The Instant When Everything is Perfect Read online

  Ford walks over to Mia and bends down to kiss her on the head. “I’m going to head back. My cell phone’s on. Call me when she comes out of it. Call me for anything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Mia sighs, nods, and looks up at him. For more than half her life, he is who she’s turned to for comfort, for help, for company. And he won’t stay. “Fine. I’ll let you know.”

  He kisses her again, puts a hand on Katherine’s shoulder, and waves to Dahlia. Then he’s nothing but a sound of footsteps in the hallway.

  “He couldn’t wait to get out of here.” Katherine sits down and crosses her legs.

  Mia breathes in sharply and feels a back molar with her tongue. For a second, she imagines she hears Ford’s footsteps coming back toward the waiting room.

  “He’s got better things to do, I guess,” Katherine says. “No keeping him away from the office, not even a sick mother-in-law.”

  “You’re such a joy to be around,” Mia says. “Can you really blame him?”

  “Cut it out.” Dahlia doesn’t look up from her Elle. “Knock it off.”

  Mia sits back and thinks of what Dahlia said. Cut it out. That’s what Mia would like to do, cut this past month out of the year. She can see the big scissors she would use to get rid of the entire month of February. Maybe she’d cut even more, going all the way back to . . . she’s not sure. Maybe three, four years, five. That way she could get rid of Sally’s cancer, Lucien’s addiction, Ford’s inattention, her own boredom. But then she’d be getting rid of good things, too. Days of happiness. A novel or two. Quiet family dinners. Okay, but there are weeks she’d like to get rid of for sure. Whole days. Solid hours. And then knock it off. What would she knock off? There’s nothing to really hit except Katherine, of course. Katherine and her big mouth.

  “I just really hate this,” Katherine says.

  “You hate not being in control.” Mia looks at her sister, seeing, finally, Katherine’s worry.

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe. A big yes.”

  “Yes, then. Yes.”

  Dahlia closes her magazine again as Sally’s doctor, Cindy Jacobs, walks in the room. Unlike doctors on all the television shows who are covered in blood and gore by the end of the hour-long show, Cindy looks like she just put on her scrubs, the green cotton smooth and fresh. Mia resolves to ask Katherine if doctors change before coming out to see the family, as if to prove that it was all truly a miracle, an operation done my mind control.

  Dahlia stands up, rushes forward. Mia can see her arms are covered in gooseflesh.

  “Is she okay?” Dahlia asks.

  Cindy Jacobs nods, smiles. “The surgery went very well. I’m very pleased. Her blood pressure wasn’t an issue and she had very little bleeding. She’s in recovery right now.”

  Katherine doesn’t smile. “Any complications?”

  “None. Everything looks great. Of course we’ll have to wait for the lab reports to get the complete picture.”

  “That’s so wonderful,” Mia says.

  Cindy looks at Mia, smiling. “Your mother gave me your latest novel this morning before the surgery. I’m looking forward to reading it.”

  Katherine snorts and shakes her head. Mia stands and walks over to Cindy Jacobs.

  “I hope you like it. But thank you, Doctor. We really appreciate your hard work.” She holds out her hand and takes Cindy’s soft, small one in hers. Cindy’s skin feels as smooth and over washed as Dr. Groszmann’s did, the slick skin of a surgeon.

  “I’ll let you know about the lab reports. And the nurse will come and get you when your mother is out of recovery and in her room.”

  “Thank you,” Dahlia says, and Katherine nods. But Mia can see that all sorts of judgments and ideas have filled Katherine’s head. Right now, Mia knows, Katherine is trying to figure out how she herself can do the lab tests. She wants the answers now.

  Cindy Jacobs leaves the waiting room, her surgical coat billowing behind her, and Katherine plops down in the chair.

  “It will be hours if not days before we know anything. They should let me in that lab. I wouldn’t even charge them.”

  Mia rubs her eyes. She picked up Sally, Katherine, and Dahlia at 5.30 in the morning to get them to the hospital by six. Sally was admitted, prepped, wheeled into surgery, and now, at one in the afternoon, Mia feels the sleepless night before, the quick stale donut and bad coffee she grabbed in the hospital cafeteria, the irritation crawling across her skin at Katherine’s bossiness and her sister’s total inability to appreciate anything Mia has ever done.

  “Why don’t you go ask?” Mia says suddenly. “Go see if you can.”

  Katherine turns to her and doesn’t say anything.

  “Go find Dr. Jacobs and ask her if you can get in on the lab work. Tell her that you graduated at the top of your class and have a job so much better than hers and are paid three times as much. Tell her that you can diagnose anything and do so faster than any pathologist who would work at a crappy HMO like Inland. Go on, Katherine. Go make a really good impression on all the staff here. I’m sure that will make Mom’s stay that much more enjoyable. And it will make it so nice for Mom and me when we come back for follow up visits. You’ll have already conveniently left.”

  As Mia speaks, Katherine’s mouth opens slowly until she is gaping.

  When Mia finishes, Katherine says, “Fuck you.”

