Charlie sunk to the unforgiving chair, legs over the âsturdyâ arm of it. He tried finding comfort, but there was never going to be comfort in a hospital. For a place so well spoken of, you wouldâve thought theyâd have more money for comfortable chairs. He wasnât getting treatment, but dear God he deserved something for the hours he had to sit through it. It wasnât like he had anywhere else to be, though. His mother had said so herself. âLee, donât try playing me. I know the sort of âthingsâ you study in school. Come with me today.â There was no choice in the matter when she put it like that. He had to suffer with her.
Or simply suffer beside her. She dozed perfectly fine in her chair (which was cushioned and everything), a blanket over her and the port within her chest. Well, wasnât she lucky? They pampered her ass all the time. Charlie groaned in discomfort, watching as the nurse did her rounds, checking on the other three patients in memorized routine. Her voice made him groggy, listening to all of the repetitive words that he could recite with his ears plugged. By now, he could play the part of the diligent nurse.
âHow are you feeling today?â She always asked an incoming patient.
âYour blood count was low this morning. Weâll have to call for a blood transfusion. Iâm not sure youâll be getting chemo today.â Was her informative reply as to why things were delayed for one unfortunate soul.
âAny concerns should be taken with your primary care physician, sir.â She replied icily to a man several hours late. Poor thingâs twelve-hour shift would now be a fourteen-hour one and that was without complications. Charlie commended her for the work she did. She was obviously overworked.
âIâm so fucking stiff. Lee, get another pillow,â Charlieâs mom grumbled, her voice submerged in sleep. Charlie blinked away his own tiredness. When the hell had he fallen asleep? His back chose that moment to remind him why he avoided dozing in these chairs. He was stiff as fuck, hardly able to stretch without wincing. As he tried to regain some sense of his youth he gave his mother a look. It was not in approval either.
He eyed the three pillows she already had. She nudged him with her foot as encouragement and he went to the nurse. She hadnât appeared very convinced but she gave him another anyway. Charlie tossed it at his mom. She huffed, pushing it behind her back. âThousands of dollars and they wanna fuck me over. I thought cancer got me out of shit like this.â She settled on her throne, her tiredness weighing heavier on her face now that she was awake.
âNo, you just get a free snack with the back pain,â Charlie replied, refusing to sit any longer. He knew heâd be fucked later tonight if he fell asleep again. He paced in their corner of the room. There isnât much space for it.
âMrs. Larsen, give me a moment to finish here and weâll give you a flush to finish todayâs treatment,â Jackie announced, smiling politely. She was covering the usual nurseâs lunch. It was obvious she was new by the way she spoke to Beth. Charlie thought it was cute. His mother wrinkled her nose in quiet discontent. She hated being called by anything but her first name.
âSure, sweetie,â Sheâd thrown back. The nurseâs smile had taken a genuine turn. She hadnât given attention to the jab.
Charlie raised his eyebrows when the nurse turned away from them, setting up for the end of their journey. âYouâre so grouchy,â He whispered, his smile mischievous. Beth amused him by flicking him off, sitting up now that she knew she only had an hour left. Charlie thought it was funny the way she started. She would mumble responses at the start of each treatment, groggier than he was in the morning. By the time they started she was in and out of sleep, and then, with the end in sight, she was antsy. Charlie could barely keep her from pulling the shit out her port herself. He was sure if his dad hadnât begged for her to take treatment that she wouldâve refused it. She was impossible sometimes.
âShut up and help me up. I need to move. Your dad call yet?â Beth asked, reaching for Charlie. He supported her. Her grip was looser than before.
âNah, I texted him before you knocked out.â
âGood. You know he wanted to come too? He said he had some sick days to cover it. What a fucking liar.â She laughed, letting go of Charlie.
Charlie kept his hand on her elbow, shrugging. âDad offers to call off when Iâm at home with a cold. Heâs a sucker.â
Beth was silent, thoughtful for a moment. âI know,â She sighed.
âOK, Mrs. Larsen, Iâm ready when you are.â The nurse announced.
âLetâs get this over with.â Beth beckoned her over.
âWeâre giving her the treatment tailored to her needs. Anything stronger might do more harm.â
âTAC Â isnât a cure. Itâs not suited for her.â
âWell, what is at this point? Sheâs not better! Sheâs not herself anymore.â
âWe spoke about this before, Lucas. The cancer has spread. We knew there wouldnât be a cure this far in. Itâs not humane to continue.â
âBut watching her die is? Get the fuck out of my face.â
âIâm sorry, Lucas.â The doctor says, sounding a touch sympathetic.
Charlie canât see his dadâs face, but his hands are covering it and his shoulders are shaking. Itâs fair to say heâs crying. Crying like a girl who got dumped by her first boyfriend. He thinks itâs sad. His mom would be pissed about it. It makes Charlie snort as he grabs her hand, her skin so warm to the touch. Who knew people dying stayed this warm? What did the nurse say earlier? She was running, what, 104.6°F for the past hour? That was pretty fucking hot.
