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  The day passed.

  Night fell. The hospital dimmed the hallway lights. Carts rattled past. Megan texted me whenever she had updates to make sure I understood what was going on. I attempted to get dinner but only picked at a grilled chicken Caesar salad before setting it aside. A new nurse rotated in—a broad-shouldered man named Darius with dreadlocks and a quick grin. I tried to remember his name but constantly forgot it and had to consult the whiteboard.

  I lay on my back on a small couch at the far edge of the room, my ankles propped on the end. My phone glowed softly on the floor, plugged into the wall. I fidgeted, feeling the urge to text Lexie, but held back. Why interrupt her important weekend? There was nothing she could do here.

  Still, I longed for her stable presence.

  I continued to stare at the ceiling. My mind raced, overcome by a barrage of emotions, unable to contain or understand them. Instead, I let them slide by, viewing them as an outsider would a movie. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Mom’s lumpy form. I looked back at the ceiling, my nostrils flared.

  The clock ticked.

  More time passed.

  9:12.

  10:46.

  11:34.

  If I looked over, I knew what I’d see, because I’d seen it all day. Mom’s limp hair, streaked with gray. Pale skin—the testament to her sheltered life that rarely, if ever, had sunlight. No fresh air. No real freedom. No interaction with people outside television characters. She lived in a bubble and never left. Never felt the wind on her face. Never stepped into a store and smelled fresh vegetables. Never ate at a restaurant and experienced new tastes on her tongue.

  Tears filled my eyes. Was that really living? What had she truly loved? Could she finish out this life saying she’d really lived and loved and learned? No. Because … who had loved her? Maybe it all started in her mysterious past, with a father that hid food from her and a mother that … who knew what. This, I thought, is why Mira and Bitsy were able to have compassion for her.

  Did Dad love her? Maybe, but it didn’t sound like a functional love. Me? In a strange, disjointed kind of way. Even I enabled her, and the thought made me sick. I still lived at home. Cleaned. Shopped. Allowed her to wallow in her self-hatred without trying to help her.

  Who had been Mom’s Lexie? Her Bitsy? No one.

  There were so many shadows in her murky world. So many unknowns. So much she hid from in a prison without bars. A tear trickled into my hairline. “Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “There’s so much more than this small, distracted world you’ve created for yourself.”

  Now it could be too late. For her.

  Not for me.

  Maybe that’s what Janine meant by finding peace through forgiveness.

  I rolled off the couch and pattered to her bedside in a scratchy pair of no-slip hospital socks Dana had given me before she left. Mom looked worse in the dim lights. Despite her size, she seemed small. Swallowed by something that wasn’t actually her. Lost in a maze of fears. I placed one hand on the railing and stared down at her.

  “Why?” I heard myself ask. “Why did you lock yourself away?”

  There was no response. Something tingled deep in my chest.

  “Why did you give up?” I whispered. “Why did you forget that I was there? You missed all my recitals. You never went to my sixth-grade choir concert. As soon as I liked something, you didn’t, like a switch had turned off. If I didn’t love food and television and hiding … it’s like you didn’t love me.”

  Surely Janine had it wrong. Pain this deep could never go away. A cry tore out of my throat. I bent over the hospital bed and let my sobs go, my shoulders shaking as I leaned over her bedside.

  Memories flew by in a blur, as if little, aching Rachelle had taken over my mind. Standing on the dance stage and staring at an empty seat in the crowd—imagining that should have been my mom’s spot. Scoring a home run with no parent to cheer for me. Playing dolls for hours by myself in my bedroom while Mom watched TV.

  “I was alone!” I cried. “You let me be alone. When I needed you, you weren’t there. You weren’t! You were lost in television and food and whatever fears you allowed to control you. I needed you! And I can’t just forget that. I can’t just … I can’t just forgive you for not being there. Because you could have been.”

  A shuffle from the hallway caught my attention. I clamped my lips together and lowered my voice to a whisper. The noise passed. I wiped the tears off my cheeks.

