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Amanda sat on the ottoman with a thump. This family’s kindness was never ending, but Amanda felt so unworthy. She shook her head and tried to tell her that she didn’t have to stay. Trix sat on the chair next to her and grabbed her hands again. Amanda’s tears were dangerously close this time, and she dug her fingernails in her hands to push the feelings away. “But this has to be too hard for you,” Amanda finally said in a shuddery voice, April’s soft breathing and the beeping of the machines in the background. “You and Jake have spent enough time in the hospital.”

“So have you,” Jake said from the doorway, a pile of pillows in his arms. “I’m staying. But, mom, you should go.” Jake dropped the pillows on the chair and put his hands on his hips.

Amanda nodded at her.

“Okay, kids. We all know we’re worried about each other. No more arguing. We’re all staying.” Trix reached into her bag and pulled out a newspaper, ending the conversation. Amanda and Jake settled into their chairs.

When the next shift of nurses arrived, Amanda was asleep on a soft chair. Trix and Jake had pushed the ottoman under her legs and tried to get her to stretch out so she could sleep more comfortably. Jake turned on the TV without volume and watched music videos. Trix went into the hallway with one of the nurses after midnight to ask what April’s situation was.

Amanda awoke at 4:17 a.m. It was still dark outside. Trix was curled in a soft chair with her head resting on two pillows, looking surprisingly comfortable. Amanda saw that Jake was staring blankly at MTV with no sound.

“How can you stand to watch TV without sound?” Amanda asked softly.

Jake jumped a little at her voice, and then turned to smile at her. “Do you really think infomercials are any better with the sound on?”

Amanda stretched, and realized she must look and smell awful. She could taste peanut M&Ms in her teeth. She reached for a bottle of water and swished before she swallowed.

“I don’t ever sleep here,” Jake said, “so I’ve always gotten acquainted with the overnight TV schedule on my hospital stays.” Jake flipped to Nick at Nite broadcasting and an episode of
The Cosby Show
was on.

“I always did homework,” Amanda said, scrunching down under a mismatched quilt with yarn ties that smelled like Rosemilk lotion and antiseptic cleaner. “This is so pathetic, but I actually used to do extra reading, or work ahead in math, or even write papers that weren’t assigned because I needed something to keep me occupied.”

“Geez, Amanda, let’s not play ‘Who’s the most pathetic?’ because you always win this game … Couldn’t you just have read a magazine?” Jake rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and yawned.

“They don’t make ‘Harley Daughter’ magazine, and I just have never been able to relate to anything else.
Seventeen
and all those magazines talked about prom and boyfriends and celebrity crushes, and those things were always light years away from chemotherapy and hospitals.” As always, Amanda’s attempt at sounding light and funny came out harsh and awful.

Jake reacted.

“Amanda!” Jake said suddenly and loudly, causing Trix to jump in her sleep. “Don’t you think you might have had a more normal life if you would have tried to have one? It’s like the second any typical life experience presented itself, you said ‘piss on that’ and went the other way.”

“Jacob!” Trix sat up in her chair and glared at him. Amanda didn’t understand his anger, but she did understand her own.

“You have no idea what I tried or didn’t try to do. You have no idea what anything was like for me, Mr. Perfect Family, so go to hell!” Amanda jumped up and ran out of her mother’s room into the neon lights of the hallway. She went into the family lounge and threw herself on the vinyl couch. He could never understand the lonely Thanksgivings they spent at a café, and the Christmases with the fuschia tinsel tree with eight ornaments and three gifts under it. He would never know the feeling of not being able to get too close to friends because eventually she would have to invite them to her house, and she could never let people into that part of her world. Teachers were usually lukewarm, coaches loved her for her ability, and everyone else ignored her. Jake would never know that reading a magazine or a book or watching a sitcom just reinforced how alone she was.

Amanda knew that Trix would come in the room in a few minutes and try to explain to her why Jake was so upset. She didn’t want to hear it. With all their kindness and perfection, the Mann family also brought baggage that wore Amanda out. She was even more frustrated because they were in her mother’s hospital room, one of the few places she could claim as her own. She wished they would just leave her alone. Connections had their price.

