Relatively normal, p.12
Relatively Normal, page 12
I try to evaluate if I’ve done that. I moved to New York right after college and have been there for nearly eleven years. I love the Big Apple, but wonder how much longer it will be the life for me. Ethan and I have talked about leaving the city when we have children. He thinks we should head to Westchester.
I like his suburban hometown, but since it’s only forty miles from the city, it’s still close enough to the action that kids grow up quicker than I did here in rural Illinois. Ethan’s job is in the city, so he’d have to commute. Heck, my job is in the city. I’d have to commute, too. Party planners are probably not in great demand in little towns like Gelson.
I don’t see Sam until he’s nearly on top of me. He greets, “Heya, Miss Kitty, it’s pretty cold out here.” He rubs his hands up and down the arms of his doctor’s coat.
I turn to him and press my nostrils tightly together for a few seconds before releasing them. When they stick together, I answer, “Looks like it.”
“Remember that big storm in nineteen ninety-nine that closed school down for ten days?”
I do remember. It was wonderful and scary and so cold I nearly got frostbite. “My dad opened the front door the morning after it started and there was a five-foot snow drift blocking us in. I couldn’t even see above it.”
Sam smiles. “Remember how he shoveled through it and made a tunnel to the driveway?” It’s just one of a million memories Sam and I share. For too long when I thought of Sam, I only remembered the day he broke up with me. This trip is definitely bringing back some of the good times.
I cock my head and look at him closely. “Do you like living here?”
He thinks for a moment before answering, “Yeah. I went to med school in Chicago and loved it. I stayed there through my residency and have only been back in Gelson for two years, but I really do like it here. I like that it’s quiet and familiar.”
We’re silent for several moments before he adds, “It’s home. All the best stuff that ever happened in my life happened here and I like being surrounded by those memories.”
“Not much of a night life, I’m guessing.”
He flashes some jazz hands. “I don’t know about that. Bingo night at the Catholic church can turn pretty wild, especially if Nan wins.”
“Please don’t tell me you go to bingo night!”
He barks with laughter, “Why? Would you be jealous of all those old ladies trying to set me up with their granddaughters?”
He’s only partially joking. I know Sam and he’s not going to let our friendship truce get in his way of pushing for something more. So, I tease back, “Nope. Been there, done that. I’m good with sharing you.”
Of course, that’s not what he wants to hear, and he looks temporarily hurt, but he brushes it off pretty quickly. “I came out to let you know that Nan moved her fingers a couple of times. It looks like she could be coming to any time now.”
Suddenly, everything feels right with my world. If Nan comes out of this all okay, then there’s nothing I can’t face. There’s nothing like a little burst brain aneurysm to gain perspective.
She’s Baaack
When we walk back into my grandmother’s room, Dr. Philmore is standing over her looking into her eyes with a penlight. Sam asks, “How’s she doing?”
The surgeon, a distinguished looking man about my father’s age, puts the torch back into his breast pocket. “She’s looking good. I’m a little surprised by how good, actually. I’m cautiously optimistic.”
When he steps aside, I can see Nan’s eyes are still open and she’s staring at us in moderate confusion. She croaks, “We havin’ a party?”
And with that, a collective cheer goes up. “Nan!”
My mom rushes to her side. “How are you feeling, Mom? Are you okay?”
I move to the other side. “You scared us to death!”
We buzz around like a hive of hyperactive bees until Dr. Philmore suggests, “Why don’t you all step out for a few minutes so as not to overexcite the patient. I’ll just ask her a few questions and then come talk to you.”
Why don’t we all step out? Clearly this man doesn’t know us. Stepping out in the face of such good news isn’t our way. Yet somehow, Sam gets behind our group and pushes us through the door without any fuss.
In the hallway, my mom bursts into tears of joy, then she nearly collapses on my dad. “Thank you, God . . . thank you, God . . . thank you, God!”
I couldn’t agree more. Turning to Sam, I ask, “Does this mean she’s going to be okay?”
He shakes his head slightly. “It’s a good first step, but there are a lot more until we can conclude she’s out of the woods.”
“I’m just so relieved that crazy old bird is still alive, I don’t quite know what to do with myself,” my dad interjects.
And in that moment, I realize I can never see Ethan saying the same thing about either of my parents, let alone Nan. I want to be married to a man who loves my family, who will miss them when they’re gone and pray they don’t go too quickly because of the void they’d leave in his life.
It’s like the heavens have opened up and dropped a load of bricks on my head. I stagger under the weight of my epiphany, but I can’t address it at this moment.
When Dr. Philmore comes out, he announces, “You can go in, one at a time, until she falls asleep. I don’t want her overstimulated.”
“Will she be okay?” my mom asks.
The surgeon smiles. “If I were a betting man, I’d say she has a better than average shot at recovery. But truthfully, only time will tell.” Then he adds, “Don’t expect her to be leaving the hospital for at least a couple of weeks. She’s had a serious brain trauma and we’ll need to keep a close watch over her.”
