I stare at the screen, trying to decipher the messages from Caitlin that came in late last night. Unsure how to handle her big emotions when they’re directed at me.
Caitlin
Ugh. I …
look I was in the wrong
Can we just talk about this Ryan thing?
About the Mom thing
Can you please just answer me?
Don’t do this whole not speaking thing
Her messages don’t make much sense. Yeah, sure, she never came back to hang out with us, even when I texted her. She was angry and no one knew how to explain it. Sure, she can drop off the face of a text thread, but I don’t respond at three a.m. and I’m suddenly being a bad friend? It’s not like I didn’t answer intentionally. Caitlin pecks at sleep like she’s five and sleep is spinach. I’m the one who needs a full eight hours.
I shake my head and toss my phone onto the seat next to me.
All my emotions seem to be in chaos—Caitlin’s anger, my kiss with Ryan, the agreement to forget it, not to mention Mom and me—I’m almost grateful for the marathon of surgical prep appointments.
Cardiologist.
Internist.
Nephrologist—if you can’t pee, you can’t get out of the hospital.
Spine.
And, of course, more Darlington.
Each of those doctors comes with a specific set of tests.
Blood work.
X-rays.
Ultrasounds.
Mom and I did not deal with our argument, and we seem to have come to a mutual understanding to act like it didn’t happen. Just shove it in a mental closet and let it be. There’s surgery to deal with, and she’s already brewing, a storm of emotions, bouncing between anger and fear. With every test I wonder, Will this be the one to crack her calm exterior? But she holds it inside, leaving me to walk on eggshells, waiting for Dad to show up and become a barrier between us.
We’re confined to yet another waiting room. I’ve chosen a seat across from her but have my phone out just to make it clear I’m not here to interact with her.
“Everything all right?” Mom asks, her voice trying to melt the ice that creeps into her words. She fails. Real hard.
It’s then that I realize I’ve been staring at Caitlin’s message for the last five minutes. “Fine,” I say, hating the meaningless word.
We’re called back to see yet another doctor. They check my vitals—which haven’t changed since the last appointment. I cough and they all wear that concerned look. I guess everyone read my file and they’re just hoping that Darlington comes through with answers. One by one, Mom and I shuffle through the phases, collecting sign-offs for this next hurdle.
Tomorrow is the blood work and final set of X-rays. Dad’s driving up after he gets off work.
Relieved and somehow even more exhausted than I am on Benadryl, I make my way with Mom into the subway below Coffman. There’s a patient café we’ve gone to since I was a kid. A long line of small plates where you can pick and choose your breakfast or lunch. When I was a kid, Mom would also grab small packets of cheese for snacks during our long waits on doctors.
Skylights and a lot of marble make the whole space feel airy. Nostalgia for happier times overrides the anger still brewing in my chest. This is something familiar, something stable that I understand.
“Caitlin’s out of surgery,” Mom says—with a shred of hope in her voice. I suppose a day of silence and one-word answers has gotten to her.
She can try to patch this all up, but I’m still not interested. Phone it is, then. I scroll through different feeds as I pick up plates at random. Mom shifts a few things around, and I don’t even mind. Her small annoyances don’t even compare to whatever is going on between Caitlin and me. She pays and we go to find seats.
I hold my tray, feeling like I’m back in high school. Clumps of people are all in their own world, held together by a common place and circumstance. Everything else, how we got here and where we fit in, is arbitrary.
I spot a familiar head of black hair in the crowd. Ryan sinks low in his chair, the food in front of him barely touched.
“Mind if we sit with Ryan and his mom?” I ask. Without waiting for an answer, I cut through the crowd toward Ryan.
As we approach, Ryan sits up. Our moms drop into easy conversation. A subtle look passes between Mom and Mrs. Kim. She’s hovering close to Ryan, and I know from experience that is no way to get your kid to open up.
“I was thinking of getting some coffee,” Mom says despite her tray of food, and invites Mrs. Kim to join her. They leave. I know Mom’s trying to make up for what’s happened between us, and I’m grateful to her but haven’t forgiven her by a mile.
