They discharge me from the hospital on Wednesday, after a feverish night and a sickening amount of antibiotics getting shoved down my throat. I’m dizzy and cranky, sore and exhausted, yet they deem me fit to leave. I vomit five times.
My parents pick me up and the ten-block drive to my apartment building is filled with my father complaining about Manhattan parking garage prices and how alternate side of the street parking is the work of the devil himself. My mother is echoing his sentiments like she’s he’s background singer. When he stops for the red light on my corner, I bolt out of the car and tell them I need air and a bit of a walk. I hobble down the block to my apartment with my mother screaming at me through my father’s open window that I’m going todrop dead and die.Unmarried with no children.
The first thing I do when I get into my apartment is head straight for my bedroom and grab for my cellphone.
Which is dead, of course, since it hadn’t been plugged in for days.
With a deep steadying breath, I grab my charger off my nightstand and plug my cell phone in. The phone’s start-up icon flashes across the screen beneath a slowly crawling updating line. I sit at the edge of the bed, tip my head back, and knead at the tight muscles at the back of my neck as I wait. I count in my head to try and calm my aggravation.
I get to number fifty-six when dozens of pinging alarms notify me of missed texts and voice messages. My fingers tremble when I open them. The messages start from the night of the trip to the emergency room.
Dex:Jane. I’m so sorry.
Dex: Pick up your phone.
Dex: I know I said a lot of messed-up things. I know I screwed up.
Dex: Give me the chance to apologize.
Dex: Don’t let this mess us up.
Dex: I was hurt and drunk. I didn’t mean those things I said.
Dex: Stop ignoring me.
Dex: I’m dealing with feelings now that…
Dex: I’m not dealing well.
Dex: I really need to talk to you.
Dex: Don’t hate me.
Dex: You hate me this much? You can’t pick up the phone at all?
Dex: I’m drunk.
Dex: I have to go finalize things in California.
Dex: I guess you’re right. We need a break.
Dex: I hope one day we could…
Dex: FUCK. I really loved you.
Dex: Maybe we’ll never get back to the way things were.
Dex: I hope one day we could make up.
Dex: Friends, at least?
Dex: OKAY I GET THE SILENCE. I’ll leave you alone.
I stand up so quicklyI’m dizzy and I have to lean my back against the wall to try and stop my body from spinning along with the room. I hear my parents coming in my front door. I left it unlocked for them but immediately regret the decision when I listen to them moving around and bickering with each other about what to make for dinner. My father wants to get back home and broil some steak. Maybe some baked potatoes.
My mother knocks on my bedroom door, ignoring him. “I’m thinking of making some chicken soup. Does that sound good?”
“Sure,” I rasp. “But if you need to go home, that’s okay too. I’m…” trying not to have a massive coronary reading through all these messages. I haven’t even listened to the twenty-eight voice messages yet. “I’m just going to rest.”