  “Well, fuck you, too. You march in here and want to control the entire process. If you were that concerned, you could have come about a month ago. Helped us out with all the decisions. Mom and I watched videos and read stuff on the internet and called references. If you really wanted to help, you should have thought about it when I called to tell you Mom had cancer.”

  “Stop it!” Dahlia says, picking up her magazine and rolling it in her palms as if she wants to whack both Mia and Katherine. “For God’s sake. We’ll find out about Mom’s test results soon enough. Nothing either of you is doing now will make it better.”

  Dahlia throws the magazine across the room and begins to cry. Mia closes her eyes. That’s what they should all be doing. Crying. Not fighting. She stands up and walks to Dahlia, sitting in the chair next to her and patting her knee.

  “Sorry, Dahls. Sorry. Look, we’re all exhausted. I’ll go get something for us at the cafeteria.” Mia leans down and kisses Dahlia’s cheek.

  Dahlia nods, and Mia can still see her as she was as a child. When Sally and Katherine and Mia fought, yelling or stomping out of a room, Dahlia would huddle somewhere—the end of the couch, the corner of the living room, behind the hallway door—her face pale, her eyes wide, convinced that this argument meant the end of everything.

  Mia stands straight and sighs. She’s the big sister and should know better, especially all these years later.

  “Look,” she says to Katherine, “Mom is going to be all right. We studied up. All the doctors saw her. Even her plastic surgeon told us he didn’t think there was lymph involvement. We have to be optimistic.”

  Katherine nods and then picks up a magazine, a tattered travel magazine from the late 90’s. Mia watches her sister’s face, her pressed lips, tight jaw. All of this is too much, even for Katherine. “Fine,” Katherine says, wiping at her eyes quickly.

  “Okay. Good. I’ll be back,” Mia picks up her purse and walks out of the waiting room. She needs to brush her teeth and wash her face. No, what she really wants is a bath. Then sleep. She wants to stay in bed until her mother’s chemo is over, emerging to good news and sunny skies.

  “Ms. Alden?”

  Mia almost jumps and then stops walking. She tries to breathe but her heart seems to have grown enormous, blocking off her wind pipe. What is it? she thinks. What is this person going to tell me? What has happened to my mother? Her skin pricks, hair stands up at the back of her head. For a second, she imagines she is going to throw up all over the shiny linoleum.

  Turning slowly, Mia almost falls. It’s only Dr. Groszmann. He wasn’t in this surgery. H
e doesn’t know anything. Or does he? She puts her hand against the wall.

  “What is it?”

  His face shifts, his smile flattens. “Oh, no. I don’t have news. I just—I just wanted to say hello.”

  Mia closes her eyes for a moment. In a rush, she can see her fear flume up and out of her body slowly, and in its place comes the feeling that over took her in Dr. Groszmann’s office. The hideous pulse of adrenaline, the blush over all her skin, the giddy nerves crackling in her bones.

  He walks toward her. She can hear the clack of his black cowboy boots on the clean floor. “Are you all right?”

  She nods and then opens her eyes. He’s still there, closer now. If she wanted, she could reach out and stroke his cheek.

  “I’m sorry. I just thought you might be the nurse.”

  “The surgery is over, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. Dr. Jacobs just came in to talk to us.” Mia runs her hand through her hair. “I don’t know why, but I keep expecting bad news. Like it’s impossible for it to be okay.”

  “It was good news from the surgery, right?” He watches her with his pale blue eyes, and Mia has the urge to move even closer to him, slide her cheek against his, press against his skin until she believes it’s good news, too.

  Instead, she shrugs. “I hope. I was just going to run down to the cafeteria for some coffee and fruit or something. Everyone in the waiting room is going through a blood sugar low.”

  “Surgery is very stressful for everyone,” he says.

  “But maybe I shouldn’t leave. She might come out of recovery.”

  Dr. Groszmann shakes his head. “No, you have forty minutes at least. Probably more. And she’s not alone. Nurses are with her constantly until she’s moved to her room.”

  “Okay.” Mia wants to believe him, and she looks at his shoulder, wishing she could rest her head there. Just for a minute, enough time to catch her breath before she has to move into her mother’s recuperation. He might be lean as a wild cat, but she can imagine how comforting it would feel to lay her cheek on his chest, and have him say, “It will be all right. Your mother will be just fine.” She would never want to move again, stuck to his good news like desperate glue.

  “Let me walk with you,” he says, and he’s taking her arm, moving her along the hall. For some reason, she looks back, and sees that Katherine has stepped out into the hall and is watching them. Even from here, Mia can feel Katherine’s slicing disapproval.

  In the cafeteria, Mia buys a cup of coffee, two bottled waters, three bags of pretzels, three Baby Ruth bars, and three oranges. The cashier finds her a brown bag for everything but the coffee, which she begins to sip after she hands the woman her money. Dr. Groszmann waits for her at a table, a cup of coffee before him.

  “Can you sit for a minute?” he asks. “I promise not to keep you here for long.”