I sag against Sam in such relief I feel like my bones have melted. This is the best news, ever. He puts his arms around me, not only to hold me up, but to hold me close, as well. I stay still, reasoning that friends are allowed to hug each other.
My mom goes in first, followed by my dad. When it’s my turn, Nan has already fallen asleep, so I just sit and hold her hand, grateful she’s still with us.
Life is a roller-coaster, and for the moment I’m comfortable with that. The highs are so very high, they just might make the lows worth the journey.
Crickets and Apologies
The next day starts the beginning of a comfortable pattern. I wake up early, put on a pot of coffee, and then drink the first cup while sitting at the kitchen table. This is the time I use to recap what happened the day before.
I take the next cup out to the front porch and stare at the barn. It’s such a peaceful view. The trees are covered in snow and look like they’re wearing furry white coats. These same trees will bud and burst forth with new life in the spring. But right now, they’re resting, gaining their strength for a new season. Hopefully, that’s what Nan is doing.
Everywhere I look, I remember my childhood. Travis and I used to climb the wooden fence separating the grassy front yard from the edge of the field. Once we reached the top, we’d jump down, pretending we were bailing out of an airplane that had just been shot down. When I look at the fence now, it doesn’t seem that intimidating, but to my child eyes, I might as well have been jumping off the top of the barn.
My dad comes out in his robe to join me. “This place has sure hosted a lot of living, hasn’t it?”
“I was just thinking how much fun Trav and I used to have out here. I used to think I’d live here forever.”
My dad smiles. “You know the old saying—man plans and God laughs. I’ve always thought the bigger purpose in our lives was kept from us, so we could enjoy the journey. If we knew how it was going to turn out right from the start, we wouldn’t have as much fun reaching our destination.”
“If I recall, thinking like that led to some pretty interesting family vacations. Like the summer you pulled out a map, blindfolded us all and made us play pin the tail on the United States. Then we played poker to decide which of the destinations we’d travel to that summer.”
My dad jokes, “Hey, I always wanted see to Fidget River, Arkansas.”
I add, “Best pulled pork sandwiches, ever. Scariest people though. Remember the guy with no teeth who followed us around town spitting out tobacco and yelling, ‘Yankees aren’t welcome?’”
My dad grimaces, “I forgot about that. Remember how the motel room filled up with crickets every night and the front desk clerk had to come in and vacuum them out before we could go to sleep?”
My whole body shudders. “Sleep? Did you actually sleep that weekend? I swear I went seventy-two hours straight without closing my eyes longer than it took to blink.”
“We would have been better off just going to Hawaii like your mom wanted. Not that it would have been as much fun as Fidget River,” he jokes.
“Yeah, luaus, body surfing in the Pacific Ocean, climbing volcanos . . . sounds like a real snore.”
My dad exhales deeply. “I’m glad you’re here, Cat. Your mom and I are so worried about Nan. Having you with us is a real comfort. Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Dad. Plus, it’s been a long time since I’ve been home longer than a couple of days. I forget how much I love this old place.” Then I wink at him, “And the people in it.”
“You know, we were pretty surprised when you moved to New York City after college.”
I drink down the last sip of my coffee, which has turned icy cold. “I guess I needed to get away and Chicago just didn’t seem far enough.”
“Running from Sam, huh?”
I nod my head. “Yeah, that was most of it. Once college ended, I was pretty much over him, I just didn’t want to see him before I could prove how well I’d done without him.”
My dad snorts. “You kids. Mags used to think you’d come home and bump into him and then the two of you would pick right up where you left off after high school, but that never happened.”
“Is that what Thanksgiving was all about? You wanted to throw us in each other’s paths to see if there was still a chance?”
“I guess so. I know it wasn’t a nice thing to do to Ethan, but we were running out of time to see if that was still a possibility. I’m sorry, Cat. I hope you can forgive us.”
“I forgive you, Dad.” I know they didn’t mean any harm and if I was truthful, I’d say I’m glad it happened. Not having Sam in my life has been a real void. I’d like to think we can find a way to be friends again, for all our sakes. I just don’t quite know how to accomplish that.
Zombie, Vampires, and Aliens, Oh My!
The day after Nan regains consciousness, I start spending most of my days with her. She doesn’t have the attention span to read or play games, and she barely has any interest in television. Although the nurse did turn on the Santa Clarita Diet for her for background noise sometime before I showed up this morning. Nan seems to have paid some attention to it because she greets me with, “You know, I think there are more zombies out there than people let on.”
I take my coat off, adjust the flowers by her bedside, and tidy up her breakfast dishes. “I wasn’t aware there were any zombies.”
She shoots me a look. “How can there be vampires and no zombies? That doesn’t make any sense.”
I don’t know if Nan is just being her peculiar self or if she’s coming back from surgery a little weirder than she went in. “Nan, there’re no such things as vampires. That’s what you always used to tell me when I was growing up.” I try reminding her that she didn’t believe in them either.
“Well of course I told you that. I didn’t want you to go around worrying Dracula was going to carry you off. But you’re grown up now, Cat. You should have figured that out on your own.”
