I HAVEN'T GOTTEN THE TIME to talk to my uncle alone when one of the surgeons in scrubs came out of the double white doors.
The four of us all leaped to our feet before he could even pull down his mask.
"Is she okay?" Carlise asked before any of us. I glanced at her, how her eyes already started to tear, yet with a strong hope and trust in them that only resembled sincereness. Anyone can see that she loves Rosalie more than anything.
I hear my uncle's heavy breath behind me, along with the small ranting I can feel Sarah is about to start. Time goes, stops, then goes again. We sigh in relief when the surgeon nods.
"We've cleared the substances out of her system now, so she should be safe."
Carlise gasps, those tears held in burst out, but in forms of joy. She pulls me into a tight hug, saying again and again; "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I feel the tensions in my shoulders—that I haven't realized that were there until the surgeon is in front of us, carrying news that is life or death—drops and disperse.
Before any celebration happens, the surgeon gives us a look that holds us back into place. His eyes are only signs of worry.
"What's wrong?" Carlise's arms around me release.
"We've sedated her for now." The surgeon sighs, giving the four of us each a glance before dropping his gaze back on Carlise. "The reports given to us for her physical showed that it was an obvious drug overdose, if not already clear when we performed the surgery. But further more than that, my coworkers and I suspect that she might have been a long time user for alcohol."
"Are you trying to say she's an alcoholic?" Carlise asks, her voice now with a sharp edge to it.
The surgeon remains calm, unaffected by her. "What I'm saying is that I think rehab is a considerable option right now."
Carlise takes a step forward to him. Behind me, Jackson is already reaching a hand toward his daughter's arm to stop a brewing outburst. But the opposite is with Sarah, who has a tough look to her eyes as she takes a step up with her daughter.
Now, there was a tinge of a frown and frustration to the surgeon's expression. "Rehab isn't just for the use of alcohol for the patient. We're suggesting that maybe after her full physical recovery, some therapy and rehab together will help her. I've seen many suicidal patients and my full advice is always—"
The dam breaks.
"You do not get to tell us what to do about Rosalie! She's not an alcoholic! Okay, she might be a little fragile at times but she's not broken! She's not...suicid-...suicidal...okay?"
My uncle pulls Carlise back at last, and she hugs him tightly, suddenly looking like a ten year old girl. He strokes her back, and exchanging a look with Sarah, he leads her away.
Sarah, confident and with resolve, gives me a reassured nod. She looks back at the surgeon.
"Okay. We'll consider all of it. But that will all be after her recovery, like you already mentioned, correct?" She crosses her arms over her chest, and I almost gape just to wonder how she can be so put together and strong in times like this. "So I'd really like it if you could show us to where she is right now. Can you do that?"
Just like earlier, the surgeon doesn't show much of a reaction. He simply nods. "Alright. You can find all the resources if you ask a nurse or doctor."
"Thank you," Sarah smiles, all teeth.
The surgeon starts to lead us toward where Rosalie is. Sarah tilts her head back at me, giving me a thumbs up and a victorious grin. I feel myself smiling a little too.
—————
Rosalie looks like a redheaded version of sleeping beauty while she laid on the hospital bed, her long waves of auburn hair parted away from her defined face. She looks sunken into the bed, tubes around her nostrils and IVs in her arms. There is no defiance in her asleep expression. She looks like a person that isn't her, or maybe it is her all along but she hid it so well we couldn't see: sad, small, fragile, tired. She looks given up.
"I'll leave you guys alone," the surgeon says, and steps out.
I walk over toward her bedside, feeling agape and sad. Sad for her. How many times have I had the chances to stop this from happening? The drinking right in front of me, the slurring in her words, the hiding from Carlise about the drinking...This was a disaster we could've avoided if I did something, I want to tell myself, but as that thought comes, Maeve's voice suddenly pops in my head. You couldn't have prevented this. The roots were set too deep to be that easily undone.