An older nurse named Bonnie passed the family room and saw that Amanda was sprawled on the vinyl sofa. Bonnie had worked a lot with April the first time she had cancer, but had cut back on her hours since her husband was diagnosed with cancer around the first time April went home. Amanda had only seen her a few times since her mom returned to the hospital.

“Hi, Amanda,” Bonnie said warmly, sitting next to her on the couch. “I’ve been wondering about you. I heard you graduated.” Bonnie was small and plump with short, graying hair and glasses that she wore on a chain around her neck.

“Yep. I’m off to the U in a couple weeks,” Amanda said. She enjoyed talking to nurses like Bonnie because they never felt like they had to try to make her feel better, and they never felt awkward around her. “No idea what I’ll major in, but I guess I have a few years to decide.”

“Good for you. My daughter is going there too, totally undecided about her life.”

“Is this her first year too?” Amanda asked, not remembering that Bonnie had a daughter her age.

“No, she’s actually almost twenty-one,” Bonnie said. “She’s been working the last two years, but suddenly realized her mother is right and she won’t get far without a degree. Let me give you her number in case you want to look her up.” She pulled a receipt from her pocket and wrote her daughter’s address and phone number on the back and gave it to Amanda.

“Thanks,” Amanda said, taking the paper but knowing she would never call.

“Who’s that in your mom’s room,” Bonnie asked. “Is that her sister or something?”

Amanda sunk back on the couch. “Long story.” She looked away and hoped Bonnie would take the hint that she didn’t want to talk about them.

“Do you want them to go? I can ask them to leave if you want.”

Now there was a question
, Amanda thought. She wanted them to leave in a way, but only so she didn’t have to deal with them face to face. It had made a difference to have them sitting with her. She and Trix had played several hands of gin, which made the time pass faster. Jake had barely spoken, but his presence was comforting. Comfort was another new concept in her world.

“No, they can stay,” Amanda finally said. “They’re just some people I met recently who are trying to help me out. I’m the local charity case, you know.”

“Amanda, can I tell you something?” Bonnie leaned forward and put her hand on Amanda’s knee. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I’ve actually seen you here a lot, especially a few years ago when your mom was first diagnosed. I’ve been through this myself with my husband who passed away last March. I have lots of family—four brothers and a sister, many nieces and nephews, cousins, and my grandma who is still alive. It’s really true that in a crisis you learn who your friends are. My brothers didn’t have a clue about what to do for me, my sister lives in Florida, and my friends brought food and ran out the door as quick as they could. My sister-in-law, the one who is married to my youngest brother, was the one who came to the funeral home with me to pick out a casket. She stood with me at the funeral, wrote thank you notes with me afterwards, and took me out for coffee every Saturday morning without fail.”

“That’s nice,” Amanda said, beginning to feel awkward. Bonnie was right. They didn’t know each other very well, and she didn’t know why she was telling her all this now.

“My point is that it isn’t easy to support someone through a loss like this, and my family couldn’t really handle it. My sister-in-law was the only one who understood what I needed and was truly there for me, and she only married my brother three years ago. I don’t think these people would do all this because you’re a charity case,” Bonnie said.

“I don’t know why anyone would do all the things they’ve done for me,” Amanda said suddenly. “You wouldn’t believe what these people have done. They just give and give, and I keep waiting to hear what the catch is.”

“Maybe they are doing this because they like you, my dear. Maybe they get as much out of being with you as you get out of being with them.”

“I can’t imagine that,” Amanda said.

“Amanda!” Bonnie said, grabbing her shoulders and looking her in the face. “Are you really this cynical, or do you think you’re just not worth the effort?”

Amanda sighed and looked at the floor in reply.

“Oh dear,” Bonnie said. “I thought so.”

* * *

When Bonnie went back to her shift, Amanda saw that the sun was coming up and thought she should return to her mother’s room. She found Jake dozing and Trix sitting by the window watching the sunrise.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Trix said quietly. “I was going to chase you down, but I realized you might need some space so I didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” Amanda said. “Let’s just forget it.”

