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I manage to sneak in a nap sometime around four or five that afternoon. Jake hasn’t been back since he left for the Ronald McDonald house. I wonder what’s going to happen when he returns, if we’ll go on like nothing’s happened or if we’ll get into an even messier fight. I honestly don’t have the energy for either, not yet.
Another hour or two of sleep and a quad shot, then maybe I’ll be ready.
The landline in the hospital room rings. I pick up, figuring it must be either Eliot or Jake.
Turns out I’m wrong.
“Tiffany?” The voice is grating. Like a fork scraping against a plate during Thanksgiving dinner.
“Patricia?” I have no clue why she’s calling me. I honestly don’t remember another time that his mom has used my first name. “Jake’s over resting at the Ronald McDonald house.”
“I know. I just got off the phone with him. I’m calling to see how Natalie’s doing. I was so sorry to hear she’s back on the ventilator.”
I mentally rehearse every terrible interaction I’ve had with my mother-in-law and force myself to remain guarded no matter how much energy it expends. “Yeah, it’s all right. She’s doing a lot better keeping her oxygen levels up.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s for the best. I just wanted you to know ...”
I’m so tired and out of it that at first I think Patricia’s about to apologize. No such luck.
“I enjoyed the chance to get to know you a little better over the past few weeks. Thank you so much for opening your home to me.”
This is new. There’s no underlying jab, at least none that I can detect, but everything still feels so off. So backwards.
“Yeah, it was good getting to know you, too.” Is that how the dance works now? We lie to each other civilly until we’re both blue in the face?
“I won’t keep you any longer. I wanted to tell you and Jake that I made it to Abby’s just fine, and I’ve got all kinds of pictures of Natalie to share with her. I’ll be thinking of you and wishing Natalie a very speedy recovery. You hang in there. You’re doing a great job.”
Even after the call ends, I feel on edge. Like her kind words are just another layer of Patricia-style manipulation, but I haven’t come close to mastering this level yet. It’s going to take me time to mentally adjust.
But then Jake’s brooding figure darkens the hospital door, and all thoughts of his mother fly out of my head.
There’s no hint of a smile on his face, no trace of kindness or patience in his eyes. “Come on,” he says in a voice that obviously expects an immediate reaction. “We need to talk.”