Pacing is one of Jake’s telltale signs of being highly uncomfortable. He’s been doing it since we were kids. It’s almost impossible to get him to stop unless the situation is diffused, and I highly doubt my mom is going to drop this subject until she’s said her piece. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.
“Jake’s right, Mom. We can talk about the will later. After the funeral, perhaps.”
“No. We’ll talk about it now. It’s what Judy would have wanted,” she says firmly with resolve in her eyes, almost daring me to defy her. If I had a stronger backbone, I’d walk out of the room and take Jake with me. Give him more time to process everything before being subjected to my mom’s antics. But I’m a pushover when it comes to her and pretty much everyone else. Too much of a people-pleaser to stand up for myself in difficult situations. It’s easier to acquiesce and let them win rather than get into a heated confrontation that often results in hurt feelings and damaged relationships.
“You might not be aware of this, but Judy named both of you as executors, with explicit instructions that you work together,” my mom says, looking between us. “I know you two haven’t spoken in years, but you will do this. Together. Without fighting. No excuses.”
The conviction in her voice is unnerving, making it clear this is not something we should even consider arguing with her on.It’d be a battle we’d quickly lose. Not that anyone ever wins against her.
“Understood,” I say, nodding while I freak out internally. Having Jake in town for a couple of days is one thing; working with him for a few weeks or longer on his mom’s estate is completely different. Assuming he doesn’t pretend to be involved at first and then dump everything on me when he leaves town. That’s his usual MO. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
“Same,” Jake parrots, tugging on his wavy strands while pacing. His hair was perfectly styled when we left the house this morning, yet it looks better the more he touches it. How is that even possible? What kind of magical hair products does this man use?
We’re interrupted by a knock on the door, quickly followed by a team of doctors coming into the room. Everything is a blur for the next few minutes as numerous specialists discuss the status of my mom’s injuries. My fingers fly across my notes app as I attempt to type everything they’re saying, so I won’t forget any of it and can Google it when I have a few minutes. I’m not a novice when it comes to medical terminology, but I’m unfamiliar with some of the conditions they’ve mentioned, and my anxiety starts to increase as a result. Being well-prepared is one of the most effective ways to keep my anxiety under control, so I’ll be spending hours researching everything they’ve said until I feel knowledgeable enough to ask intelligent questions.
When the doctors leave, Jake seems shellshocked. He’s completely silent as he strides across the room with his eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to make eye contact with either of us.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to tamp down the panic creeping in as I process what the doctors shared. My mom needs to spend approximately two weeks in the hospital, followed by inpatient rehab for multiple weeks. She needs someone to stay with herfor a few weeks once she comes home. The doctors are optimistic she’ll make a full recovery, but it’s going to take months.
Months.
Every aspect of my life needs to change for the foreseeable future. I have to stay in Southmount during my mom’s recovery. Funeral planning will occupy the next few days. It’ll take weeks, if not months, to help Jake with Judy’s estate. I’m already behind at work after only a couple of days. And to top it off, I’ll have to do a majority of the wedding planning from here.
Everything was going smoothly. Exactly the way I planned.
Now, my life is in upheaval, and it feels like the walls are closing in.
I try to calm the rising panic by taking a couple deep breaths, but it doesn’t help.
“Are you okay?” Jake asks, squatting in front of my chair and looking into my eyes, blocking me from my mom’s gaze. After all these years, he can still sense when I’m on the verge of a panic attack and must remember how negatively my mom reacts to them.
I shake my head and close my eyes. I can’t bear to look at him. I should be the one comforting him, but I can’t even do that right.
“It’s going to be okay, Kate. Come with me,” he whispers, gently pulling me from the chair and leading me out of the room without saying a single word.
We walk down the hallway in silence until we reach an empty waiting room, filled with couches and TVs. His eyes lock on mine, almost like he’s searching for the answer to life’s biggest question. I’m tempted to look away, but I can’t. There’s a pull between us that I’ve never felt before. A connection that goes deeper than our shared past.
“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Jake murmurs, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to his chest. “We’ll do it together. I won’t leave you this time. I promise.”
A tingling sensation spreads throughout my body as my cheeks flush, and I gasp softly. Is this my body’s way of telling me I can trust Jake? There isn’t any other explanation for what I’m feeling.
“Okay,” I whisper, burying my head into his shoulder and allowing his strong arms to soothe me.
I’ll let him back into my life. Trust that he’s going to stick around this time.
But I’m going to keep the walls up around my heart in case history repeats itself.
nine
The restof the day goes by in a blur, with doctors and nurses constantly coming in and out of my mom’s room. Every conversation with them reiterates the seriousness of her injuries and how close she was to dying a couple of days ago. It’s hard to reconcile what they’re saying with how my mom’s behaving. She’s putting on a stoic face and attempting to mask her pain, pretending the meds she’s receiving every four hours are meeting her needs when they’re clearly not. It doesn’t help that she refuses to rest, insisting she’ll sleep tonight because she doesn’t want to mess up her circadian rhythm.
For a few minutes, I tried to rationalize with her that it would be impossible to maintain her normal sleep schedule while in the hospital. Let’s just say that conversation didn’t last long. Her body might appear frail and pale, but her mind and tongue are back to normal.
Jake has stayed by my side, only leaving the room to occasionally take a phone call or grab food from the cafeteria. He’s always struggled with this hospital since it’s where his dad died. In high school, he refused to go inside to visit one of our good friends who was injured in an ATV accident. Being here allday is major progress for him and increases my hope that he’ll honor his promise to stick around.
Although he’s physically here, his emotions are bottled up. He has absolutely zero opinions on what my mom suggests for the funeral, agreeing to all her ideas, even the outlandish ones, and there area lotof those. At one point, I contemplated whether my mom was making outrageous requests to snap him out of this daze, because does a casket really need four types of roses? It took everything in me to control my expression when she went through each type of flower in great detail, requiring me to take notes to ensure I don’t forget any of the information. There was one specific variety that I’ve never heard of. Can’t wait to talk to our small-town florist about that one.
The three of us are grieving in our own ways. My mom is living in delulu land, pretending she didn’t almost die in a car accident and isn’t in the hospital. Jake is acting like he’s on board with all her ideas and doesn’t have a broken heart. I’m putting on my “everything is fine” face while it feels like the room is burning down with me inside it. Convincing myself I can handle everything being thrown at me.
