Chapter Fifty-Nine
Brayden's POV
No More Hate
December 14
I had two finals today: my chemistry exam in the morning, and my CSE exam in the afternoon. I'm pretty sure I bombed those ones as well. I was filled with too much grief during the exams to focus on anything other than Heather. I didn't even study for my exams, to be honest.
Esmond texted me while I was on my way to visit Heather again. He wanted to know when would be a perfect time to pick me up. I was supposed to spend my winter break at home, but now, I was having second thoughts. I don't want to leave Heather alone here. I've read online that people who are in comas can still feel the presence of those around them. Like they can still hear people talking or feel people touching them. I don't want her to spend the most joyful time of the year by herself.
I kinda wanna stay here, I texted Esmond, before boarding the bus.
Thirty minutes later, I was beside Heather again. There was a nurse inside the room with her, recording things down onto a clipboard. The nurse looked young. She had brown skin and thick black hair that was tied into a bun behind her head. When she saw me, she smiled. "Hello," she greeted. "I'm Paula."
"Hi," I replied. "Has there been any response from her?"
Her smile turned sympathetic. "Not yet, hon. Most patients don't come out of comas until at least a few weeks later. Don't lose hope, though."
"I won't."
"Good. I'll be back later to check on her again. Visiting hours end at six."
I glanced at the clock hanging across the room. I had an hour.
Once the nurse left, and it was just Heather and I, I held her hand in mine and started telling her about my day. I imagined she was alert and smiling at me, chastising me when I said I didn't study for my exams, laughing when I told her someone farted during my CSE exam, blushing when I told her I loved her.
But she did none of that. She was always in that same position; the only thing reminding me of her existence was the steady rise-and-fall of her chest. Her skin looked so pale. It had no color to it.
"I hope you can hear me, Heather," I said. "I don't want to feel like I'm talking to myself. When you wake up, we're gonna road trip somewhere over spring break. I was thinking we could go to California first. That'd be cool, wouldn't it? We could camp somewhere, and then visit Disneyland. I'm a sucker for Disney, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it. It'll just be the two of us. It could even be a date if you wanted. All you have to do is wake up. I promise you, you won't wake up alone. I'll be here, and I'll stick with you so much you'll grow annoyed of me." I tenderly ran my fingers through her hair before getting up. My phone was vibrating. Esmond was calling.
"You know you have to come home, though. You can't miss Christmas. Think of all those people you'll disappoint," Esmond said, after I explained to him everything. "Heather would want you to come home."
"How would you know?" I snapped. "You don't know her."
"But I know enough. Do you think she'd want you to spend your entire break beside her? Do you think she'd be that selfish of a person? Not that I don't care about Heater—I do—but I really think she'd want you to spend your days doing something more meaningful."
"And staying beside her isn't meaningful?"
"Brayden, she's comatose."
"Yeah, so?"
"She might not wake up."
"Do you say this to all your victims' family and friends?"
"Not all the time, but sometimes, if I see them spending all their time next to their loved one, I might tell them. We need to know when to move on."
"I'm not going, Esmond."
He was silent on the other end. A few seconds later, "Fine. I'm leaving in an hour. If you change your mind, you know what to do."
"And that's staying with Heather. Bye." I hung up. Looked over at where Heather was. She hadn't moved an inch. I sat down next to her again, and fiddled my fingers. I thought about her letter:
'Sometimes, it pisses me off to hear you talk shit about your mother... You have something not everyone has. You have a mother who loves you unconditionally, who supports you no matter what, and you don't see that. You take it all for granted... I know you're upset over everything that has happened to you and your family because of her, but don't you think that maybe it's time to move on? To forgive her and start on a clean slate?'
I thought about Heather. If she weren't lying in a hospital bed right now, what would she say?
She'd tell me to enjoy myself, to surround myself with family and friends. She wouldn't let me stay here.
"I'll be back in a week, Heather," I murmured, leaning towards her and kissing her cheek. "You're right; I should forgive my mom. I've treated her unfairly. Even though what she did was wrong, she's still my mother at the end of the day. I shouldn't bear so much hate on her." I pictured her smiling at me, approving. Glad you see the light, Brayden, I imagined her saying.
Thinking of that made me smile. So I took out my phone and called my brother.
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I thought I'd come home to the smell of peppermints and hot chocolate, to Susanna singing terrible Christmas songs at the top of her lungs, and to my dad's attempt at making sugar cookies. Instead, I came home to find my dad and my sister screaming at each other in the living room. My dad was glaring at her, his face almost a shade of purple. Susanna's face was red and tear-stricken. Her eyes were swollen.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Esmond said, worriedly, hurrying over to Susanna.
Susanna shook her head and wouldn't speak.
"What? Go on, Susanna. There's no shame here. You tell your brothers how you and Watson shoplifted nearly a couple thousand dollars' worth of electronics!" dad yelled. "And while you're at it, why don't you tell him, too, how you sold your grandmother's necklace for a few grams of weed?!"
My jaw dropped. Susanna was crying again, not speaking to any one of us.
"Oh, what's wrong now?" dad taunted. "Cat finally got your tongue?"
"Dad, cool off for a bit," Esmond said, softly.
"I will not cool off! I did not raise my daughter to be a delinquent! I had to pay a five thousand dollar bond for her! This goes on your permanent record, Susanna! Have you no thoughts whatsoever on your future? No employer would want to hire a fucking druggie with a history of shoplifting!"