  Mia looks at the clock on the wall and tries to ignore what her skin tells her. Sit, it whines. Find a way to touch him. You need him. He’s lovely. Just forget about your mother for a teeny, tiny second.

  “Okay,” she says. “For a bit.” She sits down and puts the bag on a free chair, keeping her eyes low. She has to force herself into looking at him, her eyes heavier than guilt. Dragging her gaze up from the table, she stops at his mouth, then moves higher to his eyes. “Thanks for coming with me, Dr. Groszmann. I’m so distracted, I probably would have gotten lost.”

  “Robert.”

  “Okay. Robert. Then no more Ms. Alden. I don’t even know who that is. It’s Mia.”

  He smiles, his teeth even and white. But not too white, not lasered, not bleached, just naturally beautiful. “It’s better than ‘Hey, you.’ Or what do the kids say? ‘Yo!’”

  “That’s not it. It’s ‘Yo! Dude.’”

  “Of course. How could I forget?”

  “But,” Mia says, crossing her legs under the table, “no matter what you said to me in the hallway, I probably would have jumped a mile.”

  “Like I said earlier, it’s hard to have someone you love go through surgery. Sometimes I think it’s harder on the family.”

  She smiles, sips her coffee, her heart lurches against her ribs.

  “Thanks for the card,” he says abruptly.

  Mia almost chokes, managing to stifle the sound in her throat. She’s forgotten about the thank you card she sent him after her mother’s second appointment, digging around in her desk for stationary appropriate for the occasion. She doesn’t even remember what she said, but she remembers that she sent it mostly for herself. Thank you, she wrote, for making my mother feel comfortable. What she might have said was Thank you for making me feel something other than fear. Thank you for making me blush. Thank you for blushing along with me.

  She didn’t tell her mother she sent it—she didn’t even tell Kenzie.

  “You—I mean, thank you. You really made my mother feel better.”

  Robert looks down at his coffee, holds it in both of his hands. “I was wondering . . . “ He stops, turns the cup. The coffee stays completely flat, as if its world isn’t spinning. “I know this isn’t . . . Could I talk with you? Email you?”

  Two things happen. First she sees Ford, as he was today, by her side, waiting for news about Sally. She flashes to the moment when Lucien graduated from high school, his arms held wide, his gown like long green wings behind him. And then she sees Harper, holding onto the doorjamb, his car keys in his hand, walking in the door with a story about school.

  The second thing is that she wants to laugh. All Robert has done is ask if he can email her. She remembers a story Kenzie told her once. A man asked her out for lunch, and Kenzie said, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I have a boyfriend.”

  The man looked at her, raised his eyebrows, and said, “I didn’t ask you to marry me. I just thought you might like a hamburger.”

  So Mia doesn’t laugh. She looks at Robert, tries not to blink too much. He is brave, braver than Mia. As she watches him, he watches her back. He lets go of his coffee cup and pushes an imaginary flyaway hair away from his face.

  Mia reaches for her purse. She unsnaps the top flap and digs around on a side pocket, pulling out a business card.

  “This looks kind of cheesy. It has my upcoming novel cover on the front. But my email’s there. My web site.” She hands it to him and they touch for a second, her skin giving her a quick, hot thank you of gooseflesh. “Writers have to be salespeople these days if they want to stay writers.”

  “What do you have to do? How do you sell yourself?” Robert holds the card carefully, as if he expects a sudden wind to carry it off.

  “Oh,” Mia says. “Go on the circuit. Talk at writers’ conferences. Go to bookstores where the audience will be the manager, my mother, and sometimes my husband.”

  Mia feels the heavy d of husband on her tongue. She stops talking for a moment so she can breathe, pretend to be interested in her Styrofoam cup.

  “I’m married.”

  Robert nods. “I know.”

  Something zings in her chest, fear or joy, she can’t be sure. “How?”

  “I’m reading Sacramento by Train. Your bio mentions your husband.”

  Mia doesn’t even try to hide the blood rushing to her face this time. “Did my mother give you the book? She gave one to Dr. Jacobs. Maybe she thinks you’ll all be so impressed that you’ll cut just a little bit more carefully. She actually does have a stack by her front door. I swear she gives them out like candy.”

  He smiles, watches her. She imagines he is following the progress of her blush, his gaze slowly sliding over her face.

  “No, Sally just told me about your writing. I bought it myself.”

  He blinks, and Mia realizes her mouth is open.

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “One more night, and I’ll know if Susan leaves Rafael.”

  Mia turns to look out the large bank of windows. Outside, a new storm has pushed over the hills, a dark wall of cloudy water covering Walnut Creek. She wants to tell h
im that she doesn’t even know if Susan ever left Rafael. While writing the last page, she wanted to fling herself into the imaginary future of the story and ask Susan that very question. “Will you leave? Did you leave?” But Susan never answered, and now, two novels later, she no longer speaks to Mia, not even at night.

  She turns back to Robert. “Maybe so, maybe not. I’m not giving away anything. You’ll have to read all the way to the end.”

  “In college, I used to have the bad habit of reading the last page before even starting a book. That way, I’d know how it would turn out before I got there.”