I shake my head, the anger for Maeve in me slipping away slowly. I try to grasp onto it, trying so hard it hurts. To hate her is better because it's simple. If I don't hate her, there's too many complicated emotions to endure and clear. It's not clearable.
Behind me, noises of feet shuffling happen. I turn around. Sarah pats her daughter's back, kissing her on the side of the cheek. "Your dad and I will be right back. We'll leave you to it here." Glancing up to meet my eyes, she offers me a smile before leaving.
My gaze drops to Carlise, whose face is red and blotchy. She wipes away the remnants of tears and comes to stand next to me. We overlook Rosalie together, and it's a feeling I can't explain.
"I'm sorry," I say, ignoring that bugging voice of Maeve's behind my head. "I should've told you. She drank often during our sessions when listening to the recordings."
Carlise is quiet. She kneels down, her body shaky, and reaches for Rosalie's bony hands. She holds onto it, the pale skin of Rosalie against Carlise's healthy color shows just how much I could have done to prevent this from happening.
"I could have stopped this if I told you. But I didn't. Because she told me not to. But isn't that what all alcoholics say? I'm sorry, Carlise. This is all my fault."
She's so gentle as she drops her lips against Rosalie's hand. She stays like that for half a minute.
"It's okay, Izzy. It's okay."
She stands up, a smile upholding her face. She looks...hopeful. How?
"We'll be okay."
"How do you know that?"
"Because," she says, glancing back at the small body that sinks into the quilts of the bed. "Being okay starts with believing it."
I take in a shaky breath, tired. I feel so drained. "I don't understand."
She smiles. "That's okay. I'll help."
Silence follows afterwards. A nice silence. We enjoy the calm together, pulling down two chairs to sit beside Rosalie; inhaling, exhaling. I don't know how long we stay like this. Sarah and my uncle come in and out. We eat delivery food. We take turns using bathroom breaks and showering in the bathroom that has been provided to us from the hospital. But we never leave.
I missed my plane ticket, but somehow I was calm about it. Unbothered, actually. My uncle and Sarah said they can buy me another, but I declined the offer. I'm confused on why I did so, because what I really wanted was to go back home to Bakersfield and let my parents wrap me in their arms and tell me it'll be alright. Somehow, to all my uncalled for actions, I don't do any of what I want.
A week like this passes. Before I realize it, Rosalie is going to wake up.
I'm there when she does. But the first person she sees isn't me. It's Carlise.
Her eyes opened like flowers blooming in spring. The hazel colors landing on the first thing that mattered to her.
Her mouth is dry, but she moves them in a familiar motion like she's said this word more than she could count.
"Carlise."
Carlise breaks into a cry since the day Rosalie got out of surgery. She jumps onto the bed and hugs Rosalie fiercely. Rosalie gasps in pain, but it's short, because followed by that was laughter. The sound of her laugh was bright, like the rainbow that reveals itself after a rough storm. It fills up the room, making everything seem so much lighter. I smiled, giving them room and leaving the hospital room for the first time.
Two days following Rosalie's waking, she's recovering fast. But along with that, the discussion of what comes afterwards is constant.
When the doctor—with my uncle, Sarah, me, and Carlise—finally brings up the subject of rehab and therapy, Rosalie surprises us by sitting up straight and saying straight up, with all sureness: "I'll go."
We all gaped at her, Sarah especially; crooking her head in. "Honey, I am so glad to hear you say that. But we haven't even gone over the background details yet. Are you sure you don't want to hear it?"
She looks past all of us. We all turn. We see her staring at Carlise like she is the only person in the room. "I want to get better. And this time, I will try. I promise."
Carlise beamed, and she kissed Rosalie on the lips with passion and love. We all laughed—even the serious doctor—and turned away to give them their privacy.
On the day Rosalie is set to leave the hospital and prepare for the preparations to go to rehab for six months, I find myself alone with Carlise while the others pack.
We are in the hall, and the two weeks that I have been stuck here has cooled me down somehow. I feel calm, relaxed almost. But there is still a nagging feeling in me left that I don't want to identify.
