Or less.
Please,pleaselet me get there in time.
Ubering would be pricey and still take so freaking long. There’s nothing more awkward than a stranger watching you bawl your eyes out, so those three plus hours will feel like torture for both of us.
If only I had access to a private jet.
Wait…
Lightning strikes in a brilliant flash, and I’m scrolling through my phone as quickly. I tap the name before I can talk myself out of it with all the reasons why I shouldn’t, focusing on the karmic balance the universe is providing me.
Ezekiel King answers on the second ring.
“Hey, it’s Mia. I need a favor, and you owe me.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Once I reach room 224 in the Neurological Intensive Care Unit of the hospital, I stand immediately outside it, the quiver in my lip and chin causing an internal quake I can’t get to stop.
Thanks to King EZ, I’ve arrived a mere hour after finding out Grandma Helen was here. At last update, she was in and out of consciousness, her speech greatly affected by the stroke, but I haven’t seen Wanda, Rita, or the rest of the gals since my arrival. Not that surprising, considering the instant I slapped on a visitor’s badge, I sprinted from the reception desk to the elevator to speed walk across the tile floor of the ICU.
To then stand like a scared little girl outside my grandma’s hospital room door.
I’m braver than I’ve ever been; I can do hard things.
Expelling my breath until I don’t have any left, I wrap my fingers around the cool metal handle and yank open the door.
Antiseptic and the steady beeping of monitors greet me, and my grandma lies there in the center of a tiny bed that manages to make her look tinier still.
She’s so pale, her lips and skin bled of color, causing every bruise and protruding vein to stand out. With her features so gaunt, cheeks hollowed out, she appears to have aged a decade since the last time I saw her.
“Oh, Grandma,” I cry, saltwater trails leaking down my cheeks.
I’ve never once considered her fragile, but it’s the word that flashes like a neon sign. She’s the reason I’m me, and the idea of losing her for good…?
No more wine and margarita nights or unsolicited advice? No more correcting grammar or piano notes, coercing me into social obligations, or pressuring me into taking a much-needed break? No more “dear girl,” or being wrapped in her incredible hugs that smelled like rosewater, Downy, and vanilla?
No more being graciously flattered and coddled like the little girl I rarely got to be?
A mournful noise erupts, ripping through me and out in the air to get swallowed up by the noisy flashing monitors.
My feet propel me forward, and I fling myself over her, gently and barely making contact, but unable to help myself after being afraid I wouldn’t get to say goodbye—even though I don’t want to do that, either. I’m bawling uncontrollably now, all my stifled emotions from the past few months barraging me at once.
“You were right,” I say between jags. “I stopped taking care of myself or paying attention to anything my body was telling me. As hard as I tried, I’m shit at work/life balance and even worse at not giving my all, plus a pinch more for good measure.
“If I’m being completely transparent, I thought you ladies were off your rockers when we first made our bargain. I told myself it wasn’t real life, so I left it behind for a city that doesn’t give a shit about me, where I don’t have any friends, only to discover my time at Lakeview with all of you was the realest, most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve been unhappy and missing everybody since. I never should’ve left, not when my family and my heart are here.”
I take hold of her hand the way she’s taken hold of mine countless times, trying to pour into her the strength she poured into me.
“S’oookay, d-dear gurrl.” Her voice comes out slightly garbled, as if she has to work for her words. “I’m…ffine.”
Not me. I fall apart, nothing but a blubbering mess of limbs, an achy chest, and gratitude that I’m not too late, because we both know she’s not truly fine. Not in the way I desperately long for her to be.
I’ve resolved to remain fully in the present, savoring each and every minute we have left. Since I’ve also learned my lesson about waiting, I blurt out the words that’ve cycled through my head again and again since returning to Miami. “I’m so sorry how we left things. I really admire you so much for getting yourself out of a bad situation, and I just love you so much, I hope you know that.”
While Grandma Helen’s still struggling with her speech, the cadence tells me she’s returned the sentiment.
The door swings open, and I pivot, expecting a nurse or a doctor I can quiz for information. Instead, in walk Wanda, Rita, and Arlene, arms loaded with vending machine fare. Sophia, the bubbies, and Vonetta and Gertie follow behind and, bringing up the rear, shaking his head in exasperation, is Noah.