Okay, so this bizarre thinking, is in fact, a pre-existing condition. I ask, “How was I supposed to have figured that out? Where do you meet vampires? And if I had met them, how would I know they were the living dead, short of them biting me?”
Nan closes her eyes. “Catriona Fiona, don’t get fresh with me. It’s a simple line of reasoning. If aliens exist, then vampires certainly exist, then it’s just a short leap to zombies.”
“Aliens exist?” I ask. “When did you come to that conclusion?”
Without missing a beat, she answers, “Nineteen seventy-four. I was thirty-six and your grandfather came running in through the back door to tell me a flying saucer had landed in the corn field.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She waggles an arthritic finger at me. “You heard me. I was shucking corn when it happened. I was wearing my favorite apron with the roosters on it. You know, the one that says, ‘Don’t Let the Cock Doodle You’?”
I nod my head. How could I forget that apron? I encourage, “Go on.”
“I dropped that corn right in the garbage can and ran out the door after him. When we got out to where he saw the spaceship land, there wasn’t any sign of them, but there was one of those crop circles everyone’s talking about nowadays.”
“You’re kidding? Why have I never head this story before?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “You weren’t even born, so it’s not like I could have told you at the time. When we found the second circle, you were only four and we didn’t want to scare you.”
I decide to placate my grandmother and play along. “So, there were two of them?”
“Yup.”
“But you never saw a spaceship or aliens?”
“That’s correct,” she answers.
“But because you saw what you think were crop circles, you started to believe in aliens?” I’m going to try to figure out her reasoning if it kills me. And at the rate we’re going, it just might.
She nods her head. “That’s right.”
“And because you believe in aliens, you figure vampires are a sure thing?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I wasn’t convinced until I started reading that Anne Rice. No one can make up stories that good unless they’re true.”
I roll my eyes. “And as of this morning, you now believe in zombies.”
“Drew Barrymore is very believable. Her poor daughter, though. Having a zombie for a mother must be a horrible cross to bear.”
The only way I’m going to get this conversation to end is to agree with her. “It makes you grateful for the life you have, doesn’t it?”
She motions me over to sit by her. Once I’m perched on her bedside, she says, “I’m grateful for you, Kitty Cat. Thank you for staying once I went and burst my head.”
I stare down at my very frail-looking grandmother and send God a psychic message that I owe him big for letting her live. “You’re welcome, Nan. I’m just relieved you’re doing better. The doctor says they’ll probably discharge you sometime next week.” But by the time I finish talking, her eyes are closed, and she appears to have dozed off.
Sam walks in a short while later to check on Nan. When he sees she’s sleeping, he announces, “I have time to run to the cafeteria for some coffee, if you’d like to join me.”
I figure there’s no harm. He’s certainly gone out of his way for my family and it’s been a great source of comfort knowing he’s here keeping an eye on Nan. The least I can do is have a cup of coffee with him.
Coffee or Tea, Not Me
I admire Sam’s good looks as we walk through the sterile hospital hallways. His dark hair is thick and wavy, his eyes are twinkling and happy, and he smells like a spicy aftershave I’ve always associated with him. Everything about him is familiar and inviting. How did I ever go fourteen years without seeing him?
When we get to the cafeteria, I look around the ancient dining room and wonder when the last time they updated the décor was. I’m pretty sure mauve and chrome were all eighties. And I can’t imagine that look ever making a comeback. “Coffee or tea?” Sam asks.
“Peppermint tea. I’ve had enough coffee in the last week to keep the Navy awake for a year.”
He studies me closely and reaches out to a strand of hair that’s dangling in my eyes. “Poor you. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately.” Then he orders our drinks. While he pays for them, he asks, “Are you planning on staying in town for a while?”
“No. I’m actually going back to New York in a couple of days.” The sides of his mouth droop as low as a depressed hound dog. I should just leave it like that and let him think I’m walking out of his life again, but I don’t. I add, “I’ll be back in plenty of time for Christmas.”
“That’s wonderful! I hope we can get together when you come back.” The smile on his face could resuscitate a dead heart.
We sit at a table for four by a window overlooking the parking lot. I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe. But what’s the point? I mean, I’m engaged to Ethan.”
“You said we could be friends,” he pouts.
“I know. But is that going to be enough for you? Answer honestly.”
He opens a prepackaged creamer pod and pours it into his coffee. “I told you before, I’d make do with any part of yourself you’re willing to share. If friendship is all you’re offering, I’ll be fine with that.”
“Should I invite you to my wedding?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replies.
I taunt, “I’m getting married in New York.”
“I know how to get to the airport.”
The thought of Sam as a guest at my wedding to Ethan eats a pit in my stomach the size of the Grand Canyon. Nothing about that scenario seems right. I decide to change the subject. “Nan believes in aliens.”
He looks briefly confused by the change of topic. “Well, yeah. I mean ever since the crop circles, anyway.”
“You know about the crop circles?” I demand.
“She told me about them while we were in high school.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “She made me promise I wouldn’t. She didn’t want to give you nightmares, and she wanted to make sure I knew so I could protect you if they ever came back.”
