A matter of heart, p.10
A Matter of Heart, page 10
After she leaves, I grab Jonah’s arm and tug him closer. “My recovery is contingent upon Kellan’s?”
He doesn’t sit down next to me in the chair, not like I want him to, but his stance softens considerably. “I can’t be in two places at once; it makes it easier if you two are in the same location. Kate is being a good Aunt and is siding with me on the issue.” His phone beeps, and after a quick glance, he silences it before setting it, facedown, on a table nearby. But the phone has other ideas, because it buzzes across the wood during three calls in quick succession.
“Maybe you should answer that.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs. If I’m not mistaken, he looks . . . guilty. Uncomfortable. “I’d rather not.”
I keep my tone light. “Why?”
“Because it’s Callie.”
The phone buzzes again, just about an inch away from the table’s edge. Despite everything that’s gone down over the last year, I try to think about this rationally. Callie Lotus is friends with Kellan. Good friends. They were together for quite a bit of time earlier this year. And thinking about Callie makes me think about Astrid.
“Why hasn’t Astrid come by?”
Jonah’s head tilts enough so his hair falls in his eyes. “We didn’t want to upset you.”
I practically wince against the soft cushions behind me. “Your . . . mother—for all intents and purposes, since that’s what she is to you—hasn’t come to see you or Kellan, who is in a coma, may I remind you, because you’re all worried about upsetting me?”
“To be fair, your mother hasn’t come by, either.”
I try to ignore the ache that comes with this reminder. “Okay, I’ll give you that—but whereas my mom and I prefer to appreciate one another at a distance, you and Astrid are actually close.”
A finger absently drags alongside the side of his nose a few times. “Kate Blackthorn is Astrid’s best friend. They’re like sisters. She’s been kept up-to-date pretty much every second Kellan has been in here.”
Even still . . . “Still!”
“Chloe,” he says, voice low and steady, “you’ve made it . . . clear, if you will, over the last year that you prefer having very little to do with Astrid.”
Oh, this is a nightmare, a terrible, awful, cringe-worthy nightmare. Me? She’s stayed away because of me? I bark out, “She’s your mom!”
“And I see her on a regular basis, as you well know. But we figured, until you are comfortable with her presence in our lives—”
I cut him off right there. “Are you serious?”
He snatches the phone up just before it buzzes off the table and sets it back in the middle. “Look, I think you’re forgetting that I am very in tune with your feelings on the matter. Not the ones you tell me that you think I want to hear, but the ones you truly feel. And I know,” he stresses, hands shoved back into his pockets, “that you are uneasy with my involvement with Astrid, since she’s a link back to Callie. So, to go back to the original question, no—I’m not going to answer Callie’s call. Because it’s been a really crappy week, and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to have to deal with the fall-out that might arise from that scenario.”
My mouth, so unattractively hanging wide open, snaps shut. I feel lousy, so incredibly, selfishly crummy that I can barely stand it. Astrid has been there for him for years, when nobody else was. She took him and Kellan in as her sons, loved them, gave them emotional support and care when none of their family members (save Joey prior to his death) could. And while he claims he still sees and talks to her, it can’t be much, because he and I are together most of our free time. This isn’t okay.
It isn’t okay by a long shot.
I have such a pathetic relationship with my own mom. I can’t let Jonah fall prey to that. He’s got somebody who loves him. Wants him. Cares enough about him to adhere to his wishes. I’ve got to make this right.
I’m forced to clear my throat a couple of times, because there’s a big wad of remorse clogging it. “Have her come and visit. She should come here today. As soon as she can. If she wants.”
Jonah merely studies me, head cocked to the side, unmoving from his defensive position next to the chair.
“And . . . and . . .” The phone is going off again. A rabbit beats its feet against my ribcage. “Have Callie . . . have her come, too. She’s friends with Kellan. Aren’t they like best friends? She’s . . . she’s your . . .” I try to swallow that nasty clog, but it just won’t go away. Which sucks, because it’s exacerbating the babbling. “She should be here, too. She should see him. He’d want to see her. Wouldn’t he want her to be here?”
“Chloe—”
The next words burst out of my mouth before I can check them: “My mom hasn’t called, has she?”
“I called her, right after you got here.”
