Milestones

Nicolas’ head rested against Emma’s chest. Her last word lingered longer than her heartbeats.

Promise.

Jeanne’s tired voice, so like her sister’s, interrupted from the doorway. “It’s almost time.”

Nicolas pushed up to sit at the edge of the bed. Emma’s lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were closed. It would be easier to believe she was asleep. He stood and straightened the covers.

Jeanne touched his shoulder. He closed his hand over hers, allowing the warmth to radiate. “You don’t have to do this.”

He nodded.

Her hand rested on Emma’s covered foot.  “He’ll call in twenty minutes.” She left him alone in the bedroom overtaken by the hospital bed, the unemployed oxygen tanks, and tangled cords.

He focused on the top of the dusty narrow dresser where Emma’s rows of earrings and necklaces hung from wire stands. A wall mirror hung over a gap in her first wallpapering attempt. The television was still on, cycling through her favorite home improvement channel programs, the sound muted.

The shirt she’d chosen hung on the closet door.

Nicolas buried his face into the fabric, searching for her scent in a room filled with sickening aromas.

On the wall hung a frame with two photos, Sam’s first day of kindergarten next to his high school graduation.

Nicolas called Jeanne back into the room. She moved to Emma’s side.

He shrugged. “I have to do this. It meant so much to Emma.”

He dug into the back of the closet for his party shirt. He slipped into the silky fabric. The bright pink flamingos and martini glass print had been a gift from Emma on their fifteenth anniversary trip to Florida.

Nicolas held out Emma’s shirt colored with Sam’s tiny five-year-old handprints she wore once each year for sixteen years. Jeanne cut it from the back of the neck to the hem.  They slipped Emma’s arms into the sleeves, cutting around the tubes and tucking in at the sides. She covered Emma with the blanket Sam had sent, in her favorite green.

They tucked the covers tight under the edges of the mattress to hold Emma in place. Nicolas raised the bed until she sat in the same meal position she’d held for the last three months. He gasped as Emma’s head lolled to the side.

Jeanne rolled a small towel and wedged it at Emma’s neck.

“I’ll get the champagne,” Nicolas choked and hurried to the kitchen. He stared into the open refrigerator to catch his breath. The bottle lay next to a tiny cup of chocolate pudding, less one spoonful. A last meal.

He carried the bottle and three of the best flutes from her collection back to Emma.

Her arms rested atop the hospital bed table. The tube had been slipped back on, snug between her nose and top lip. She wore a dark pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. Jeanne handed Nicolas a matching pair, then put on her own.

The sound of the cork popping bounced about the room. Nicolas poured three glasses. Jeanne set the iPad up on the table at the end of the bed and adjusted the lighting. As the call appeared, Nicolas turned up the volume on the television. The voices of Emma’s favorite builders added a familiar background sound.

 Sam’s laughter blasted out. “Oh my God! Ray-Bans.”

“We had to call.” Words stuck in Nicolas’ throat. He held his arm over his face and coughed down the emotion. “It’s not every day that your son turns twenty-one.”

“You guys really are cool! But your picture’s dark. Can you turn on a light?”

Before Nicolas could answer, Sam’s roommate appeared behind him and waved at the camera. “Hi! Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your baby tonight.”

Emma’s forearms slipped against the table and her body jerked forward. Nicolas caught the glass as Jeanne wrapped an arm across Emma. Jeanne leaned an ear next to Emma. “That’s what your mom and I are afraid of.”

“Aunt Jeanne!” Sam laughed, alone on the screen again.

Nicolas’ heart pounded. His throat constricted. “We don’t want to keep you. We just wanted to wish you the best birthday. Twenty-one is a big one. And Mom wants to say that she’s proud of the young man you’ve become and that knowing how much you love her has helped her through all of this.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now. I’ll be home tomorrow night.”

Nicolas raised his glass. “I can’t wait. To you.” Nicolas and Jeanne clinked glasses with Emma’s, then took sips. Jeanne blocked the camera’s view as she leaned with a glass over Emma. She turned to back to the camera. “She said, I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. Thanks Dad and Aunt Jeanne. See you tomorrow.”

The screen went dark. Nicolas lowered the bed and removed Emma’s glasses, touching her cool cheek. Jeanne moved the tray table back to the side. They sat on each side of Emma.

Nicolas met Jeanne’s eyes.

Jeanne tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Her chin quivered. A snort slipped out her mouth. She clapped her hand across her lips. Tears welled in her eyes.

Nicolas shook his head and chuckled.

Jeanne laughed, shaking her hands in the air as she tried to regain control. Then laughter erupted from a point so buried in Nicolas’ body, he wasn’t sure it existed. Once exposed, he couldn’t stop it. He rolled off the edge of the bed and grabbed at the pain in his ribs as he gasped for air. Jeanne crouched at the foot of the bed, unable to stand. They laughed and cried until nothing remained inside Nicolas except exhaustion.

He held out an arm to Jeanne and pulled her up.

“You should go now,” Nicolas said, and stepped back. “Timing, you know.”

Jeanne nodded. Then she kissed her sister one last time and walked out of the house.

Nicolas sat with Emma in the glow of home improvement programs.

At five minutes past midnight, he called hospice and reported that Emma had just died. He turned off the television.

Tami Casias