Forever (This #5) (30 page)

How many times does a person have to see their brother hooked up to tubes before they become numb? How many times does a person have to listen to the beep, beep, beep of the heart before they quit holding their breath in between each one, hoping it’s not the last? How many times can someone beg their loved one to wake up?

Because I’ve lost count as to how many times I’ve done all those things in the past twelve hours. It’s not even been a day. I’m sitting in a chair at his bedside holding his hand, rubbing it with my thumb, and praying, begging God to have mercy on him. A tap on my shoulder causes me to startle. A raspy voice, which I recognize as his nurse, Ruby, says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No biggie.”

“The doctors are about to start rounding, and we just got a call that your parents have arrived and would like to see him. There’s only two visitors allowed at a time.”

“It’s about time.”

She smiles. “Yeah. Time.”

I shake my head. We’re talking about different time. She’s talking about hospital time. I’m talking about the fact my parents are finally here. I exhale, breathing a sigh of relief. Not because I’m excited to see them. But because one of them will be able to donate the blood that could save his life if he becomes unstable.

I squeeze his hand. “Mom and Dad are here, so I’m gonna go. They say you can hear me.” This feels so stupid talking to him like this. “I just wanted to say…” What the hell is that? A tear? I roll my eyes and sniff that shit back to where it came from. “I love you, man. When you wake up, there’s somethin’ I wanna tell ya.”

He squeezes my hand. He squeezed my hand. “Um…” I let go. “Um. Ruby?”

“Yes, sir?”

“He squeezed my hand,” I say, pointing.

“Were you talking to him?”

I nod. My heart feels like it’s on speed. Not that I’d know what speed feels like.

“He probably heard you. His brain is fine. He’s just very heavily sedated.”

My lips curve into the most ridiculous, stupid grin. “You’re gonna be okay.” Then my thought goes to Sam. My brother will be given a new life, and I might as well have lost mine. It should have been me. That’s what my parents will think, but won’t say. “I gotta go. Get better, Ryan.”

I turn and head out. Mom and Dad are waiting by the nurses’ station. “How is he?” Mom asks.

Dad extends his hand, and I shake it. “Son.”

“He just squeezed my hand for the first time.”

Mom’s eyes light up and fill with tears in one swift motion. “The nurse said you could both go see him before the doctors round. I’ll be in the waiting room when you’re done.”

They nod before buzzing in to the critical care unit.

Mom and Dad enter the waiting room. Mom’s holding a tissue, dabbing her bloodshot eyes. Dad’s Adam’s apple bobs. I glance away. “Did they say Ryan no longer needs blood?”

“Your father’s about to go.”

“Why aren’t you?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “There’s no point in me giving. He’s O neg. I’m A positive.”

Selfish. When I was describing all the ways I failed to live up to expectations, I forgot to mention the ways my family lets me down. “None of us knew if we were matches. Rebecca couldn’t remember his type. We didn’t even ask. We donated anyway. Because even if we’re not a match for Ryan, we’re a match for someone else’s brother…” I almost say boyfriend, but I can’t bring myself to think of Sam as his anymore. If I can’t have her, I’m just going to pretend she doesn’t exist. It’s the only way I can fathom surviving this. “Someone else’s brother, friend,
son
.”

“You’ve always gotta be the smart-ass, don’t you?” Dad says. “Your mother’s exhausted. The last thing she needs is to have her blood drained unnecessarily.” Just as he speaks those words, my mind starts connecting dots. Son of a bitch. Mom’s A positive. She’s not a match. Dad’s a match. He’s O neg. I’m O positive. That’s impossible. Bile creeps up the back of my throat as my stomach rumbles incessantly. I have to get away from them, get some space. Ordinarily, I’d talk to Bradley, but I don’t even have charge to be able to call him.

“Joe?” Mom asks.

My eyes are fixed on Dad’s. We never looked alike. Everyone’s always said I’m a spitting image of my mother. Ryan and I got her brown eyes. But my features have always been much darker than his…and hers. Ryan and I are a totally different build.

“Are you okay, son?” Dad asks.

Words swirl in my mind, but none seem to find their way out until I finally blink and look away. “Yeah. Whatever.” My stomach growls loudly. “I’m gonna go get food while there’s a break. You wanna come with me, Mom?” When my eyes meet hers, her tears begin to flow more freely. A pained expression washes over her, and she shakes her head. “Joe,” she mouths. I clench my eyes closed while grinding my teeth. My hands ball into fists.

Dad nods. “I was gonna suggest you take her to the cafeteria while I donate. She’s barely eaten since we got the news.”

“Let’s go so we can get back.” I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about getting back at this point. The only thing I care about is getting answers. All these years they’ve made me feel inferior, and I guess I am. I’m really a bastard. Did Dad know? Did Ryan? Is the joke on me? Am I the laughing stock of the family? It’s easier to overlook your own disgraces when you focus on someone else’s.