  “And now you could die. I’ll be an orphan with a legacy of pain and regret and issues that have never been dealt with. How dare you? How dare you!”

  A long silence passed. Was this really the right thing to do? To feel my anger, to tell her of all my years of pain on her deathbed? Could she even hear? If she could hear, this could be the last thing I said to her. Was it any better than when we argued?

  Could I really let the truth be the last thing I ever told her?

  A light knock sounded on the door. “Sorry to interrupt,” Darius said. “I have some news.”

  My head jerked up, and I found him standing in the doorway. I wiped self-consciously at my face.

  “Oh, you’re fine.” I sniffled, turning away. “Do what you need to do.”

  He advanced into the room a few steps.

  “I just received word from the OR at East View, and they’re ready for your mom. Dr. Wu has surgical privileges over there, so he’s going to meet you. They have a slot for her in three hours. If we get her into the ambulance now, we can transport her in time for the slot. I need to prep a few things first.”

  My heart nearly seized. I whirled back around.

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  Darius nodded once and turned without another word, leaving me scrambling mentally. Now? Mom couldn’t go now! I wasn’t … I wasn’t ready! This was the moment that would decide the rest of both our lives. I might never see her again.

  “No!” I whispered. “Not yet.”

  Of course she’d get a slot now! Just when I’d found the courage to speak the truth. My anger broiled hot, gelling into a slow-burning rage that I knew could burn forever.

  Could.

  Beneath the bubbling magma lingered a familiar, frightened little girl. Little Rachelle stared at me with her wide eyes from the back porch. Weren’t we the same? Wasn’t I really her, only deeper in denial and twice as frightened? In the end, I was nothing more than a girl who wanted her mom. Which meant I still loved her.

  Which meant I wanted more for her than this hell.

  I clung to the side rail.

  “Mom, please,” I whispered. “Please make it through the surgery. Be strong. Just … come back. I know we can work this out. We can. If you just live through this, then you can actually live. Do you see?”

  Mom’s life scrolled through my mind again. A questionable childhood. A marriage that ended in abandonment. A rebellious, wild teenage daughter. Life behind a screen of fear. A path that led to dead ends in darkness.

  There was no Lexie. No bakery. No accomplishments. No friends. No real love. No confidence. No happiness. The soul-sucking darkness of her self-inflicted bubble overwhelmed me. Mira had been right when she said that Mom was doing the best she could. Maybe she was. Maybe this was all she could do. Mom had never lived or really loved.

  That was something to mourn.

  Two nurses walked by, talking quietly. One of them stepped into Mom’s room and began messing with the cords. I stepped back and texted Megan in a panic. More nurses swarmed the room.

  She’s going in now.

  Megan replied almost immediately. That’s good, Rachelle. Sooner is better.

  I’m scared.

  That’s okay. They’re going to take really good care of her. I know all of them. They’re the best at what they do. I’ve already talked to Darius tonight. She’s in the best possible place for success.

  The nurses were talking fast. Darius came over and said a few words to me. In my frantic haze, I caugh
t only surgery and transfer to East and good hands. One of the orderlies flipped the brakes off the bed.

  No, I thought. No!

  “All right,” a man in a blue suit and cap said. He twirled a finger in the air. “Let’s get rolling.”

  My entire body froze. Mom was leaving. I might never see her alive again. Odds were against her survival. This was my chance to find peace. This was my chance to forgive. The bed lurched forward.

  “Wait!” I cried.

  They paused. I rushed to her side with a sob, reached down, and clasped Mom’s inert hand in mine.

  “It’s all in the past now,” I said. “I forgive everything. I’ll be waiting when you get back.”

  There was no flood of warmth, no sudden burst of light in the clouds. Pain and confusion still roiled in the background, but I didn’t feel the same fear. Instead, I comprehended the place of darkness where Mom lived. A vein of something—Janine would call it compassion—ran deep through my heart, fracturing my own bitterness.

  Mom had raised me. Loved me, in her strange, distant, never-leave-the-house kind of way. The fact that I still lived and breathed meant she loved me enough to do something to keep me alive. She had fought for me once. And she stayed when Dad didn’t.

  That counted.

  She might never have known life or friendship or allowed herself to have a true family, but I did. Despite her struggles, I could still be happy. Lexie and Bitsy and Mira and Megan loved me.

  My happiness wasn’t Mom’s responsibility. She’d done the best she could. For me, that was enough.

  “Bye,” I whispered. “I love you.”

  They wheeled her out of the room in a rush, calling to each other, haphazardly coordinating IV poles and corners and transport machines. I watched them go, a strange feeling of terror and strength inside me all at the same time. Steel core, I thought. Wicked smart. I can do this. The room seemed too big and too small all at once.

  In the aftermath of everyone leaving so fast, a familiar head of blonde hair filled the doorway. A sob tore out of my throat.

  “Lexie!”

  “Oh, Chelle,” she murmured, tears welling in her eyes. “I came as soon as I got the text from Mira. I’m so sorry.”

  Her clothes were wrinkled, her eyes bleary, her hands jumping around like she’d consumed a ton of caffeine to stay awake. I choked up. She rushed into the room and wrapped me in her arms.

  “I’m so sorry, Rachelle,” she whispered. I clung to her, sobbing.

  “Me too,” I whispered. “Me too.”

  Lexie drove me to the other hospital, shoving yogurt drinks and granola bars my way. Once there, we shuffled into the ICU waiting room, checked in with someone at the main desk, and collapsed on a couch, pressed close to each others’ sides. The night climbed toward morning while we talked quietly. She kept her arm firmly around me while we reminisced, sometimes laughing. Sometimes crying. She helped me see that there had been good times with Mom.

  Those counted too.

  I fell asleep on her shoulder around five, then woke up to her nudging me in the ribs around nine-thirty.

  “Rachelle,” Lexie said. “Wake up.”

  A female nurse stood in the room, wearing bright green scrubs and a tight hat over a head of red hair. Sunshine streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes in the air. I pushed upright, half awake.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

  The nurse nodded with a vague smile. “You’re Rachelle Martin?”

  “Yes.”

  “The OR just called. Your mother made it through the surgery. There have been a few complications, but she’s recovering in post-op. The plan is to have her come to the ICU immediately after she stabilizes. You should be able to see her after they get her settled. Maybe two or three hours.”

  The words hit me like a gut punch. I grabbed Lexie’s hand.

  “She’s alive?” I whispered.

  The nurse smiled. “She’s alive.”

  “Rachelle?”

  I jerked out of my thoughts several days later. Two people stood in the doorway of Mom’s ICU room with two beautiful bouquets of flowers in their arms. I straightened up.

  “William? Sophia?”

  William smiled. “Hey. Thought we’d come check and see how you were doing.”

  Sophia stepped toward me. “These are for your mom,” she said, holding up a vase of pink roses and sprigs of baby’s-breath. “I hope she gets to see them soon.”

  Once Sophia set the flowers aside, she reached for me, arms outstretched, and wrapped me in a warm hug. William set another vase of flowers and a box aside.

  “We brought you some goodies.” Sophia squeezed me tight. I fell into her warm embrace with relief and gratitude. “I thought a little sugar couldn’t hurt at a time like this.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  Balloons already festooned the room thanks to Mira and Bitsy and Megan. Lexie hadn’t budged from my side until this morning, when she’d left to go back to her in-laws’. Homemade food from Bitsy was tucked into an organized plastic box on the shelf, complete with utensils and a Nalgene of cold water. She brought me a new dinner every night—and promptly organized all the nurses’ supplies and cleaned up the room with an antibacterial wipe. The TV droned in the background, muffling the tick of the machines. I reached out and turned it off.

  “Fruit tarts,” William said, tapping the top of the white box with a wink as Sophia pulled away. “Because I know they’re secretly your favorite, too. And these flowers are for you.”

  I laughed and accepted a bouquet of white lilies, then hugged him. Despite his lithe figure, he had strong arms and held me in a tight hug for several long seconds. I breathed it in, relishing the sweet tinge of friendship in an otherwise dismal day. I am loved. My happiness really isn’t conditional on Mom’s actions.

  Sophia glanced at Mom as I pulled away from William, wiping a discreet tear from my eye. Her brow furrowed.

  “Mira has been keeping us updated,” she said. “Sounds like it’s been pretty scary for a while.”

  “Yeah. She had complications post-op that made things tense for a few days, but she’s doing better now. Her chances of making it through were never great, anyway, so this is pretty miraculous. And Sophia, I’m so—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize!” Sophia held up a hand. “William has been filling in for you. Mira, too. He claimed you’d already started training him a few weeks ago. I turned down a few cakes, but it’s been a great break. And we’ve had so many soda cupcake orders that they’ve more than made up for the cakes.”

  I laughed. “Good. I’m glad it’s worked out okay. Thanks for being so understanding. Once Mom is awake and stable, I’ll be fine to come back.”

  “We may not even need you again. Turns out I’m not too bad at piping frosting,” William said with a smug grin.

  Sophia laughed. “Don’t listen to him! We desperately need you. You’re in our small bakery family now. But the store is fine. Don’t worry about us. We’re more worried about your mom. Is there improvement?”

  A flare of warmth bloomed in my chest.

  “Yes.” I folded my arms over my middle. “At least a little. They’re hoping to take the breathing tube out tomorrow if she can maintain without it for an hour. No signs of infection, which is really good.”

  I braced myself, but there was no judgment in their eyes. No disgust when they saw Mom on the bed, covered with a light sheet, kept alive by beeps and whirs and machines. Her body filled the specialty bed, but they didn’t seem to care.

  “Can we do anything to help you?” William asked.

  “This is wonderful.”

  “It just so happens that we know the ICU life very well,” Sophia said with a wink and a nudge at William. “So don’t be afraid to tell us if you need a night off or someone to scream at. We get it.”

  A sheepish expression filled his face, but I saw no shame in it. Perhaps William had continued to confront his own demons, th
e way I did. I smiled at both of them.

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ll head out,” Sophia said. “We need to get the store opened. But text us both and keep us updated?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll need a break soon,” William said, touching my shoulder with a gentle hand. “Depending on how things go, I’ll pick you up for lunch tomorrow, all right? I’m serious. You need to get out of here.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, almost too quickly. He just grinned.

  With another round of farewells, they left. Just as I sank back into the chair, suffused with a giddy afterglow at the thought of going to lunch with my friend, my phone chimed. I glanced down at a text from a familiar number. My heart nearly stopped.

  Chris.

  Hey. Just heard about your mom from Bradley. Hope things are going okay.

  A long pause followed. I blinked, staring at the screen. So much of my angst around losing Chris came from the fear that I’d messed up my only chance at happiness. That I’d proven my true self in that drunk escapade.

  But that girl wasn’t Rachelle.

  Just as I wasn’t the girl with crutches. Or the cupcake designer or the best friend or the rebellious daughter. I was all of those things. I was a lump of insecurities and memories and strength and intelligence and a willingness to fight hard when the cards were down. I wasn’t a single role. I was many roles. None of them, alone, defined me. I could be marathoner, daughter, cupcake-baker, and more.

  I was Rachelle.

  No role, no symbol, no person could change that. My identity didn’t hinge on Chris, a marathon, or even a functional parent. It just hinged on me. For the first time, I could look back on that embarrassing night with Chris with gratitude that it had happened. Without it, I would never have come this far.

  With a deep breath, I wrote back.

  Thanks for the message and thinking of me. And thanks for being a good friend to me when I had that difficult time that one night. I needed that, and you were there. I’m grateful.