Lucas re-enters the room. His face is dry but undeniably blotched red from the crying. Heâs got some puffiness in the eyes too. Itâs a bad look for him. Charlie knows Mom wouldâve killed him for crying. She wouldâve been pissed with the both of them. She wouldnât have understood all the fuss because she knew this was a possibility. The chemo wasnât long term. Neither was her life from the looks of it. She tried preparing them, especially Charlie, but who knows why. He wasnât the one cursing the doctor out. He hadnât even left her side when Lucas stepped out with the guy. âCharlie, grab something to eat already. Itâs five,â Lucas tells him, taking up the chair on the other side of the bed. Charlie looks at his phone. Shit, he hasnât moved in like ten hours.
To prove heâs fine he nods his head, standing on lead-filled legs. Fuck, sitting that long was a bad decision. He doesnât look back when he leaves the room, not even when he remembers he never brought his wallet with him. Charlie steps into the elevator, goes down to the lobby and passes the regular security guards. By memory heâs walking down a small path to the outside dining pavilion, avoiding the interns and nurses rushing to get dinner. He bumps a guy leaving, but heâs not in scrubs or anything. Heâs got a plain shirt on, jeans, and a jacket to keep out the hospitalâs chill.
Maybe itâs good timing because Charlie thinks heâs cute and the way the guy looks back heâs probably thinking the same. âHope youâre not in a rush,â Charlieâs laying it thick, getting close, giving a half-smile. The guy blushes and smiles back. âNot anymore.â Itâs a little game after that. Charlie gives and gives and this guy takes it all. He thinks his name is Jackson, something kind of jockey. Charlie tells him that. Jackson laughs before confirming heâs on a team. Heâs not a quarterback, but heâs got the ass of one.
They fuck in Jacksonâs car. Charlie is still kissing Jackson when his phone rings. He ignores it, tongue in this guyâs mouth. When it rings a second time Jackson is pulling back, panting. âCheck it already,â he says. Charlie sits on the phone, muffling the ringtone. Jackson looks at him questioningly. âKinda feels good,â Charlie lies, grinning as he pulls the guy forward, meeting his mouth again. Jackson sighs into the kiss, hand on the front of Charlieâs jeans. He rubs and it's not surprising when they go for a second round of random sex.
By eight oâclock, Charlie returns back to the room. Heâs no fuller than before. Although, he feels itâs safe to say the sex was better than any meal he couldâve had here. Lucas is pacing the floor. âFuck, where the hell were you?â Lucas is stern, all father mode. Charlie shrugs, dropping to his seat. âI was eating like you said.â
âDonât lie to me. I went downstairs to look for you.â
âSo after I ate I met this guyââ
âGod, even here you find someone to screw?â
Lucas approaches Charlie, takes a spot on the bed to look at him. Charlie looks back at him. No one gives. âYou know, I gotta ask for her.â Charlie doesnât reply. âOn a scale of one to Frank Ocean, how fuckable was he?â
Charlie doesnât hesitate. âOscar Isaac.â
Lucas turns to look at his wife, taking her hand. âDamn, he was hot, Beth.â
Bethâs hand twitches. They donât pretend it means anything more. Charlie heard the nurses say itâs natural, but sheâs not responding to them. Itâs her coming off the heavy medication just before they come back to give her another dose. Although, itâs apparently soothing to talk to her. He doesnât get who is supposed to be soothed. Lucas doesnât either, but he humors them. Beth wouldâve wanted them to humor the nurses. It wouldnât look good to ignore the dying woman anyway.
Itâs a couple days later when she passes away. Lucas preferred Charlie stay out the room. He didnât want him seeing her that way, but Charlie never saw the point. She was dead a long time ago. He doesnât even see her in the casket because his mom complained about not wanting people to stare at her. Lucas respects all of her wishes despite having argued about them when she was alive. Itâs kind of funny how death changes a person. Charlieâs never seen his dad so serious.
âCharlie, do you want this?â Lucas asks his son a few months later. Heâs holding a pair of his wifeâs earrings, giving his son the most serious look.
Before Charlie answers, he laughs. He bursts because why the fuck would he want her earrings? And then, heâs crying, hard and fast, barely able to breathe because he sort of does want them. Not to wear, but to be reminded that she existed. Lucas doesnât ask after that day.
Once the clothes are donated, the pictures put down, and the house redesigned, things start to feel normal. Lucas doesnât avoid her coffee cup or the picture of the three of them from last year. He gives it a look, jokes with Charlie not to get a girl pregnant, and leaves for work. Even Charlie plays his part, saying heâll keep no promises, and winks deviously.
They make it most days. Lucas tells his son he loves him more often. Charlie blames it on old man hormones, hugging his dad back. They both donât mention how it takes several minutes for them to pull away. The momentâs usually broken after Charlie tells him how grossed out his mom would be with their sentimental hugging. Lucas chuckles, agreeing.
âShe wouldâve had our heads,â Lucas shakes his head.
âUgh, why did she hate affection?â Charlie complains, picking at his toast.
âShe said it was for the weak,â Lucas smirks over his cup. âWe made her weak enough without adding the love.â
âDamn right. Iâm the best looking kid.â
âYeah, just not the brightest,â His father throws back, rolling his eyes.