"I'm not doing drugs!" Susanna cried.
Dad ignored her. "I'm giving you until Monday, Susanna: break it off with Watson or I swear to God I will send you to a nunnery in some remote area in England! And I'm not kidding! You're staying away from him!" Too pissed to even stick around anymore, dad pushed his way past us and stormed upstairs to his room. Once we heard the door to his room close, that was when I asked Susanna, "Is what dad saying true?"
"I don't want to talk about it," she growled, drying her wet face with her arm.
"Fine, but—"
"Get off my case, Brayden! You haven't been here at all these past few months. You never even called me! So stop acting like you care, because you don't. Even Ryan's been here more than you have, and he's not even my brother." I frowned. Ryan's been hanging out with her?
You would've known that if you had stayed in touch with your friends, you know...
I felt guilty.
Susanna's hair was a mess, her makeup smeared. She wore an oversized sweater and sweats, which surprised me. My sister was always dressed nicely. She flips out when she has to wear sweats.
"Okay, okay," I said, recovering from the sting of her words.
"Hey, be respectful. That's your brother you're talking to," Esmond chastised.
She scoffed. "You're one to talk. You're probably the least respectful one here. At least I don't cheat."
"Okay, what's gotten into you?" Esmond's nostrils flared with anger.
"Nothing," Susanna answered. I could tell there was definitely something, though, but I didn't want to press her. I figured it'd be better to let her cool off for a few minutes. I know how she is.
She started making her way to the door.
"Where are you going?" Esmond called.
Susanna didn't answer him. I heard her open and slam the front door.
"Goddammit," Esmond groaned, once it was just the two of us in the room. "This is why I should've applied to grad school somewhere close to home."
"It's not your fault," I said, staring at my feet.
"Yeah, but with dad at work all the time, and mom not being here anymore... There's not exactly anyone here who can rein her in. She's at the age of rebellion."
"She's sixteen, almost seventeen. This is just a phase she's going through." I hope.
"I need to track her down before she does something stupid again."
"I feel like we need to stop her from seeing Watson. He's a bad influence on her."
"You think? That's what I told her before she started dating him. It's obvious the guy's a troublemaker. I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up as one of America's Most Wanted before the year is over."
After Esmond left to look for our sister, I went upstairs to check on my dad. I found him sitting in his office, his fingers pressed against his temples. Without even looking, he knew it was me who had entered his room. "Where's Susanna, Brayden?" he asked, his tone dead.
"Esmond's looking for her," I replied.
He let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't understand where I went wrong in my parenting. I've never exposed her to drugs and smoking, I gave her all she ever needed to be successful in academia, and I taught her to be kind and respectful."
"It's not your fault, dad."
"Does it matter? You should've seen the reprimanding look the police gave me when he released Susanna after I paid the bond. I couldn't have been more ashamed of myself." Dad bowed his head in shame. "What's happening to the little girl I raised?"
"Nothing. I'm sure she'll apologize before the day is over. You know how Susanna is with her mood swings."
Dad sighed again. He sounded doubtful. "Let's talk about something else. Just thinking about her gives me a headache. How have you been?"
"Honestly, not so great," I murmured. Tears started building in my eyes when I thought of Heather. "Heather's in the hospital."
"Heather?" His face fell. "What for? Is she alright?"
"Carbon monoxide poisoning. She tried to kill herself, and I was too late to stop her."
"Oh, Brayden..." When I started sniffling uncontrollably, I felt my dad wrap his arms around me, pulling me into him. "I'm sorry."
"Life's so unfair," I sniveled. I felt like such a kid around him.
"I know." Of course my dad knows. He's experienced a lot of unfairness in his lifetime. From losing his first job to his friend (long story short, his friend took credit for a project he had done and then accused my dad of plagiarizing "his" work), to getting cheated on by his wife... I'm proud of my dad for still hanging on. He's selfless, and he does what he can to support my siblings and I.
"I know how much she means to you, son," dad whispered. "I'm not an idiot."
Despite my situation, I couldn't help but laugh. I needed something to prevent me from crying. "And here I was thinking all this time you were."
"She's a sweet girl. I like her. I hope she'll make it."
"She will make it," I said, determinedly.
"Of course. Never lose hope." Dad paused for a moment, and then, "Your friends have been asking about you, you know. Ryan and Nolan and Parker... They came over yesterday. Wondered how Susanna and I were. They were sad you haven't been keeping in touch with them."
"Oh." I pulled back from my dad, a guilty expression on my face. I honestly haven't talked to them since the last time I was home—which were more than a few weeks back. "God, I suck at long distant relationships."
"Hey, I understand you're busy—especially seeing as how you're studying one of the hardest majors out there—but please don't forget about your friends back home. You'll need them more than you'll ever know in the future. When I'm buried six feet under, and your siblings will have moved on with lives of their own, you'll only have your friends to lean upon. They will be the ones who pull you through everything. I'm pretty sure I would've never gotten over the stunt your mom pulled if it weren't for Steve." Steve and my dad have been friends since they were in high school. I've hung out with Steve before; he's a chill and honest guy. He's still single, never married before.
"You're right, dad," I said, sighing. "I should probably talk to them."
"Do so. Maybe you can invite them over tomorrow. We can have like a pre-Christmas party or something."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Maybe? You mean you will," dad chided. "Why don't you call them now?"
I mulled his words over. He had a point. Without another word, I group messaged my friends to see if they wanted to hang out together sometime.