Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up.
The phone rings and rings before it finally goes to voicemail. I panic, realizing I don’t know what to say.
Why isn’t he answering a call from his mom?
“Hey, Jake. It’s um… It’s Kate. Your mom was in a serious accident. Call me back right away.” I attempt to keep my tone calm, hoping he can’t sense the devastation in my voice.
What do I do now? Wait for him to call? I’m still waiting for him to respond to my messages from fifteen years ago.
My only other option is to send a text. Further convey the urgency. My fingers race over the keyboard, reiterating what I said in the voicemail. He hasn’t responded to his mom’s last three texts, and my anxiety level increases.
What if he’s unreachable? I know his mom has struggled to get hold of him in the past due to his travel schedule and odd work hours. This better not be one of those times. I don’t have the patience for it. I need to get this news off my chest as quickly as possible.
It’s probably just Jake being Jake. He’s never been super reliable. In our freshman year of college, he made a big deal about how he doesn’t respond to texts unless a question is asked. He suggested I ask a question if I wanted a response from him. Otherwise, I should assume he saw it. We argued for hours about proper etiquette before I gave up. He better not pull that shit with me today.
How is he already making me angry when he’s not even here?
He’s so goddamn infuriating. After all these years, nothing has changed.
Except me. I’m not the same girl I was when he left and ended our friendship.
five
There’sa slight nudge on my arm when a nurse comes into the ICU waiting room, letting me know I can finally see my mom. I must have dozed off at some point, exhausted from an incredibly long and stressful day.
I follow the nurse, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. The bright fluorescent lights in the hallway make the space feel sterile, like it’s daytime rather than the middle of the night. The only sounds are the beeping and humming of various lifesaving machines from patient rooms. It’s eerie yet oddly soothing at the same time. The nurse stops in front of my mom’s room and motions for me to go in. My chest tightens, and the air whooshes out of my lungs. This is the moment I’ve waited hours for, but my body is frozen, unwilling to face the reality of the situation.
Taking a step into the room means this is real. There’s no going back. No pretending it’s a bad dream. Accepting everything has changed.
For my mom. Me. Jake.
None of us will ever be the same again.
Realizing I can’t stand outside her room forever, I force myself to cross the threshold into her dimly lit room. I gasp at how frail my mom looks in the oversized hospital bed, countless machines attached to her; it’s almost like she’s shrunken a size or two.
When I glance around the room, I resign myself to spending the rest of the night in a very uncomfortable-looking plastic chair. The type of chair you find in an elementary classroom, designed to give adults lower back pain while also causing you to have crotch sweat.
Great.
Whoever designs hospital seating options must have a twisted sense of humor. Do they actively try to make the most difficult days even more unbearable? I sigh as I grab the closest chair, sliding it over to my mom’s hospital bed, attempting to dampen the loud screeching noise the legs make as they drag across the floor. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard, and it echoes in the room, prompting one of the nurses to look in my direction. Leave it to me to get a quiet scolding from a nurse only a few minutes after my arrival.
Thankfully, my mom doesn’t stir. She’s completely oblivious to anything happening around her, likely due to the heavy pain medication and the anesthesia from surgery. Supposedly, she spoke a few words to one of the nurses after they extubated her, giving me hope she’s cognitively intact. Normally, I don’t love talking to my mom, but today, I’d give anything to hear her voice.
With her cold hand in mine, I hold it tightly as I say a few prayers. At this point, I’m willing to accept any help we can get. I’m not overly religious. Never have been. My mom wasn’t the typical churchgoer found in most small towns. She believes in God but doesn’t enjoy the preachiness of a weekly sermon, so I rarely attended church as a kid. I still don’t.
Although that will change once Brian and I get married. Religion is a big part of his family, meaning it will become a critical part of my life. Converting to Catholicism is a major task in our wedding planning process. One I definitely can’t screw up, or his family priest will refuse to marry us. No time like the present to start talking to God. Hoping he’s listening and can watch over my mom.
Letting out a deep exhale, I double-check the ringer on Judy’s phone again, ensuring it’s turned up all the way. The last thing I want is to miss a call or text from Jake. It’s been hours without a response. Not even an acknowledgment that he’s seen the messages.
Nothing.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
I’m past the point of being polite. Now I’m pissed. He’s a goddamn adult. His mom was in an accident. Who the fuck doesn’t respond? I hastily type out another text—my tenth of the night. This time in all caps, like I’m a boomer. Perhaps it will light a fire under his ass.
While Judy’s phone has been silent, mine has been blowing up with messages of support from my colleagues and Chelsi. Not to mention hundreds of unread work emails taunting me on my home screen. Dealing with work is Future Kate’s problem. I’ll probably regret that decision later, but I can’t stomach trying to go through my inbox.
For the next few hours, I drift in and out of sleep, barely noticing when the nurses come in every hour to check on my mom. By the morning, I’m sleeping so lightly that her hand stirring wakes me.