Trix opened her mouth to reply, but realized that she wouldn’t be “forgetting it” if she did, so she stopped herself. “Pretty sunrise.”

Amanda smiled absently and sat back on her chair, back in her “position.”

“Would you like me to run out and get some bagels?” Trix asked.

Amanda groaned. “I’m really not ready to eat yet. I’ll wait until after the rounds and see how I feel then.”

She figured that Trix somehow knew that she was waiting to see what the doctor thought her mother’s condition was before she allowed herself to plan the day. “Pull your chair over by the window so you can see this, Amanda.”

Obediently, Amanda sat by Trix to watch the sunrise. She felt like she could almost see the colors becoming more vivid and intense in the sky. But before long, the colors faded into light. The sky became light blue.

A nurse came in and began checking her mother’s vitals. Amanda allowed herself to look at her mom’s face, something she realized she had done very little. Her eyes were slightly open, though it would be more accurate to say they were not quite closed. Amanda was reminded she didn’t know the last conversation she had with her mother—the last time she had seen those eyes open. She would never see them open again. It seemed like she should have said something significant, or that her mother should have said something significant to her. Instead, their parting words had been incidentals.

“Are you the daughter?” the nurse asked coldly. There was a time when everyone in this hospital made a point of knowing who she was. Only three months before, they had hosted her graduation party. Not that much time had passed, but it seemed that they were all strangers.

Amanda got up and stood next to the nurse, reading the chart over her shoulder. Only notes were scribbled, and Amanda couldn’t see anything of significance. The nurse pulled the chart away so Amanda couldn’t see it.

“Dr. Hamabi will be through in a few minutes,” the nurse said curtly over her shoulder as she left the room.

Knowing that she was among strangers caused Amanda’s loneliness to swell again, and she had a horrid thought. She just wanted it to be over. She wanted to go eat ice cream and play hearts at the Mann’s kitchen table and pretend none of this was her reality. She wanted two parents who had a solid, stable marriage and a middle-class existence to drop her off at college in their minivan and cry when she finally kicked them out of her dorm room. Amanda was having so much trouble staying numb to the pain of too many losses and changes happening all at once. Her chest felt like a boulder was crushing it. She could hear herself almost gasping for air. Her fingernails dug into her palms until she could finally feel blood, her knuckles aching.

A small, balding Middle Eastern man wearing scrubs and a stethoscope around his neck walked in. He smiled kindly at her. “You are family, correct?”

“I’m her daughter,” Amanda said, almost whispering.

“Yes. Well,” he said, looking at her chart. “You understand she will most likely pass away in few days?”

“Yes, I know.”

“There no more patients on this unit,” Dr. Hamabi said. “I work on general medicine floor, and I check with you every few hours. The nurse will stay here most of time.”

“She’s the only person on this whole floor?” Trix asked incredulously.

He shook his head, closed her chart and looked at Amanda. “If her breathing becomes labored, heavy, or if there any big changes on monitors, push your call button.”

Amanda could only nod. When she dies, let us know.

* * *

After Dr. Hamabi left, Trix went to change clothes and pick up some breakfast.

“Let me see your hands,” Jake said suddenly. Amanda jumped, not knowing he was awake.

“What? Why?” Amanda said. “When did you wake up anyway?” She sat on her chair next to his.

He sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees.

“I saw you clenching your fists before,” Jake said. “Except it looked like you were trying to dig your nails into your hands. I want to see if you cut yourself.” He was irritable again.

“Jake, why are you here if you’re just going to get pissy and start arguments? Why don’t you just go home?” Amanda put her hands under her legs so he couldn’t get a look at them.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It would add to the melodrama of the lone daughter watching her mother die.” He put his head down in his hands and rubbed his hair hard.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Amanda yelled at him, her voice shaking with rage and exhaustion. “What are you mad at me for? Go home if you don’t want to be here. I never asked you to stay.”