"What if..." I start, catching Carlise's attention as she watched from the doorway at the room where Rosalie packed a suitcase. "What if she fails? What if she gives up when she realizes how hard it'll be? What if she realizes that six months is too long and she'll give in to temptation? I just don't get it." Carlise's big round eyes watches me as I ramble. I feel embarrassed, but I have to know. "How do you trust her so well even after all the times she has failed you?"
"Hey, Carlise! Can you quit just standing there and come lend a hand?" Sarah yells from inside, dragging a box of something as she huffed and puffed.
Carlise turns at her mom, yelling back: "Alright! Be there in a sec'!"
She turns back to me, and her smile grows into an understanding like she had been where I am before. If she has, I want her to give me the answer for how to get over this milestone in life.
A few days ago, Rosalie had announced her departure from the screen and her break from acting online. It was a rough outbreak, the internet. She was brave enough to talk about how she has had problems with drinking for a while, and now she is going to face it and try to fix it by going to rehab. There were a lot of judgements, but at the same time, supporters. Despite all that though, an apology for Carlise has yet to come. Both Carlise and Ben Xiao. The apology—I found out through Carlise from the days spent with her while taking care of Rosalie—for how she had used Ben to convince people of her love life so they wouldn't look in on her friendship that was "too close" with Carlise. That thing she did had hurt both these people deeply, but the most pained by this action was Carlise of course. It was the reason why Carlise had fights with Rosalie for not being honest. I know Rosalie thinks about this everyday, but she hasn't publicly announced anything about her and Ben or Carlise yet. Nor has she uttered the word "sorry" to either person.
So how do you trust someone like that who has yet to prove evidence to her commitment?
Carlise puts an assured hand on my shoulder. I look desperately in her eyes, searching for any indication of an answer. No luck.
"I know you want me to say something inspirational, Izzy, except I don't have that." She draws back a hand, already turning halfway to go back into the room and help pack. "Sometimes you just have to stop thinking about it and trust. I know that the pain and hurt that comes would be immense if the trust is broken, but you have to go against that fear."
I gaze at her, not following.
"I love Rosalie, and I think when you find the right person, all the possible pain is worth it." She smiles, sighing. But it's not a sigh of judgement. "Anyways, I guess I'll see you around?"
She waits, and finally, I make my face pull up a grin. "Yeah, I'll see you around I guess."
She smiles, running back. But she pauses halfway, frowning back at me. "You know, Izzy, it feels like you want to do something but you're forcing yourself to not want it."
"Really?" I know where she's getting at, and I try feigning surprise to dodge it.
"You're holding yourself back on it."
"No way."
"Hm, I guess I'm wrong then." She sighs again, turning her back.
I feel my shoulders sink, my last resistance giving in.
How long can I keep holding it back? How long can I keep telling myself that I won't regret it? Yes, it'll hurt if I do keep going. But if I never go, what will be of me later? Maybe Carlise is right. I have to face the fear of getting hurt for the greater good. Except, is any of it really going to do me good?
"Uncle Jackson?" I call into the room, getting my uncle's attention. He smiles when he hears me, like how he always has since we've met. I can't wait to get to know him, and the rest of my biological family. I've already called my parents about some of this and how they'll all meet someday. But right now, before all of that, there is something else I need to do. Correction: finish.
"Yeah?" My uncle puts down the cardboard box he was holding, walking over.
"Can you cancel the plane ticket you've ordered for me back to Bakersfield tomorrow?" I take a deep breath, not believing that I am really going to do this. Yet I guess it's no surprise that my heart keeps defying my brain and logic. "I'm going to finish Maeve's story before I go back."
The whole room stills from chatter. Everyone stares back at me. Across the room, dressed in casual jeans and a blouse, Rosalie's eyes meet with mine.
Instead of hatred and betrayal in them that I thought I was going to see, I just see an understanding that wasn't there before.
To a bigger shock, she steps over packed things and papers to come over.
"When are you going to start? I want to go back to the penthouse with you before you do."