PROLOGUE
9 years ago
Isthis what death feels like? Because I'm completely numb.I'm sitting here in the hospital, waiting on news about my sister and brother-in-law.
Mom called me screaming in the middle of a study night, telling me I had to get to Grant Medical Center as soon as possible because Belle and her husband, Alex, were in a car accident. Their nine-month-old daughter, Sunny, was in the car with them.
And now they’re in the hospital.
My sister and brother-in-law are both in surgery and have been for hours. I have no idea how long I've been sitting here. One hour? Two?
It doesn’t matter. I can't feel anything.
I feel like if she was alive, I would know it. I feel like if she wasn't alive, I would know it. Aren’t you supposed to feel a soul-deep connection to the people you love? I’ve read about people feeling a tug on their souls when something terrible happens to their spouses or families.
That didn’t happen for me. While my sister was experiencing hell on wheels —dammit, Alis, now is not the time for puns— I was overstuffing my mouth with pizza, bopping my head and feet to TaylorSwift, and reading through my paper about the symbolic anthropomorphism ofThe Ravenfor my American Lit seminar.
And now? I can't think. I can't feel. I can't do anything. I'm just staring at the wall, looking at this ridiculous framed print of a pelican.
Who the fuck thought a painting of a pelican sitting on a jette would be a comforting scene to look at while waiting for a loved one to get out of surgery?Pelicans are giant sea birds with the largest double chins in the history of double chins. They aren’t pretty. They aren’t serene. This picture isn’t at all relaxing to look at. It has no purpose.
I take that back. I’m annoyed with the pelican painting. Annoyance is a feeling. The pelican serves a purpose.
Glancing away from the bird, I look over at my parents, huddled together near the waiting room door.
This kind of stuff happens in movies, but not in real life. Right?
Dad said the guy who hit them died on impact. He was drunk, veered into their lane, and hit them head-on when they were on their way home from dinner.
That’s something I loved about my sister.
LOVE. Not loved. She’s alive. Past tense has no place here.
I love that, even with a nine-month-old baby, she and Alex still go out to dinner. They live full lives and include Sunny in their fun. Belle never hibernated or complained about being too tired to take a crying infant into public places. I hope that, if I ever become a mom, I'll be like her, and will see my children as whole people from the moment they are born.
Our family has never subscribed to the “children should be seen but not heard” mentality. I'm thankful that Belle and Alex followed in our parents’ footsteps.
Gosh, what is taking so long?I swear she has been in there forever.
Alex too. Alex has been in surgery for hours.
Sunny seems fine. The doctors looked her over and thankfully she didn’t have any internal bleeding. She’s bruised from the car seat straps and I’m sure she was shaken up during the collision, but otherthan that she’s fine. They’re keeping her overnight for observation, and my aunt is sitting with her in her hospital room.
Note to self: Post a five-star review for Britax on Amazon. The Uber-expensive car seat saved my niece's life tonight.
I’m still staring at my parents. It looks like they’re slow dancing, hugging each other and swaying as mom cries silent tears. Every so often they still, breathing heavily, until more tears come, and their bodies sob and sway once again.
Watching them together is the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing I've ever witnessed. It should warm or break my numb heart. But the thought just appears in my brain, beautiful words devoid of emotion.
My parents hugged me when I arrived, but I couldn’t stay in their embrace. My body repelled any physical contact. I needed space. Silence. A bench to myself. A wall to stare at. And then the stupid fucking pelican showed up. I guess the pelican didn't show up; I did. The bird was here first.
Shouldn’t I have some underlying feeling of hope or dread? Am I in shock? Is this what shock feels like?
Jarred from my thoughts, I look up as the double doors swing open. A doctor in scrubs walks in. “Alex Donnelly? Alex Donnelly's family?”
That’s us.
I stand and meet my parents as they signal to the doctor that we are Alex’s family.
