There was something strained about his expression, though he smiled and sang along with the others. I tried to ignore it. I wasn’t going to be anything except happy today. My parents were visiting. It had been nearly six months since I’d last seen them. On the call last month, they’d said they might even bring Tom for my birthday. God, I couldn’t imagine how different he looked now. The last picture I’d seen had been a year old already.
Even though my parents hadn’t called to reconfirm they were coming, I knew they would. They had to. Sixteen was important.Sixteen warranted showing up. I believed they’d stick to what they said on the call four weeks ago, because the alternative was too painful to swallow.
This morning, I’d woken at the crack of dawn. The room had still been pitch dark, the facility's lights programmed to echo the natural sunrise outside. I’d slid out of bed, the cool floor against my bare feet sending a familiar shiver up my spine. I’d padded to the attached bathroom, seeing the look in my eyes that all too often preceded heartbreak. But today would be different, so I stared back at myself with confidence. I washed my face, then wet my comb under the tap. I drew the closely spaced tines carefully through my silver-white hair, wincing at tangles but persisting until each strand lay smooth. I wanted my mom to look at me and not feel sad. I wanted my dad to remember he thought that I was strong. Mostly, I wanted them to see me, now sixteen, still alive and hoping for a future.
After changing into what I considered my nicest scrubs, I began the waiting game. I moved from bed to chair to standing, watching time tick by. When I needed something more to occupy me, to keep me from going crazy, I began to tidy my room.
I moved the origami cranes around, lining them up in a pattern of pale pink, blue, yellow, peach, then changing my mind and grouping them by color. I picked up the books and placed them standing up, two snow globes on either side as bookends. I didn’t like how that looked, so I stacked them back on top of each other horizontally, largest book on the bottom. I kept mindlessly rearranging until nothing looked right, and everything looked wrong.
By eight a.m., the room was returned to its original state, with every item happily resting in its normal home.
At eight-thirty a.m., a nurse brought breakfast. I couldn’t eat. Butterflies rioted in my stomach, making me feel sick.
At nine a.m., another nurse came and took my vitals and gave me my morning meds. Shortly after, routine bloodwork.
Visiting hours officially began at ten a.m., and time seemed to move faster after that, every passing second taunting me.
Eleven o’clock came and went.
Lunch arrived at eleven-thirty a.m. sharp.
At twelve-fifteen, staff lined up outside my room to sing.
And now, twelve-thirty, I was trying to smile despite wanting to cry. I knew, logically, there were still over five visiting hours left. My parents had to drive nearly four to get here. They were just running late.
“We wish we could all come in, Lucy!” Voices overlapped, sending me kind words through the intercom. “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite patient!” someone shouted, but there were too many faces, too many mouths moving. I didn’t know who was talking. Eventually, Doctor Emerson shooed them all away before letting me know he’d be back with a treat I could eat. A cake in the middle of a gaggle of singing people wasn’t the best option. Too many germs.
At twelve-fifty, Doctor Emerson—dressed in protective gear—entered my room holding a cupcake inside a plastic container. “Ta-da!” He walked over to me, doing a silly little dance as he approached. As he set it down on my table, he frowned at the uneaten lunch.
“Try to eat something decent before you dive into this,” he tapped the cupcake container’s lid.
“How about I eat something decent after dessert? It is my birthday.”
He thought for a moment. “As your doctor, I’m prescribing sugar first, proper nutrition second. It’s a birthday imperative.”
I tried to laugh, but the sound died before it could be born.
“I’m sure there’ll come, Lucy.”
“They said they would last month. Have you talked to them recently?” I looked at him hopefully.
He nodded slowly. “Two weeks ago. We were discussing—” he stopped speaking abruptly, then cleared his throat, “just some normal things. Your levels and such.”
Doctor Emerson was holding something back, but I was too anxious to care right then.
“Maybe we can try to call them now? On their cell phones?” I stared at the airlock, willing my parents to magically appear.
“Sure, Lucy. I can try to give them a call and see how far away they are.” For the first time since I’d known him, Doctor Emerson’s voice took on that quality I’d heard far too often in other facilities—false promises, ones that couldn’t be kept even if he tried. But again, I had too much on my mind to analyze.
I didn’t touch my food after Doctor Emerson left, not even the cupcake.
Two o’clock slipped past, marked only by the mechanical precision of the wall clock's minute hand.
At four p.m., Doctor Emerson came back.
“Did you call them? What did they say? Are they almost here?” I bombarded him as soon as he stepped through the second set of sliding doors.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. Neither answered their cells. I tried the landline number as well.”