Charlie scoffs. âIâm telling her to send you some paranormal activity shit tonight. Move a cup or something.â
âAsk her if she can blow me. Iâve always wanted to be like Ghost with Patrick Swayze.â
Charlie pushes himself away from the table, hands up in defeat as he walks away. Lucasâ laughter can be heard from the living room.
He thinks theyâll be okay.
Charlie is kissing this guy, Travis(??), when he remembers itâs the anniversary of his motherâs death. He wonders if thatâs why his dad called like a thousand times. Oh, heâs fucked, and itâs not in the way heâd like to be. He pulls away, putting his hand on Travisâ shoulder when he tries continuing their make out.
âI forgot I had plans,â Charlie sighs, his hand traveling up Travisâ neck and to his hair. He tugs lightly, smiling when Travis moans. âRain check?â
âSure, call me.â Travis easily agrees, kissing too softly.
Charlie pretends to enjoy it. Travis is nice. He doesnât want to hurt him. When he leaves he checks his messages.
Fuck. They are from his dad.
Charlie, meet me at the house. I forgot the flowers in the fridge.
Where are you?? Iâm home.
Donât do this today, Lee. I need you.
Iâll be home later. Itâs okay, I understand. I love you
Charlie reaches the cemetery almost two hours later. Heâs still in the clothes he wore at school, even a bit flushed from his ministrations with Travis, but heâs here. It takes a few minutes to see them. He doesnât visit her as often as Lucas does. They donât argue about it though.
Lucas doesnât turn right away. Perhaps he hasn't heard Charlie yet. Heâs speaking, but itâs low. Too low for it to be meant for Charlie to hear. It makes Charlieâs stomach ache which is strange because he ate.
âI never thought much when a year ended,â Lucas says, wiping the corners of his eyes. âBut when we had you I couldnât stop thinking about the years that flew by. You were fucking small, Lee. Your mom thought you were a little weird looking, but I was fucking gone.â
âAnd you were so restless. We took so many late car rides just trying to keep you quiet. I think you traumatized us. We didnât want any more kids. You were it for us.â Charlie huffs at that, a smile touching his face.
âYou made us grow up. Beth and I had never taken anything so seriously. We didnât know what we were doing. Beth always said we shouldâve waited a while longer to have you, but I know she loved you more than me.â Lucas turns to hide the tears in his eyes, but his voice cracks. Hearing his father so emotional makes it hard for Charlie to breathe. His chest is tight. âThe cancer wasnât what hurt her the most, Charlie. It was having to let you go. She made me promise so much shit. Even told me all the secrets you guys kept from me.â He gives a watery chuckle. âI know about your visits to the strip club.â
Charlie canât join in on the laughter. âSheâs such a snitch.â
âShe thought youâdâ she worried youâd miss her,â Lucas finally faces his son. He doesnât look so teary eyed anymore.
âItâd be kinda fucked up if I didnât.â
âYeah, but itâd be more fucked up to pretend youâd forgotten what today is.â
Charlie nods. âYou got me there.â
âLee, talk to me. Iâll never take her place, but Iâm here too. I love you so much. You think I donât know? I hear you sometimes. Itâs not good for you to pretend.â
âIâm not pretending.â
âWhy canât you talk about it then?â
Charlie thinks of his reason and shrugs. Lucas couldnât understand.
His dad looks pained. âItâs okay. I just donât want to find you in a bad situation. Iâm here for you. Completely.â
âI know,â Charlieâs voice is weak.
They briefly hug before parting from Bethâs grave. Charlie thinks someday heâll be able to talk about it. Someday heâll take up his dadâs offer and cry on his shoulder, sob about the quirks of his absent mother. Maybe heâll even ask what Mom made him promise because if itâs about still going to the strip club thereâs no way heâs going with his dad.
Maybe heâll even visit her more. Or at least decide on the arrangement to bring. Lucas doesnât have the best taste in flowers. Most of the time, his motherâs lack of a green thumb had killed the lively plants within a week so she never really complained, but Charlie did. He teased her for her horrid plant care as well. He misses the way she told him off after he did. He simply misses her.
Days like this itâs hard to find a reason not to miss her or think that just another day, year, decade, fucking century, with her wouldâve been enough. It feels impossible to explain it, the feeling that comes when he has these thoughts. Grief creeps onto him in the oddest of moments. He had once found himself sobbing in a bowl of oatmeal one morning after he remembered she had bought the box a week before dying.
However, with grief of this intensity, there were the rare moments where absolute numbness came. He couldnât think of her, couldnât remember the sound of her voice, the times they talked. Everything in his life was going so smoothly he wondered if sheâd ever been real. Those moments felt the most dangerous.
Sometimes, he wishes he never had to go through stages of grief or wait for it to come ashore, to be felt. Charlie no longer wanted to cry or blame himself, even his father, for his motherâs death. He didnât want to look at a bowl of oatmeal and weep because she had somehow come to mind. It was ridiculous. Not even the grief counselor could convince him otherwise.
Sometimes, he wants the loss to mean less. Charlie wants to feel detachment. It wouldâve been better if it meant less. If he lost all the feelings of grief.