The Things We Cannot Say(106)

“We’ve hit a major snag with this plastics project, Alice. I couldn’t just stay home with him. My team needs me too. I’m trying to juggle a million things this week so you can be there—”

“When I called, Callie was just about to get the soup out of the microwave. Soup she’d been cooking in there for ten minutes.”

“Shit...” Wade groans, then runs his free hand through his hair. “Well, why doesn’t she know how to use it?”

That hits a sore spot. She should know how to use it—I’m just in the habit of doing every damned thing myself around that house.

“She has two parents, Wade,” I say defensively. “You could have taught her just as easily as I could have.”

He sighs heavily, then he mutters, “Honestly, Alice—today has just been Hell. The very last thing I need tonight—”

“Callie is ten years old,” I say flatly. “Yes, she’s gifted—but she’s still ten. You can’t expect her to pick up the slack because you happen to be busy at work.” I groan and rub my eyes with my hand. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you guys.”

“It’s one bad day, Alice,” Wade snaps. “I’m allowed to have one bad day.”

“But I knew this would happen,” I say. I sound bitchy. I sound like my mother, actually, and I hate that—but I am just so angry I can’t stop myself. “I knew you’d let me down—”

“I have never let you down,” Wade says, and now he’s furious too.

“Eddie is seven, Wade,” I say blithely. “You tell me one damned time in all of his life when you haven’t let me down.”

It’s the vodka talking. It’s the disappointment speaking. My trip has come to nothing, and I’m going to have to admit to Callie and Babcia and even Wade that I’ve failed. Regardless, I’ve said something I can’t take back—something that’s just way too far over the line of what’s acceptable. Over the screen, I watch as Wade’s eyes widen with shock and a deep kind of hurt that I’ve rarely seen him display. I’m still angry—that doesn’t mean I’m not wishing hard that I could pull those words back in. But I can’t, and so we both just stare into the lenses of our cameras in stiff, uncomfortable silence. It’s Wade’s turn to battle to get control of his temper, but in his case, he wins the battle, and he speaks calmly and evenly.

“I’m going to go downstairs,” he says. “I’m going to go check on Edison and apologize to Pascale. I’m going to salvage the soup. I’m going to take over the laundry. Then I’m going to start the night routine and try to get ready for the school day tomorrow.” He draws in a deep breath, then adds, “What I’m not going to do is to get into a screaming match with you over FaceTime. I don’t think it’s a great idea for you to talk to Eddie tonight, either. He’s pretty fragile today and I think it would make things worse.”

I hang up on Wade without a farewell, then I bury my face in my pillow, and I give myself over to sobs—but only then does it occur to me that I’ve yet to call Mom to check in on Babcia. So I drink some water, then I make a cup of coffee and I watch TV for a while until I feel like my voice might be back to normal and my emotions have cooled.

I place a voice call to Mom, because I don’t want her to see my face. She answers on the first ring.

“I can’t talk for long, Alice.”

“What’s happening?”

“Babcia had some kind of turn a few hours ago and she’s been moved to the ICU,” Mom says. I hear the frustration in her voice as she mutters, “I’m waiting for the neurologist but he’s been next door with another patient for half a damned hour. But the nurse said it was another minor stroke. She said it’s not uncommon in someone her age but that it’s a concern that it keeps happening...”

“Is Babcia okay?”

“She’s not okay, Alice,” Mom says abruptly. “I think it’s time we accepted that her days of being okay have passed.”

I know her time with us is winding down. Why else would I be in Poland on this wild-goose chase? But hearing Mom say those words makes me want to weep.

“Can you text me when you know what’s happening?” I croak.

“Alice—” I can hear the apology in Mom’s voice, but knowing Mom as I do, there’s a good chance it’s going to be followed up by some kind of sharpness anyway and I just can’t deal with that tonight.

“I have to go,” I say unevenly. “Just text me, okay?”

And for the second time today, I hang up on someone I love.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still sobbing when a text comes from Mom.

The good news is it was a small bleed today and there’s no new damage, but Babcia’s condition is no longer considered stable. Dr. Chang is finally organizing that translator for me. She wants to talk to Babcia about whether she’s ready to sign a Do Not
Resuscitate order.
Then a few minutes later, when I’m trying to craft a reply, another text arrives.

By the way, your father arrived a few minutes ago. I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that? Perhaps he’s not the only one who should think about coming home early.
“I am thinking about it, Mom,” I whisper to my empty hotel room. “In fact, that’s pretty much all I can think about.”