The Truth About Forever (35 page)

I was mulling over this as I stood by the buffet, spatula in hand, when a hand blurred across my vision. "Hello?" Wes said, as I blinked, looking at him. "Man, where were you?"

"The land of truth and consequences," I said, poking at the vegetarian option (grilled marinated peppers and spicy black-bean burgers) which had, so far, had no takers. "Less than an hour before everything hits the fan."

"Ah, right," he said, eyeing the veggie burgers disdainfully, "Jason."

"Not Jason," I said. "God. He's the least of my problems. My
mother
."

"Oh." He nodded. "Right."

"I haven't even thought about Jason," I told him, using the spatula to stack the burgers so that maybe they'd look more appetizing. "I mean, I was dreading seeing him at the library, because that was not going to be a good scene. But now… now, everything's different. I mean, we're…"

Wes waited, not saying anything, as I searched for the right word. A woman passed by, eyeing the peppers before loading up from the next pan, which was full of steaks.

"Over," I finished, realizing this myself just as I said it. I could only imagine Jason's response to me quitting the info desk: he'd never want me back now, and that, I realized, was just fine with me. "It's over," I said again, testing how I felt as my mouth formed the word. Okay, actually. "We're over."

"Wow," Wes said slowly. "Are you—"

"Excuse me, are these vegetarian?" I looked up to see a short, squat woman in a bright print dress, holding a plateful of potato chips. She had on thick, wire-rimmed glasses, which clearly were not strong enough for her to make out the sign that said VEGETARIAN ENTRÉE.

"Yes," I said. "They are."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded, then scooped up one of the burgers and put it on her plate. She squinted down at it, then moved on. To Wes I said, "What were you—"

"Lady at the corner table wants a white wine spritzer," Bert reported as he passed by with a trayful of crumpled napkins and empty cups. "Pronto!"

Wes started around the table, glancing back at me. "Um, nothing," he said. "I'll tell you later."

As he went back to the bar, Delia moved down the table, rearranging the items in the pans. "It is just so weird," she said, taking in the black-bean burgers, "because I meant to bring more of those, and forgot them. I was so worried we wouldn't have enough!"

"Nope," I said, waving off a fly that was buzzing over them. "Plenty."

"See, again," she said, sighing. "Too good. Too good! I don't like this. I need a sense of balance. I never thought I'd admit this, but I need
chaos
."

Just as we were leaving, she got her wish.

It happened as we were packing the last of our stuff into the van. Wes and I were pushing in the carts, and Delia was at the top of the driveway, getting her check from the client, who was so entirely happy with her catering experience that she was paying full price
and
adding a bonus, which was another first. So all was great, wonderful: perfect. And then I heard a shriek.

It wasn't Delia. Nope. It was the client, reacting to the fact that Delia's water had just broken. The baby was on its way.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I'm fine. Fine."

This was my mantra, the thing I kept saying in my mind. Actually, though, I wasn't entirely certain. All I knew for sure was that I was at the hospital: everything beyond that, like the last time I'd been here, was a bit of a blur.

After the initial shock of the water breaking, we'd done what we did best: gathered our wits, got a plan, and went into action. It wasn't until we'd piled into the van and were on our way to the hospital, Delia beside me, my hand gripped in hers, that I'd glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was five forty-five, which meant that in fifteen minutes, I was supposed to be meeting my mother at the Commons. Considering how things were going, this should have been my biggest concern. But instead, my mind kept drifting back to another ride, not so long ago.

Then, I'd been holding a hand, too. My father's, though, had been limp, my fingers doing all the work to hold our palms to each other. Instead of Bert, who was breathing loudly through his nose while Delia waved him off, annoyed, there'd been a paramedic across from me, his hands moving swiftly to attach an oxygen mask and prepare the defibrillator. And instead of the wind whooshing past from Wes's open window, and Delia on her cell phone calmly making arrangements with Pete and the babysitter, there had been an eerie, scary silence, punctuated only by the sound of my heart beating in my ears. Then, a life was ending. Here, one was about to begin. I didn't believe in signs. But it was hard to ignore the fact that someone, somewhere, might have wanted me to go through this again and see there was another outcome.

The memories were everywhere. When we pulled up at the curb, it was in the same spot. Entering emergency, the doors made that same smooth
swish
noise. Even the smell was the same, that inexplicable mix of disinfectant and florals. For a second, I'd thought for sure I couldn't do it, and found myself hanging back. But then Wes turned back and looked at me, offering the same question he'd been asking ever since. I'd nodded, then fallen in beside him. He was pushing Delia in a wheelchair and she was taking deep, slow breaths, so I did too. When we got on the elevator and the doors slid shut, I finally relaxed and felt myself rise.

