you need help finding someone?” he asks. “I know most of the girls here.”
“Is that so?” I smile, lifting my eyebrow.
“Oh . . . no,” he says quickly. “I don’t mean I know them know them . . . Well, maybe some of them . . .” When I playfully cross my arms over my chest as if waiting for him to go on, he tosses back his head and laughs. “Wow, my attempts at flirtation are going really well, don’t you think? Wonder if I can make it any worse.”
“I have faith in you.”
He bites his lip, looking both embarrassed and exhilarated by our little exchange. I take the moment to check him out, noting that with his stupidly adorable smile, he probably has no problem meeting girls at parties.
“Chris!” someone yells to him from across the room. The guy lifts his chin in acknowledgment, but then turns like he’s about to ask me something. Before he can, Simone appears out of nowhere and pulls me away.
“He’s in the backyard,” she says impatiently, not noticing the handsome blond who was about to . . . well, I don’t know what he was about to do. But it must not have been that important because when I turn back to look, he’s gone.
“Who’s in the yard?” I ask, following behind Simone like a puppy dog. She turns abruptly.
“Joel,” she says. “He’s in the backyard—without Lauren. Are you going to talk to him or secretly pine away for the rest of your life? This isn’t Pride and Prejudice, Keira Knightley.”
“You know that was a book before it was a movie, right?”
Simone rolls her eyes. “Of course I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that the movie was ten times better. Now let’s not leave poor Joel defenseless in a party full of Felicitys.”
The full impact of her words hits, and a shock of nervous electricity races through me. Even though Simone let me borrow a cute, party-friendly outfit, I’m still in no condition to approach Joel. I might need to have a “Don’t chicken out!” pep talk with my reflection. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Simone.
She sags dramatically against the hallway wall like she’s completely inconvenienced. “Hurry,” she sings.
My heart is thumping: The possibility of talking—actually talking—to Joel is a bit intimidating. It’s not like I’ve never spoken to him before, but it’s never been with the sole intent of ripping him from his girlfriend’s clutches. God, I’m so embarrassed for myself. And even so, I take my place in the back of the bathroom line at the top of the stairs.
“We meet again,” the guy from earlier says as he looks back from two people ahead of me. “We’re on the same orbit tonight. And sorry about—”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and the party fades into the background. The people. The music. Gone. Somehow I just know. I know even before I see that it’s Teddy calling.
“Hello?” I answer, gripping the phone tightly.
“Hurry.”
It’s all my brother has to say before I’m trampling down the stairs, grabbing Simone by the shirtsleeve, and pulling her out the door.
I sit next to Teddy, my head on his shoulder, in the hospice waiting room. My mother cries softly into my stepdad’s button-down dress shirt. I stare at them, wondering if the last of Mom’s makeup will be smeared on the white fabric, the little bits of normalcy of her appearance washed away with tears.
My aunt faces the window, across the room from any of us—on her own island. Just then, I hear the scraping of shoes and look up to see Natalie walk in.
Her face is red and blotchy, but her back is straight, her eyes determined. I’m alarmed at how . . . right she looks. I have this irrational hope that my grandmother is somehow fine. That she’s cured and waiting to go home. But then my sister turns to my brother and says it’s his turn.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” Teddy says, untangling himself from me. “Keep it together, Caroline.” His voice is serious, but in his expression I see impatience. He wants his time with Gram too. So I just nod and let him walk away.
Natalie doesn’t take his place. Instead she walks over to kneel in front of my mother, whispering to her. My mom then turns to cry on her, reminding me that they have a bond I don’t. Or at least one that I won’t have once Gram is gone. I wait, and it’s just a few minutes later when my brother comes out. His voice is broken from crying, and—unable to bear seeing his face—I don’t look up at him.
“Hurry,” he says. I stand and start toward Gram’s room, hands shaking, heart about to burst.
I shut the door and walk to the chair next to Gram’s bedside. She’s lying there, her eyes closed, and all at once I think that maybe it’s too late. I’ve already lost her. I stare down, relieved when I see her chest rising and falling.
I drop back into the chair next to her, banging my knees on the metal workings of the bed. I don’t even wince, only lean closer to Gram. Her head rolls to the side, and she opens her eyes to look at me. She’s suddenly so old—lost in her own skin.
“Caroline, at last,” she says weakly. “My favorite.”
I cover my mouth as hot tears spill over my cheeks—sobs shake my body. She watches me with weary eyes, eyes just like my mother’s.
“We’ve always taken care of each other, you and I,” she says. “But now you’ll have to take care of yourself.”
“But I want you,” I say like I’m a child. “I can’t do it without you.”
She smiles gently. “You tend to the things at home for me,” she says. “Walk the cat, water the flowers.”
“I will.” My grandmother’s cat, Junior, walks on a leash and hates everyone but her. He’s a menace, but when I asked her last year to get rid of him, she said he’d only leave when she did. Back then I never even thought it was a possibility.
Gram reaches to run the backs of her cool fingers over my cheek, and I clutch her shoulder like I can hold her to this earth. “Don’t ever give up on yourself,” she says. “Life is hard sometimes, and I’m sorry I won’t be here for you.” A tear slides over her temple.
“I’m scared,” I say.
“Shh,” she says. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not. We all die.” Her words give me chills. I swallow hard as her breaths become uneven. “Try to make good choices, but when you make a bad one, learn from it and move on.”
“Gram—”
“And be careful who you love, Caroline,” she whispers. “Never let them take too much. Never let them take what’s you.”
I nod, not fully getting her meaning but wanting to encourage her to go on. To keep talking. But Gram just stares at me for a second, smiling softly until her mouth goes slack.
“I love you,” she says finally. It’s so quiet, it’s barely there at all.
“I love you more,” I return, a stillness coming over me—a thick crushing pressure that’s about to destroy me. Because as we stare at each other, I watch the life fade from my grandmother’s eyes. And then she exhales one more time, long and deep . . . letting go.