Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Mrs. Cho is lying flat on her back on the carpet beside the coffee table.
Jess kneels beside her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shouts into the phone pressed to her ear, “Hurry! She may have had a heart attack or a stroke and it’s all my fault for being the worst daughter ever.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jess
Mom comes to in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, sending a sharp jerk of hope through my chest. She can’t speak with the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, but she reaches for my hand, holding tight to it the rest of the way to the emergency room at Red Bank.
The EMTs let me run along beside the stretcher as far as the doors to the emergency room proper, but insist I stay in the waiting room while they take her back to see the cardiologist already on his way down from the fifth floor.
I let go of her hand with a gasp like I’m surfacing from underwater and am instantly flattened by a fresh wave of guilt and grief.
Mercifully, just as I’m pretty sure my knees are going to give out, Sam is beside me.
“You’re here,” I say, clinging to his arm as he steers me gently toward a row of empty chairs against the far wall. “How are you here? So fast?”
“Vicky has a lead foot when the people she loves are in trouble,” he says, helping me into a chair and settling beside me. “She and Steve are on their way to pick your dad up at the bowling alley and bring him here. They don’t think he should drive while he’s upset.”
“He shouldn’t drive at all,” I say, my throat tight. “He’s the worst driver ever and a danger to himself and others.” I suck in another breath that emerges as a sob. “He’s going to be so disappointed in me for hurting Mom.”
“You didn’t hurt your mom.”
“I gave her a heart attack,” I say, my voice pitching up. “I’m such a horrible daughter, I literally sent my mother into cardiac arrest.”
“Her pre-existing conditions and inability to successfully cope with her stress sent her into cardiac arrest,” he says gently, rubbing a comforting hand in circles between my shoulder blades. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I shake my head. “No, I did. I stood up to her and raised my voice and used the ‘f’ word. I’ve never used the ‘f’ word in her presence, Sam. Never.” I press my lips together, fighting to swallow past the panic rising inside. “I should have known better. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asks, making me jerk my head his way. “Hear me out,” he continues, clearly reading the shock on my face. “She’s your mother and she loves you, there’s no doubt about that, but…you’re twenty-four years old, Jess. You’re a smart, successful, fully grown woman who’s been supporting yourself for years, while maintaining several wonderful friendships and kicking ass at your job, even when the cards were stacked against you. You’ve earned the respect of other grown-ups. Including your parents.”
I shrink in my chair, until the itchy collar on my shirt crinkles around my chin. “That’s a nice thought, but that’s not the way our family dynamic works. Children are always children, and they always defer to their parents, no matter how old they get.”
“Then maybe your family dynamic needs a reboot,” he suggests, reaching out to smooth the lace from my cheek. “You should be able to be yourself around the people you love. And that includes making your own decisions about work, your personal life, and…” He casts a pointed look at the stiff collar between his fingers before adding, “Your clothes. You shouldn’t have to pretend to be your mother’s good little clone to earn her love.”
Unexpectedly, I feel tears stream down my cheeks.
The sensation is so foreign that my hand flies to my face. I draw my damp fingers away, still a little shocked, even with the evidence that I am indeed weeping fresh on my fingertips.
“I never cry,” I whisper, glancing back at Sam, who’s watching me with such focus, such affection, that it sends more water leaking from my traitorous eyeballs.
“I know you don’t. But it’s okay. It’s scary to have your mom in the hospital.”
I shake my head, shame rising in my throat, making it almost impossible to speak. “It’s not that,” I force out. “It’s when people are nice to me, like…really nice. That’s what always makes me cry.” I sniff and swipe more tears away, but Sam is still sitting there with his warm, care-filled attention focused on me. It’s like a bonfire and I’m a little birthday candle someone tossed too close to the flames.
“Which is stupid,” I continue, swiping more fiercely at my stupid face. “And isn’t a sign that I don’t think I’m worthy of kindness or whatever, so don’t start trying to psychoanalyze me.”