Mom turns toward Dad. One look at her and his arms stretch to embrace her. Oh.
She’s not crying for the reasons you think.
Unless he knew. I scan his face. He glares at me. The conversation I had with Sam on the carriage ride to the wedding plays in my mind.
Secrets destroy lives.
This is karma. This is payback for going after what wasn’t mine to take. This is the universe saying, “Fuck you, Joe.” This is the end game. My chest hurts. There’s a whooshing in my ears, and my head feels like it’s about to explode with questions. I place my hand on her back. “Ma. C’mon so Dad can help Ryan.” That’ll pull her in my direction. Because she couldn’t possibly want to spend time with me. She couldn’t possibly want to save me. Saving me would have meant no secrets. No deception.

When we are out of earshot from Dad, I glare at her. She looks straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with me. I press the button for the elevator. “So,” I mutter.

“Joe. Let’s not do this here.”

I narrow my eyes. “And just when and where do you prefer to do this? Oh. That’s right. You don’t. You’d prefer to let me spend my entire effing life oblivious,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

“We didn’t know.”

My head jerks back. “You didn’t know you slept with another man who fathered your child?” Laughter bolsters from me as the elevator dings and we step in. I jab the button.

“Watch yourself. I’m still your mother, and you will respect me.”

“Ha. Respect is given where respect is earned. You can explain yourself, and then maybe you’ll have earned my respect. You can start with does Dad know?”

She nods.

In-fucking-credible.

“Ryan?”

She shakes her head. Well, that’s reassuring. “So this explains why I was never good enough for either of you? I reminded you of your ex-lover.”

“It’s not quite like that.”

“Great!” I throw my hands up toward the ceiling as the elevator stops. “I can’t wait to hear the whole damn story.”

The doors open. “Watch your language.”

I step out, but she’s still behind me. “Or what? You’re going to ground me? Thank God those days are over.”

“Son—”

“Don’t son me right now, Mother.” She steps off and I wait a second for her to catch up with me. My legs are much longer than hers. “Does anyone else know?”

“You have every right to be upset, but I swear we didn’t know.”

I cock my head. “You didn’t know?” I ask with a laugh. “All these years you’ve really convinced yourself I’m stupid, haven’t you?” We walk through the doors of the cafeteria. “I’m a hell of a lot more intelligent than you give me credit for.”

“Can we please just sit somewhere and talk? Maybe without such a colorful vocabulary.”

That makes me think about the summer I spent memorizing the dictionary. It wasn’t so much out of boredom like I told Sam. It was out of an urge to escape their shit. “I’m starving, so I’m gonna get food first. Dad said you need to eat too.”

“My stomach is rolling. There’s no way I can consume food right now.”

Good. I hope it’s tumbling like a damn washing machine because mine feels like a dryer with sneakers beating it to death. But my hope is food will give me the strength to make it through this conversation before I lose my mind. “Whatever,” I grumble.

We go in opposite directions. I get in the line for fresh breakfast. She picks up a banana and stands by the cashier, watching me. The young female server stares me down, holding a Styrofoam box. “What can I get for you, sir?”

“Two servings of egg whites and grits.”

“That’s it?”

Jack. Vodka. Tequila. “That’s it.” I smile. She looks like a sweet enough girl. She doesn’t deserve my frown, my attitude, or my frustration with the universe.

She passes the box over the glass partition. “Here you go. Have a great day.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the container and starting to walk to grab a drink. Why do people in the hospital tell you to have a great day? The only non-medical people here who are having a great day are the ones who are having healthy babies. Maybe she thinks I’m a proud father. Father. She made me want kids. Sam did. I could actually see myself rubbing her growing belly, adoring a baby. But we can’t be together, and not knowing who my father is right now—knowing my mother slept with another man—makes me never want to procreate. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe there is no possible way to have a family free of dysfunction. There’s no way I’d want to bring another human being into this world to go through the hell I’m experiencing right now.

The cooler has yogurt parfaits that look decent, so I grab one of those in addition to a bottle of water, then take a few steps to join my mother. I nod at her hands. “A banana. That’s it?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah. And Dad told me to feed you. He won’t be upset with you. He’ll be upset with me. But that’s the story of my life, right? It won’t be anything new.”

For a second, while I was waiting in line for my food back there, I felt like an asshole when I saw her bloodshot, droopy eyes. Her prodigal son is upstairs fighting for his life. She’s flown nearly halfway around the world surely riddled with worry. But dammit, she’s kept one of the most important things from me my entire life. And maybe if I could do something right in their eyes, I could swallow it all a little easier, but even with her knowing I know, she still has nothing nice to say.