hand, and even though she tries so hard to keep it together, she ends up
crying. Not the kind of tears that are embarrassing, but the quiet kind, born
of equal parts love and agony. Tears that tell me exactly how she feels about
Kellan, how she wants so badly to do something, fix him, but ultimately knows
she can’t do anything other than sit here and hold the hand of a man she
considers to be her son, blood or not.

Her
other children converge on her; Callie wraps her arms around her mom’s
shoulders, pressing her cheek against Astrid’s, and Jonah’s hand goes to her
back. And they stay there like that, for a long time—a family unit, connected
not by blood but by the bonds of love.

Callie’s brought a deck of
cards with her; apparently, she and the twins used to play all the time as a
way to while away the hours when their parents were busy with Council work. She
and Jonah are viciously competitive with one another, and it’s fascinating to
watch them battle it out over the simple privilege of being called winner.

This is more Lotus-Whitecomb
history that I’m not a part of, and only serves to remind me of all of the
shared bits of history I’ve wanted but never gained with my own parents. So,
during a rather intense match of—well, I don’t know what game it is, but I
think it’s Elvin in nature considering Astrid grimaced while mentioning
something about how it never went well for her as a child as she left for a
meeting minutes before—but anyway, the point is, I decide to call my mom.