The Mothers(54)

Zach peeked out of her bathroom, where he was packing her toothbrush inside a ziplock bag. He looked strange in her apartment. She always slept over at his place.

“We should hurry if you wanna catch your flight,” he said.

“Three years,” she said. “Jesus, what did I think was gonna happen?”

“Look, I’m sorry about all this but we gotta get to the airport. And I have work in the morning.”

He fidgeted a little, her toothbrush still in his hand. Of course he wanted to leave. He was helping her pack in the middle of the night, which was already more kindness than she could expect from a man who wasn’t her boyfriend. Or even, really, her friend. She nodded, zipping her suitcase shut. Not until she glanced out the airplane window at the neon lights outlining O’Hare Airport did she realize that she had no idea when she would be back.

—

HER FATHER CRIED when she stepped inside his hospital room. Because of the pain or because he was glad to see her, or maybe even because he was ashamed for her to see him like this, in the hospital bed, his side bandaged, a tube sprouting out of his chest. She paused in the doorway, rocked by the sight of him. She hadn’t seen him cry since her mother’s funeral but that was different. Hunched over a church pew in his black suit, he had seemed dignified. Stately, even. But in a mint green hospital gown, plugged into beeping machines, he just looked fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Got you flying all the way out here—”

“Daddy, it’s fine,” she said. “It’s fine. I wanted to see you.”

She hadn’t called him Daddy in years. She’d tried it out when he first came home from overseas, rolling the word around in her mouth, wondering how he might react to it. She’d been so desperate for him then, following him around the kitchen, climbing on his lap while he watched television, patting his face as soon as he’d shaved to feel his smooth cheeks. But then he’d settled back home and she’d grown up and found Dad fit him better—a curt word, a little removed. The nurse rolled in a cot but she stayed in her chair, holding his hand while he slept. His palm felt rough and worn. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something as simple as hold her father’s hand and she was afraid to let go.

She fell into a fitful sleep, and when she awoke in the morning, she found Aubrey sleeping on the cot, covered in a thin hospital blanket. She suddenly remembered calling Aubrey from the airport—she was frantic and needed someone to talk to before the four-hour flight. Aubrey hadn’t answered. Even in California, it was late. But Nadia had left a long, rambling voice mail. She’d felt comforted hearing Aubrey’s voice, even if it was just her outgoing message.

She knelt by the cot and stroked Aubrey’s hair.

“What’re you doing here?” she whispered.

Aubrey’s eyes fluttered open. She always woke slowly, returning to the world in waves. How many mornings had her face been the first thing Nadia saw?

“I got your message,” Aubrey said. “Of course I’m here.”

They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding. Every time they talked on the phone, Nadia tried to convince Aubrey to visit her in Chicago. It would be easier seeing her that way. She couldn’t imagine spending the night in Aubrey and Luke’s guest room, surrounded by all the pictures from their new life. But Aubrey always gave an excuse for why she couldn’t make the trip: she was too busy, she had just started at KinderCare and couldn’t ask for time off yet, she had promised Mrs. Sheppard she would help her with the Women Who Care conference, the children’s church play, the annual picnic. Maybe she was too busy or maybe she didn’t want to leave Luke behind. Maybe she had become that type of wife, the ones who couldn’t go anywhere apart from their husband, who kept calling him to check in and spent the whole time feeling guilty and displaced, like an organ that had managed to exist outside of the body. Who wanted to be that type of wife? Afraid to leave her married home, like if she left her life for a few days, it might not remain once she returned. Or maybe it wasn’t fear, but something else. A deep satisfaction. Maybe she just didn’t want to be apart from Luke. Maybe he just made her that happy.

“I’m sorry,” Nadia said. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shh.” Aubrey pulled her into a hug. “How is he?”

“Stable. That’s what they’re saying. I don’t know, the doctor hasn’t been by yet. How long have you been here?”

“Don’t worry about me. Do you want coffee? Let me get you coffee.”

Aubrey returned ten minutes later holding cups from a café that Nadia didn’t recognize. She accepted it anyway, even though the smell, wafting through the lid, reminded her of libraries and textbooks and exams. She was already anxious, a cup of coffee couldn’t make her feel worse. She and Aubrey sat in the waiting room, while the doctor examined her father’s chest for any sign of infection. Her father couldn’t sit up by himself yet. He was still struggling to breathe.

“They said—” Nadia paused. “If he hadn’t been in such good shape, he probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“Don’t think about that,” Aubrey said. “He made it. That’s all that matters.”

But Nadia couldn’t stop imagining her father pinned under his barbell in the backyard, trapped and alone. If one of the neighbors hadn’t been grilling in his yard, if he hadn’t heard a scream, her father might have died there. And she, so concerned with studying for the bar exam and having noncommittal sex with white boys, might not have called home for weeks. She wouldn’t even have known that her father was gone. Would anyone have? She rested her head on Aubrey’s shoulder. She smelled like Luke, like she had unwrapped herself from his arms and driven straight to the hospital, and Nadia closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent.