Page 8 of Jesse's Girl
“No shit?”
“I’m serious. At the airport, suitcase in hand.” At first, I’d been convinced I misheard her. Then my eyes had darted around the check-in line as if I’d find someone or something in the immediate vicinity to help me know what to do.
“That’s freaky,” Marcus says.
That’s one word for it.
An invisible fist grips my stomach, wrenching it up behind my sternum. I swallow, trying to push it down.
Marcus glances my way. He must catch me frowning, because he changes the subject. “So, uh… what were you gonna get up to in Thailand?”
“Meet up with some mates.” I shrug.
“Mates.” He snorts. “Listen to you.”
“Friends, I mean. Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I’ll go once my mom’s better. I just need to make sure she’s okay first, help Claire with juggling her kids… But, when everything settles down, I’ll fly back. I can probably still catch a bit of time in Thailand.” I rub my hands over my thighs, cementing the plan in my mind, and notice one of my knees is bouncing. I consciously stop the movement.
“Hey, Jess,” Marcus says, clearly picking up on my unease. “Your mom’s still pretty young. She’ll be okay.”
My smile is tight. I nod. She’ll bounce back from this. She’ll be fine. She has to be fine.
Claire tears up the moment she spots me in the hospital hallway and hurries over to pull me into a hug. We hold each other tight for a minute. “She’s too young for this,” she finally whispers into my shoulder, sniffling. “I don’t know how to do this. Mom would normally be the one who?—”
“I know. It’s gonna be okay,” I say in what I hope is a reassuring tone. She’s my big sister, but she shouldn’t have had to handle the weight of something like this alone.
“It better be,” she says, forcing a laugh. She steps back, peering up at me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” I glance at the door. “Can I see her?”
We get buzzed into the ICU and shown to Mom’s room. Well, room might be overstating things; it’s not much more than a bed partitioned off from its neighbor by a curtain the color of pale egg yolk. Machines blip and whoosh in their simple yet Herculean task of keeping the sickest people in the hospital alive.
Mom’s asleep in a semi-reclined position, her jaw slack, mouth slightly open. Guilt coils around my stomach at the change in her appearance. She’s pale. Gaunt. Like she’s aged twenty years in the last eight I’ve been away. Her hair has grayed since I last saw her. I barely recognize the smiling, whip-smart woman who raised us. Wires and tubes protrude from the collar and sleeves of her hospital gown, attaching to machines flanking the head of her bed.
“It’s okay to hold her hand, Jess. If you want to.” Claire gestures, snapping me out of my state of inertia. I shuffle to Mom’s side, wrapping my fingers around hers.
“Hey, Mom?” I say softly. “It’s Jesse.”
There’s movement under her eyelids and her hand gently clenches mine. With what seems like concerted effort, she eventually opens her eyes and focuses on my face. Soft recognition blooms in her expression, and the corner of her mouth twitches with the hint of a smile.
“Jesse,” she whispers, her voice rough like she’s swallowed sand.
“Hey,” I say again, smiling. “Heard you needed to see me.”
Claire hands me a plastic cup of water, and I hold the straw to Mom’s lips so she can take a sip.
She swallows, then blinks slowly and looks up at me, her eyes soft and watery. “I thought you were John Lennon.”
I let out a laugh, trying to keep my voice down. “John Lennon?” I glance at Claire, who shrugs.
Mom’s eyes close and she licks her lips. “John Lennon in the sky.”
“What?”
“She’s gonna be a bit out of it for the next day or so,” a woman’s voice says from behind me. “She’s still pretty sedated from surgery.”
I turn, my brow furrowing. Standing at the opening between the curtains is a young Asian woman, around my age, maybe, with sleek black hair and a round face. She’s familiar, but with the fatigue and stress, I can’t quite place her.
She walks in, smiling at us as she works hand sanitizer between her fingers. “Hey, Jesse. It’s been a while, huh?”