Half an hour later, I rushed into my mother’s hospital room, my skin clammy with dread. I couldn’t get a hold of my father, who was in London for business this week, and I’d declined Xavier’s offer tocome with me. They had their own business to take care of, and I didn’t want them to see behind my family’s shiny veneer. I hated pity.
My mother was sitting up in her bed when I arrived. “Oh, Sebastian.” She sighed. “I told them not to call you.”
“What happened?” I demanded. “Are you okay?”
Other than a few cuts and bruises, she looked intact. Still, I scanned her frantically, searching for any injuries I might’ve missed.
“I’m fine,” she assured me. “I was at a charity planning lunch with Buffy Darlington. We’re on the board of the Wildlife Preservation Fund together. Anyway, I may have had afewtoo many drinks, and I crossed the street without looking. A car turned the corner and…” She shrugged. “Here I am.”
A headache pulsed behind my temple. “You got hit by a car, and you say you’refine?”
“I am! And I didn’t get hit. He was going so slow that it was more like a light tap.” My mother switched to her native French, which she always did when she was annoyed. “Everyone’s making such a big deal out of nothing. I hope you didn’t call your father. This isn’t worth him flying back.”
Bruises aside, she did seem like herself, but my brain latched on to what she’d said earlier.
“I thought you were going to stop drinking during the day,” I said in English.
“I did. I mean, I am, but this was a social necessity. You try getting through a planning session with Buffy sans alcohol.” Her smile faded when I didn’t laugh. “Sebastian, I’mfine. I know how to control myself.”
Her reassurances refused to sink into my brain. There were too many memories lodged there, sounds and images of her sobbing and drinking the day away. She and my aunt had been incredibly close, and after my aunt passed due to brain cancer, she’d turned to alcohol to cope with the loss.
It hadn’t gotten bad enough for us to push for an intervention, but it’d set me on edge. I was always watching, keeping my eyes peeled for the moment she tipped over that invisible line.
It was a hard thing to gauge. What was a normal coping mechanism, and what wasn’t? But I knew firsthand how easy it was to get lost in the bottle. How beautifully it numbed the pain and how it quieted the voices in my head, if only for a few hours. I would’ve tumbled down a long, dark hole if That Night hadn’t dragged me back from the brink.
My mother’s expression softened as she examined me. “Are you thinking about Prague?”
I swallowed and gave a curt nod.
“Should we call Dr. Pratchett again? He was so helpful—”
“No.” It was my turn to shut down. “I don’t need to talk to him. I just need you to be careful, Maman. Okay?”
“I am.” Her joking exasperation vanished, replaced with a deep crease between her brows. “I know I went through a rough patch when your aunt died. I had a hard time over Christmas too, and I’ll probablycontinuehaving a hard time for a while. She was my sister and my best friend. Her death is not…” Her voice caught. “It’s not something I’ll ever truly get over, but I am doing better. Dr. Pratchett helped me work through a lot of what I was feeling, and even though I might drink more than usual sometimes, that doesn’t mean I’ll spiral. I know my limits. I promise.”
A lump formed in my throat. She sounded convincing, and perhaps she really was telling the truth. I’d been so paranoid after Prague that I kept reading too much into everything. Dr. Pratchett had flagged my overcorrection in that calm, non-judgmental way of his, and I’d listened—for the most part.
But this was different. This was my mother, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.
She took my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “If there’sone thing losing Colette taught me, it’s to never take anyone for granted,” she said. “It sounds cliché, but you never know when someone will be gone forever.” She gave me a small smile. “I’ll be here for a while, though. I wouldn’t do anything that would shorten my time with you and your father. I have so much left that I want to do—like crying at your wedding and holding my grandchildren.”
She was as subtle as a sledgehammer to the head.
A rusty laugh broke free. “Of course, you’d use this as another excuse to bug me about grandchildren.”
“Can you blame me? You’re my only child, Sebastian. I’d like to run around with my grandbabies and spoil them while I still have the energy.”
Yeah, she was perfectly fine and back to form.
I stayed for a while longer before the nurse came to tell us visiting hours were over. I talked to the doctor before I left, and she reassured me that my mother didn’t have any internal bleeding. She had to stay overnight for observation and see a physical therapist just in case, but otherwise, there were no red flags.
I walked out lighter than when I’d walked in, but something my mother said kept replaying in my head.
Never take anyone for granted… You never know when someone will be gone forever.
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, but for some reason, her words struck a new chord inside me.
I walked down the street, my feet taking me through the Upper East Side and down to Midtown. I wasn’t conscious of where I was going; I was simply following my instincts until I suddenly stopped and looked up at the building towering above me.
