The Art of Losing(40)

I closed my eyes against the memory as Raf took the long way home to avoid the crowds. It had been a nice night. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, but it felt like the best one that I’d ever been on. All that was missing was the good-night kiss. But I intended to keep it that way. So when he pulled into the driveway, I gathered my stuff and hopped out, making sure to stay one step ahead of him. And when Raf stopped at the scene of our last kiss, I held up a hand to stop him as he leaned in.

“I can’t,” I said.

He blinked, confused.

“I’m sorry. Mike and I just broke up . . .” He nodded, but I still felt like I needed to explain. “I spent a lot of time doing what Mike wanted. I need to figure out what I want.”

Raf offered a reassuring smile. “I know,” he said. “And I get it. I want you to figure things out. And to be happy.”

I stared back at him. Why the hell was I turning down a guy who was so damn nice to me?

“Thanks,” I managed. “And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not technically supposed to date until I have a year sober anyway,” he added, and I momentarily felt less doubtful about my decision. “And the fact that I want to kiss you until I forget about that is probably not a good sign.”

“Yeah, probably not,” I said, blushing and doubting myself all over again. “Well, um, good night.”

I forced myself to turn around. To walk away. Even though my heart was practically leaping out of my chest, as if trying to get back to him on its own.

On the morning of July 5, Audrey had a “successful breathing trial.” By that afternoon, Dr. Martinez had agreed to take her off the ventilator. Mom left work early, picked me up, and rushed the two of us to the hospital to meet Dad.

With her face no longer obscured, the first thing that struck me was how young Audrey looked. How small and fragile. Not to mention pale. Her freckles stood out in stark relief against her chalky skin. But she was awake when Mom, Dad, and I were finally allowed into her room—really awake—though groggy. Keisha was at her side, moistening a small sponge on the end of a stick and running it across Audrey’s lips. Audrey licked them greedily.

“Can’t she have water?” Mom asked Keisha. She sounded annoyed. It was clear that she considered Keisha to be an interloper, that she saw caring for her daughter in this way as a mother’s job. She so desperately wanted to do something, to be useful.

The nurse shook her head. “Soon,” she said. “She’s on IV fluids to keep her hydrated and with the feeding tube in, she’s fine. But we don’t know yet what her motor function is like, and we don’t want her to aspirate while trying to swallow. Her injuries are still too severe.”

By the time she’d finished, Mom’s face appeared to have aged ten years. The crow’s-feet were more prominent, the frown lines deeper. She pressed the back of Audrey’s hand to her cheek, but Audrey had already started to fade back into sleep. She hadn’t been “really awake” at all, I realized. I’d been fooling myself. We all had.

By dinnertime, I was ready to leave. I considered watching another movie, but Audrey was asleep, and I somehow couldn’t muster up the same enthusiasm I’d had when she was in a coma. It was ridiculous, but romantic movies had lost some of the magic without Audrey’s creative input. The old Audrey. The new Audrey wouldn’t be able to stay awake for long enough to watch a full movie with me for weeks, most likely. And there was a very good chance she wouldn’t be able to remember, understand, or process what she was seeing, anyway.

The next morning I came downstairs to find Mom poring over a small stack of framed photos. “Will you take these to the hospital for me?” she asked, without looking up. “I’m not sure if I’ll make it. I have appointments at a few stores today, but I want to be sure Audrey has something to remind her of us.”

I stepped closer and peered over her shoulder. Five photos in all: four of Mom and Dad, taken professionally in honor of their twentieth anniversary last fall—and one of Floyd and me, taken last summer, which had been hanging in the hallway until now.

“Feel free to bring some more pictures of yourself,” Mom said absently. “I just couldn’t find any good ones.”

Gee, thanks, Mom, I replied silently. You mean ones where I don’t look fat?

The truth was that I didn’t feel like going back there today. I couldn’t shake the kernel of resentment I’d felt that she still didn’t even know who I was. After the way she’d betrayed me, I should have been foremost in her mind. My name should have been the first thing she’d uttered upon regaining consciousness, followed immediately by “Sorry.” That night should have been burned into her memory.

It was irrational. And ugly. But that didn’t stop me from feeling it.

Mom handed me the photos and stood, straightening and smoothing her skirt suit. “That nurse seems to think—”

“Keisha?” I interrupted.

Mom’s eyes met mine. She was wearing more concealer than usual. It didn’t help; there was no hiding how tired she looked. “Yes. Keisha. She seems to think that bringing familiar objects might help, too. So if you feel like it, maybe also grab Bear Bear?”

“Do I have to go today?” I asked.

“Weren’t you planning on it?” Mom said sharply.