Cat Patrick: Just Like Fate

“Total Lolita-land,” I say, laughing for real. “Remember the time with the water bra?” Simone snorts, which makes me laugh harder. When we stop, she surprises me with sincerity.

“Take care of yourself, Linus,” she says quietly. “We all know how much you love Gram—just remember to love you , too.”

“I will,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”

As I hang up the phone, the light in the hall returns—the fluorescent bulbs and white walls are all their normal boring colors again.

I walk back to Gram’s room. A nurse is checking her vitals while Natalie’s sitting awkwardly on the very front of the recliner near the window, like she doesn’t want to risk getting too comfortable. It occurs to me that it’s like a metaphor for her entire life.

“Is your mother coming back soon?” the nurse asks in a clipped tone that makes me nervous.

“Yes,” Natalie answers. “She just went out for some air. I can call her?” Nat looks at me, and I see the anxiousness in her eyes too.

“I think that’d be a good idea,” the nurse says. “Just in case your grandmother wakes up.”

In case she wakes up?

Before I have time to ask about the alternative—Gram not waking up—the nurse briskly leaves the room.

Panicked, I turn to Natalie. I don’t know how or why, but I see my sister in that moment—really see her. She’s got a tough outer shell, but she’s loyal to those she loves. And one of the people she loves the most is dying. We are the same, she and I. For the first time in a long while, I go and sit next to her.

“I don’t want to fight,” I say quietly. My mouth is dry, and I’m actually nervous to be having this conversation. It strikes me as strange—after all, she’s my sister . “I don’t think I can fight anymore.”

Natalie’s surprised eyes find mine, but she doesn’t say anything. I continue. “Gram’s been there for me, but I’m starting to realize that she won’t always be. And I’m scared.” My face stings with the start of a cry, and I turn to find Natalie watching me with a softened expression.

“I don’t want to fight either,” she says. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I really am.” She’s never told me she was sorry. Never. I let the words linger in the air to unravel the hurt they’ve caused all this time. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear them. “I don’t know how we got so . . .” I begin, not sure what word to use.

“It was my fault,” Nat says.

“But I made it worse,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sorry.” Natalie shifts uncomfortably. She’s never been good at letting people in. For a while, I thought that if only Nat had my back a bit more, I might’ve stayed at home after the divorce. But that’s just not her . . . not since we were little anyway.

Under normal circumstances—like if this were Teddy or Simone or even Mom—I’d reach out for a hug. Instead I keep my hands folded in my lap.

Gram is dying. I close my eyes for a moment, wishing it weren’t true, but when I open them again, there she is— motionless on the bed.

Slipping away.

THREE

“Simone,” I start, my decision made. “I’m going to . . . go. I’ll go with you to the party, but only because I can’t stand another minute with my sister. I swear she waits for me to screw up just so she can throw it back in my face.”

“If Natalie’s going to be a jerk all night,” Simone says, “you shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

I nod, thinking about how many times my sister has belittled me, made me feel like I’m not a part of my own family.

“And really,” Simone adds, “if she’s going to complain anyway, why not give her something good to work with?” I can hear the smile in her voice, challenging and protective as a best friend should be. As a sister should be.

“Yeah,” I say, looking back toward the room. “Why not.” I lean against the wall and exhale. “Hey, would you mind picking me up?” I ask. “That way when you drop me off tonight, I can stop in and say good-bye— good night to Gram.” I pause, thinking how different the word “good-bye” is now. How much heavier it is in my mouth.

“Simone?” I ask hesitantly. “Gram will be okay if I leave, right?”

“Of course she will be. It’s just a few hours.”

A feeling of dread comes over me, but the light in the hall returns—the fluorescent bulbs and white walls are all their normal boring colors again. In a way, it allows me to push away my concern and realize that Simone’s right—it’s just one night out of all the nights I’ve been by my grandmother’s side. If she were awake, she would probably tell me to go to the party. She’d tell me to wear lipstick, too. And a night away from Natalie can never be a bad thing.

“I’m on my way,” Simone says. “We’ll grab burgers or something first.”

I agree, but when we hang up, nervousness creeps up my arms. I’m not a fan of confrontation, and this looming one with my sister is going to be a blowout.

The nurse is just leaving Gram’s room when I get back. I see Natalie hovering near the window, back straight, mouth downturned. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the rift between my sister and me growing. I wonder if eventually it’ll get big enough to end our relationship altogether.

The minute I step into the room, her judging eyes find me. “Where’d you go?” she asks. “I just got done talking to Mom.”

“I was busy,” I say, reaching for Gram’s hand. Her skin is thin and pale, her lips slightly parted in unconsciousness. As I hold her, I have the fleeting thought that this is it. I want to tell my grandmother everything I’m thinking and feeling. I want to tell her that I love her. Absently I bring her palm to my cheek, imagining that she’s awake, saying how much she loves me, too. When tears flood my eyes, I sniffle and set Gram’s hand back down. It’s only a few hours, I tell myself. And maybe then Natalie will be gone and I can hang with Gram—just the two of us, like it’s supposed to be.

“I’m going out,” I say to my sister, not looking in her direction. “Tell Mom I’ll be home after eleven.”

“What? You can’t just . . .” She jumps up from the chair. “You’re so goddamn selfish, Caroline,” she says. “Do you think you can just do whatever you want? You have an obligation to this family. You—”

“Oh, shut up!” I call out, my voice carrying through the sparse room. “You’re not my mother—you’re certainly not Gram. Maybe if you had your own life, you wouldn’t—”

“Don’t you dare!” she shouts. “I’ve been the one to hold this family together. I’m the one who makes sure Mom eats her dinner when she can’t stop crying.” My sister puts her hand over her mouth as if she’s afraid she might betray an actual emotion other than bitch. After a second, she shakes her head. “You know what, go. Go, you coward.”

I’m shaking I’m so angry, so hurt. I can’t even think of something to say, can only grab my backpack and race out of there. I’m halfway down the hall when I realize I didn’t tell Gram that I love her, didn’t kiss her cheek good night. But I can’t face my sister, so I vow to tell Gram twice later.

FOUR

I’m still with my sister, staring at the muted news on TV as an awkward, post-apology silence fills the space between us. My mother and my stepdad, Albert, return to the room, but my mother looks like a piece of ripped paper that someone hastily taped back together. She’s got that shiny redness to her face that happens when you cry off your makeup, and her hair’s fluffy-weird like she combed out what had been hair sprayed before. Seconds later, as if it were choreographed, Teddy walks in with two greasy bags from Burger Barn.