I didn’t go to medical school. I am not board-certified. Do not leave me alone with this brooding teenage boy. We might do something stupid.
Like kiss again?
And all the confusion and guilt over our kiss comes rushing back. Forget it, I tell myself. Clearly he’s had a hell of a day, and all I want to think about is … well, it was a great kiss.
If I could, I would put my head in my hands.
Leave me alone hangs on Ryan like body spray in a boys’ locker room. I sit across from him, unsure how to proceed. I’m usually the angry one. While that tactic may work on moms, it’s not exactly scaring me off.
“Hey,” I say, because what else is there to say?
Nothing. Not even an attempt at moving.
“Make any more progress in BSG? You were, what, almost to the end of the third season? Personally, the beginning of that is one of my favorites. I would have even been okay if they spent more time…” I let my voice trail off because he’s not even pretending to pay attention.
He’s sunk so far into himself that I may need a bomb team to help me get to him.
“Are you gonna talk?”
Ryan picks at his meal. This is not the Ryan I’m used to. The one who will defend his point even to the extreme and call you out no matter what.
I didn’t think I’d ever have to pick him up like this, not Team Doctor Boy. I’ve been in this hospital so long, I should know that nothing stays on course forever.
I stab at my cake with my fork. There’s only one reason you go this quiet in the hospital. “So how bad was the news?”
Ryan’s head shoots up like a meerkat’s. I guess he wasn’t expecting me to just go in for the kill. Sometimes movies and stories like to take their time and draw people out; we don’t have time for that.
“This is the part where you say I told you so?”
“We’re approaching that, but I thought I’d give you about five minutes more.” I smile and hope that he grabs hold of it, but he sinks deeper. “What’d they say?”
“My endocrinologist at home did all of these tests. Muscle, nervous—but there was always this understanding that I could be referred here at any time.” He seesaws his spoon over his fingers. “The best in the world. I thought…” He looks away with a small shake of his head.
“You thought they’d fix everything.”
“How could they not?” His gazes slices into me, hot and angry. If I could take away this part of the process for him, I would. It’s a deep sense of betrayal when doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with you. Sometimes it feels like you’ve been stranded in the ocean and then there’s a ship, but they promise to send someone back for you. The doctors move on, but you, you’re just stuck.
“They don’t know.” Ryan picks up his fork and stabs a hard-boiled egg. “All these tests. All these doctors. Millions of dollars in research and they can’t tell me anything.”
Bang. Bang. Bang. Again and again, Ryan drives his fork into the egg.
“Sucks, doesn’t it.”
“You’re loving this, aren’t you.” His voice is cold, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s how I sounded that first night.
“I go under the knife Wednesday. This is the last thing that I want. Sometimes you have to have a little faith.”
I am grateful that looks don’t kill because not even the high-tech docs and all their equipment could save me from the look Ryan gives me. “Don’t you love it when your words come back to haunt you?”
The egg is practically mush now.
I reach across the table and place my hand over his, because I need him to stop.
He jerks back as if burned, but I hold on. I’m not letting this come between us.
“Look at me,” I say, my voice firm. He did this for me once, and now I’m here to repay the favor.
“I would give anything to be fixed.” His statement hits me below the belt. Not a surprise. Well, not really. We’ve all been there. What would I give to be healed. To be normal. To not exist in this state of disrepair. “How can you live like this?”
His words cut deep. They’re as much an accusation as they are a question. But what threads through all of his words is the underlying belief that the way I live … is wrong. Is somehow subnormal and therefore worse.
So glad we’ve reached that stage. I try to shove my feelings aside, but they cling to me like tape around an IV, holding me in a place that says my life must be so much less than everyone else’s.
Ugh.
I shake my head as if that will clear my thoughts, but even still they crowd in on me.
“Come on,” I say, and start eating as fast as I can.
“What?”
“Eat, we have somewhere to be.”
I can’t pull Ryan out of this state because he’ll just push me down further past him. And at least this way I can maybe fix my relationship with another friend. Because no one does this better than Caitlin.