What I felt now was a different kind of scared. For the past two and a half hours, I'd sat on the bench in the hallway a few feet down from Delia's room, watching as doctors and nurses first ambled in and out, as if there were a million years before anything really happened, then started moving more quickly, and even more so, and then suddenly, everything was a commotion. Machines were beeping, voices calling out pages overhead, the floor beneath my feet reverberating as a doctor jogged down the hallway, his stethoscope thumping against his chest.

In my opinion, everyone else was entirely too calm. Especially Wes, who, when he wasn't asking if I was all right, was eating one of the many snack foods he kept disappearing to buy from the vending machine downstairs. Now, as he unwrapped a package of little chocolate doughnuts, offering me one, I shook my head.

"I don't see how you can turn down a chocolate doughnut," he said, popping one into his mouth. From Delia's doorway, I was sure I heard a groan or a moan, followed by Pete's voice, soothing.

"I don't see how you can
eat
," I replied, as a nurse emerged from the room, her arms full of some sort of linens, and started down the hallway toward the desk.

He chewed for a second, then swallowed. "This could go on for ages," he said, as Bert, who was sitting on his other side, jerked awake from the nap he'd been taking for the last half hour, blinking. "You have to keep your strength up."

"What time is it?" Bert asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

Wes handed him a doughnut. "Almost seven," he said.

I felt my stomach do a flip-flop, although I wasn't sure it was from hearing that I was now officially an hour late to meet my mother, or from the shriek that came from Delia's room, this one loud and extended enough that we all looked at the slightly open door until it abruptly stopped. In the quiet that followed, I pushed myself to my feet.

"Macy?" Wes said.

"I'm fine," I said, knowing that was his next question. "I'm just going to call my mom."

I'd left my cell phone in the van, so I walked to the line of pay phones, digging some change out of my pocket. The first time, the line was busy and I hung up and tried again. Still busy. I pushed open a door that led outside to a small patio, where I sat for a few minutes, looking at the sky, which was slowly growing darker. It was perfect fireworks weather. Then I went back inside and called again, getting the solid busy beep once more. This time, I held on for her voicemail, then cleared my throat and tried to explain.

"It's me," I said, "I know you're probably worried, and I'm really sorry. I was on my way to meet you but Delia went into labor so now I'm at the hospital. I have to wait until someone can drive me, but I'll get there as soon as I can. I'm sorry, again. I'll see you soon."

There, I thought as I hung up the phone. Done. I knew it wouldn't solve everything, or even anything. But I'd deal with that when the time came.

When I came back to the bench where Wes and Bert and I had been sitting, it was empty. In fact, there was nobody in the hallway at all, or at the nurses' station, and for a second I just stood there, feeling totally creeped out. Then Wes stuck his head out of Delia's room. He was grinning.

"Hey," he said. "Come see."

He held the door for me as I stepped inside. Delia was sitting up in the bed, the sheets gathered around her midsection. Her face was flushed, and in her arms was this tiny little thing with dark hair. Pete was sitting on her right, his arm over her shoulders, and they were both looking down at the baby. The room was so quiet, but in a good way. By the window, even Bert, pessimist of pessimists, was smiling.

Then Delia looked up and saw me. "Hey," she said softly, waving me over. "Come say hello." As I came around the bed, she shifted her arms, so the baby was closer to me. "Look. Isn't she beautiful?"

Up close, the baby looked even smaller: her eyes were closed, and she was making these little snuffly noises, like she was dreaming about something amazing. "She's perfect," I said, and for once, it was the exact right word to use.

Delia trailed her finger over the baby's cheek. "We're calling her Avery," she said. "It's Pete's mom's name. Avery Melissa."

"I like it," I said.

I stared down at the baby's face, her little nose, the tiny nails on her tiny fingers, and suddenly it all came back to me: getting here, the walk across the lobby, how scared I'd been remembering everything about being with my dad. I could feel it rushing over me and I wanted to block it out, but I steeled myself, tightening my fingers into my palms. Avery's eyes were open now, and they were dark and clear. As she looked at me, I wondered what it was like for the world to be so new, everything a first. Today I hadn't had that luxury: each thing that happened since the moment we pulled up was an echo of something else.

Now I watched Delia study her daughter, smiling and slightly teary, and I had a flash of my own mother, all those months ago, walking out of the waiting room downstairs toward me. More than anything I'd wanted to see something in her expression that gave me hope, but there was nothing. Just the same overwhelming sadness and shock, reflected back at me. That had been when this all began, the shift between us, everything changing.

I felt something ache in my chest, and suddenly I knew I was going to cry. For me, for my mother. For what we'd had taken from us, but also for what we'd given up willingly. So much of a life. And so much of each other.

I swallowed, hard, then backed away from the bed. "I, um."

I said, and I could feel Wes watching me, "I need to go try my mom again."

"Tell her I couldn't have done it without you," Delia said. "You were a real pro."

I nodded, barely hearing this, as Delia bent her head back over the baby, smoothing the blanket around her head.