My Big Fat Fake Wedding(103)

I follow the doctor to Papa’s room, where I find him hooked up to not just one machine but to a whole plethora of them. There are beeps, squiggly lines on monitors, tubes running from his arms . . . everything. Even though the doctor tried to prepare me for this, I don’t think anything he’d said would’ve made me ready to see Papa like this, weak, a shell of his usual self, and so pale and frail looking.

I nod, and the doctor leaves, probably to fetch more of my family. In the few moments I have before someone else comes in, I cross over to his bedside, taking his hand. He looks so small under the white sheet, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. His mouth’s a little open around the tube that’s taped in place, and if it weren’t for the mechanically steady rise and fall of his chest, I’d be even more afraid.

“Papa,” I whisper, looking into his face. “Papa, please . . . please come back to us. I’m sorry. I just wanted us to have that good memory of walking down the aisle. I know how much it meant to you to see me married, and I just . . . I couldn’t see any other way. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Please, I love you so much, and I’m not ready to let go of you. I need you to be here, to give me advice because I don’t know how to fix this. I want you to know that I do love him. Ross, I mean. It was fake, and I’m so sorry for lying, but it was real too. Oh, I messed up everything, Papa!”

The words tumble out of my mouth, one on top of the other as tears track down my face in rivers. It’s the same roundabout loop my mind’s been stuck in all night but the first time to give the words voice because no one wants to hear anything from me.

The door behind me opens and Mom comes in, her hand entwined with Aunt Sofia’s. It looks like she’s holding on for strength, but it’s probably at least a little bit to keep Mom under control. Sofia gives me a supportive look, but Mom’s still so upset I can feel it coming off her in waves.

‘I raised you better than this, Violet Antonia Carlotta Russo,’ she’d said last night before clamming back up, tearing a fresh jagged wound open. Disappointing my mom is something I’ve strived to never do. She’s done so much for me, raising me, sacrificing for me, and I’ve always wanted to show her that I was worth it.

And then she’d pointedly directed the conversation away from me and my sham of a wedding to Papa. Everyone had sat around until late in the night, and even early this morning, sharing stories of his life like he was already gone, even though he’s still here, fighting for his life. I’d kept my mouth shut, not wanting to bring any attention back to myself, and thought of happy memories with Papa alone in my mind and heart.

“Daddy,” Mom says as she comes up, and I know how much she’s been shaken. Though Mom used to call her father ‘Daddy’ when she was a girl, I’ve only ever heard Mom call Papa ‘Daddy’ twice in my life. The first time was when Mom had a uterine cancer scare that turned out to be a benign tumor, and the other time was when Papa was diagnosed with his heart condition. She’d rushed in shortly after Dr. Lee had told me his prognosis, afraid she wasn’t going to make it in time.

Now, she just holds Papa’s hand, whispering against it in prayer, as Aunt Sofia switches to holding me up. Mom rises silently and kisses Papa on the forehead.

“He’s going to get better,” I whisper, clenching Aunt Sofia’s shirt in my fist. “He has to.”

Mom looks at me so grimly that Sofia squeezes me protectively. “Come on, Violet,” she says. “Let’s give your mom a few moments alone with Stefano.”

It’s another of Sofia’s dodges, but she’s right. This isn’t the place for Mom and me to have this conversation. It’s also not the place for Mom and me to reevaluate our relationship. Our emotions are too raw, too fresh.

In the hallway, Nana is waiting for us. My heart drops. I don’t think I can withstand an attack from her after Mom’s harsh words from last night are still so fresh and the result of my actions, Papa lying unconscious in bed, stared me in the face just moments ago. But she hugs me and I melt into her arms.

“I’m so sorry, Nana,” I cry, sobbing against her small shoulder.

She pats my back, rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. “I know, baby. I’m not here to pile guilt at your feet. I wanted to let you know that Dr. Lee came by just now. You remember his cardiologist?” I nod, thinking back to that first big spell and Dr. Lee’s direct but kind manner. “He looked over all the tests and reports from last night and this morning. He wants to do surgery on Stefano.”

I gasp, and Aunt Sofia switches her support once again, taking Nana by the arm. “Is he sure Stefano can handle that? Can you handle that?”

Nana’s sad smile is hopeful but resigned. “No, and no. But it’s his best chance. Before, he didn’t want to risk it, but now the risk-reward ratio, as he called it, has shifted. With the surgery, Stefano might have a chance, a small one. Without it, he . . .”

Her words break off as the strongest woman I’ve ever known breaks down. It’s not a crumbling, dramatic scene. Angela Russo would never. But tears slip through the soft lines of her face and she hugs Aunt Sofia tightly. I feel like an intruder on their moment of sisterly support and quietly slip away to give them some privacy.

A little bit later, Aunt Sofia plops into the chair next to me in the waiting room, handing over a steaming cup of coffee. “Your uncle, my husband, was an idiot,” Sofia whispers to me. I have no idea what she’s talking about or why she’s talking about it now as they’re preparing Papa for surgery.