“Seriously,” I say, extending a hand toward the clock reading eight a.m.
She snaps her fingers, “Right, mimosas it is.” She rises from her chair and, with long, purposeful strides, goes to the kitchen. She swings open the fridge, searching its contents. I can't help but smile when she spots it as she turns back, she grins widely. “I knew you’d have it.” She grabs a dish towel I keep ready by the sink and pops the top, as if it were champagne meant for a celebration rather than a confession. She pours us each a glass, topped with just a small amount of orange juice for added color.
I lead us to the couch, but she halts mid-stride, reaching back for the orange juice and champagne, and carrying them to the table with us as she sinks into the cushions. A pillow lands across her lap as she makes herself comfortable, wiggling into the sofa before sighing.
She scoops her long hair up, tucking it over one shoulder, and rests her hand on her legs. Sitting up straight and giving me her undivided attention, she clears her throat before saying, “Okay, I'm ready now,” she says thoughtfully, and I realize my friends are completely insane. I’m about to begin when she interrupts. “Start from the beginning,” she lectures, “and don’t leave anything out.”
So I do. I skip over the parts about covering up his dad’s murder, but from the sharp look she gives me, I suspect she may have guessed the truth. I also know I didn’t exactly handle myself well last night, but she doesn’t bring that up at all. She pretends like it never happened.
Afterwards, we talk, and Emma insists that I move to Boston so I can find him. With all my heart, I know she’s right. And with her help, I begin to put the plan in motion.
PART 2
THE PRESENT
“All human beings, as we meet them are commingled out of good and evil.”
Robert Louis Stevenson, Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde
TWENTY-ONE
DANI
Four Years Later
Age 30
Sighing, I stand from my chair in the testing center after taking my Certification for Hospice and Palliative Nursing (CHPN). After years in the emergency department, I finally found a specialty where I could make a real difference. It started one day when a family member brought in their mother, who was dying of cancer. She hadn’t had a care plan in place, and ended up intubated, despite a poor prognosis and rapidly declining quality of life. The doctor informed them that she would not likely leave the hospital this time. Later, they chose to withdraw support. Maybe if they had received information about hospice options earlier, they might have been better prepared for that moment. Still, even the best-laid plans can sometimes fall apart.
Can you ever really be prepared? Emotionally, no. However, having a plan helps you think clearly, find a middle ground, and simply focus on being present in their final days, hours,or even minutes. I know that I wasn't prepared when my mom passed away, despite knowing it was coming. The hospice nurse, making her comfortable in those final hours, was invaluable. I hope to provide that same guidance to others—to offer support, clarity, and the information they need to make decisions they can accept and feel at peace with when that time finally comes.
As I slip into my car and start the engine, the drive through the city passes by in a blur of pavement and shopping malls. The streets seem quieter than usual, or it's just the thoughts in my head that are subdued. The late morning sun reflects off the glass of the building as I approach the downtown area, and I let my mind wander. I think about the patients I’ve helped, my mom’s passing, and the uncertain future that still lies ahead. Each mile brings a strange mixture of nostalgia and hope. Am I making the right choice?
By the time I pull into the emergency department, my thoughts have shifted to the present. The familiar chaos of ambulances, paramedics, and nurses rushing about is a setting I’ve been familiar with for years. I find it strangely comforting, despite the stress it carries, because it always keeps my mind busy.
I enter the emergency department to clear out my locker, and Liv greets me. “Hey, you,” she chirps, looping her toned arm around my shoulder as I rest my head against hers. This place has been a familiar setting for years, and the friends I have made here are the best part. “How’d it go today?” she asks, and I can’t help but smile.
“Passed like a superstar." I laugh, and Liv claps.
“Well, of course you did!” She does a little hop. “I never doubted it for a second.”
“Yeah, now I just need to send off my résumé to a certain hospital in Boston,” I say sheepishly. “I’m going to miss you guys,” I admit.
Her eyes mist. “I’m going to miss you, too.” She starts crying and hugs me, squeezing me tightly. I hear a distinctive clatter of clogs approaching before I see her.
“Oh, ease up, besties.” Emma snorts as she walks up to us. “You know Liv, she's so emotional when she’s pregnant.” She laughs, rolling her eyes and hitching her thumb in Liv’s direction.
Liv nods, agreeing. “It’s true.” She dabs at her eyes with her sleeve, and I cringe, thinking about what it has touched in this place, hoping she doesn’t lose an eye. “Are you glad you took a little time off to pack and then make that big move?”
I bit my lip, mulling it over. “Yeah, I’ll need the time.”
Emma’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “Need the time to stalk things out?” she says.
“I think she meansstake,” Liv counters, but Emma just hides her smirk before turning to watch a stretcher rolling past. A paramedic squeezes the bag as they rush the patient into the trauma bay with several people following close behind.
“And that’s my cue to go,” Emma says as she waves before following suit. Liv insists on hugging me one last time as she reluctantly leaves, taking the hallway that veers off to the right and walking back to her urgent care station. Opening the door to the women’s locker room, I open the bag I brought and begin the task of removing my years of memories from this place, which hang in the form of photos and well-meaning gifts. I notice an envelope and see the cursive sprawl of Emma’s writing on the front. I place this in my purse to read when I get home. I pick up the stethoscope my mother gifted me the day I was accepted into nursing school and hold it tightly. A single tear slips from my eye, and I can’t help the sadness of losing her in such a cruel way. The monster that stole her from this world too soon. Fuck cancer. I place it delicately on the top of my belongings and close the locker with finality, knowing that I won’t be returning, andthe next time I hang my stethoscope in a locker, it will be in a different city and hopefully, if I plan it out correctly, at the same hospital Vic works at.
I grab my bag of belongings, swing them over my shoulder, and exit the building for the last time. Memories of fun times with my friends, and reminders of how exhausting this job can be, flood me. Yeah, I definitely won’t miss it all. I take a moment to savor the accomplishment, letting it sink in, before moving on to what I hope will be the final defining chapters of my life.
