The Loose Ends List(4)

“Okay, here I go. Kids, I brought you here because I’m sick. Well, I’m basically dying. I have pancreatic cancer, and in case you don’t know, that’s one of the bad ones.”

My stomach drops. A thick lump forms in my throat, and I can’t breathe.

All the blood exits Aunt Mary’s face. “Why are you telling us like this?”

“Mary, I wanted to tell you all at the same time. I just found out a couple weeks ago. I needed time to make some big decisions.”

We sit, motionless, until Dad breaks the silence. “Well, thank God we’re in the best city in the world for medical care,” he says. “We’ll get you into Sloan Kettering this week. My buddy is a top-notch oncologist there.”

“I don’t want to see your friend, Aaron. Could you just let me say what I brought you here to say?” She takes a deep breath and smiles. “I’ve booked us all on an eight-week cruise. It leaves right after Maddie graduates.” She looks at me. “I’m still working on finding you a dress, by the way.”

I can’t tell if she’s trying to be funny, if all of this is a sick Gram joke.

“Mom, we’re not going on a cruise. We need to figure out treatment options,” Uncle Billy says.

“There are no good treatment options. I’m not sitting around some hospital room with fluorescent lighting, stuck to a chemo drip for the last few months of my life. I’ve booked the cruise. It’s done.”

“What makes you think we can drop everything and take a cruise?” Aunt Mary raises her flinty voice. “You are not thinking clearly.”

“Well, let’s see. Aaron’s a teacher, you and Trish are homemakers, a term I use loosely, and the kids have summer break. Wessy and Bill can turn over the business to the staff for a while. I’m thinking very clearly, dear.”

The air is trying to get into my lungs, but it can’t get past the growing lump.

“Ralph has a few confidentiality documents for you to sign before I continue. Titi, I need a little nibble of a macaroon, dear.”

“Mom, this is absurd. What documents?” Aunt Mary is shouting now. “Don’t you think we should talk to your doctors?”

“Mary, when have you ever known me to involve you in my medical affairs?” Gram’s voice stays calm, but she’s getting annoyed. She crosses her arms and watches Crusty Head pass out the documents.

I stare down at the stapled stack of papers with glazed eyes. My stomach quakes violently. I’ve never known how to process horrible news. When I was seven, I watched my Jack Russell terrier, Bub, get squished by my own school bus when he was running to greet me. That one required therapy with a woman who used puppets to talk about death. Dad’s mother died a few months later, but it didn’t bother me, for some reason. She was kind of mean and hard-edged, and she smelled like grease. The puppet lady said I probably couldn’t grieve her death properly because I was still grieving Bub. Then when I was thirteen, Grandpa Martin had a heart attack and died in his golf cart twenty minutes after he and I had shared a tuna sandwich. I was so traumatized, I refused to go to his funeral.

All of that was awful. But this is my gram. She’s supposed to get me settled at NYU and take me to brunch and have my future college friends over for dinner parties. She is supposed to walk me down the aisle when I get married and plan my exotic honeymoon.

I feel like puking, but I just start sobbing. I can’t help it. It hurts so much. The stupid document gets blurry, and tears drip shamelessly onto the paper. I hang my head, and my hair covers my face, the paper, everything.

“Oh, my dear Maddie girl.” Gram comes over. Janie starts bawling, too. “Oh, my babies.” Gram kneels down on the floor in front of us. I focus on her hand, her blue veins popping out of waxy skin, her nails, still perfectly painted red. Her beloved sapphire, big as a bird’s egg, seems silly now on a hand that’s about to be dead.

Across the room, Mom makes a terrifying huffing sound.

“Oh, lord, Trish is hyperventilating.” Gram stands up. “Titi, please bring my children some cocktails. I am old, guys. Death happens.”

It takes twenty minutes for Janie and me to gain control of ourselves. As usual, my stomach is a mess. Mom has a drink. Uncle Billy has a drink. Wes holds Uncle Billy’s hand and reads the document. Sour-faced Aunt Mary and Brit sit with their arms crossed. Aunt Rose asks Dad if he knows her husband, Karl. Jeb stares straight ahead. Crusty Head eats a macaroon.

My phone vibrates on my lap. OMG Abby peed on my foot. Ethan wandering. Sooooo many hot college boys. Where the fffff are u? I cannot deal with Remy’s text right now.

Gram returns to her spot behind the desk and clears her throat. “Okay, where was I?” she says. “Oh, yes: I’m dying. And I want to take you on a cruise. Don’t worry, it’s not one of those tacky, all-you-can-eat buffet ships. It’s a lovely ship, state of the art. And all the passengers are dying, or accompanying someone who is dying.”

“Well, that’s terrible, Astrid,” Aunt Rose says.

“No, Rose. It’s not terrible at all. We, the dying, get to plan the entire voyage. We get to customize it to satisfy our final wishes. Maybe we’ll tie up some loose ends around the globe or add a few items to our bucket lists.” Gram winks at me. I fake smile back. “The best part is while we’re at sea, and when I’m ready, I will go to my private cabin where a trained physician will inject me with potassium and a sedative. Then I will go to sleep, and you charming people will see me off.”