“But she hasn’t come. She hasn’t wanted to come.” Gods, why does it sting? Why do I always hope differently? “Astrid does, though, doesn’t she? And . . . Callie, too. They should come.” Another mangled attempt at removing the clog is attempted. “They’re your family.”
“You’re my family,” he says quietly. He motions towards me, then to his brother. “My family is right here in this room.”
He blurs in front of me. That’s so like him, so sweet and giving. “Still. So are they. Answer the damn phone, Jonah.”
And he does, because he understands that I’ve made up my mind. As he says hello, I get out of the chair and move over toward the windows. It’s awkward enough for him to be talking to his ex-girlfriend. Having just spent the night in the same bed with his brother, my other Connection, only ups the awkward factor by a zillion, which I can’t deal with at the moment. So I put that distance between us, all of us, including Callie.
“He’s fine,” Jonah is telling her. All of a sudden, he looks so tired, so incredibly worn down by all of this. And I hate myself a little, because, while he’s been supporting Kellan and me through this mess, nobody’s been there to support him.
Because of me. Because he, like Kellan, puts my feelings before his own. I need to fix that, stat.
“There isn’t a lot more I can tell you that Kate already hasn’t,” he’s saying, and his eyes are on me, like he’s afraid I’m going to bolt any minute. A deep breath is taken. “You should come down and see him for yourself.”
That rabbit is truly kicking the crap out of my ribcage.
Jonah’s free hand yanks at his messy hair. “Can you ask Astrid to come, too?” And then there are few quick murmurings, a goodbye, and then the call between my Connection and the ex-girlfriend who is still madly in love with him is over.
Callie arrives less than an hour later, appearing in the doorway exactly as I remember her: tall and willowy, with silver-blonde hair that practically glows. She’s not the person you want standing next to you when you’re sick in a hospital, not if you want to keep your ego intact.
With manners that must’ve been beaten into his soul at an early age, Jonah stands up when she enters the room. And they stand there, regarding one another uneasily, like they don’t know what to do with each other. Jonah ends up shoving his hands into his pockets and Callie folds her arms across her enviable chest.
“Hey,” she says to him.
“Hey,” he says in return.
“Hey,” I offer, making sure that I add to the awkwardness.
Her attention shifts over to where I’m resting, on a comfortable window seat I created, overlooking a pretty spectacular view of Annar. She gives me a smile, one sincere enough, and a greeting before telling Jonah, “Mom’s downstairs with Kate.”
He steps away from the chair by his brother’s bed and offers her the seat. She shakes her head, reminding me of a shampoo commercial, even though I’d lay down money she doesn’t mean to do it in an overtly sexy way. It’s just . . . I think that’s just how Callie is. But she does go over to where Kellan is, carefully sidestepping around Jonah, who takes a couple steps back himself. “He looks so . . . vulnerable,” she says quietly.
And it surprises me, because that’s what I’ve been thinking.
“He’d hate you telling anyone that,” Jonah says after a long moment. The two of them laugh, just a little, but enough that I can see them doing this—sharing jokes at the expense of someone else in their little group—more times than not over the years.
That stings, too. That shared history that I was never really part of, except in his head while he slept. She had him in real life. She got to know him in ways I didn’t, I can’t help but think.
He looks over at me, alarmed and unfortunately aware of all of these jumbled emotions radiating out of me, so I offer a smile in return. A genuine one, one that assures him I’m glad that, despite everything else, somebody is here for him. For them.
“Mom’s drank about fifty cups of tea a day to steady her nerves.” Callie takes Kellan’s hand and squeezes. I hope he can feel it, know she’s here. “She’s been crying a lot, too.”
I shrink back into my seat, too ashamed to enter the conversation.
Jonah bites his lip and manages to look even guiltier.
Callie lifts up Kellan’s hand to kiss it and then carefully lays it back down on the bed. “It’s tough on her, you know? She understands your jobs, naturally. But she can’t help but worry. And stuff like this, when you guys haven’t even been working for a year?” She crosses her arms across her chest again, like she’s afraid too much will spill out. “I try to remind her that at least she doesn’t have to worry about that with a half-breed non like me.”
“Don’t do this, Cal,” he says, voice low. “Not now.”
Callie won’t even look at him. “Kellan is breaking her heart.”
“Cal,” he warns, and I get the feeling that they’ve suddenly forgotten I’m in the room.
“He’s an idiot for what he puts her through! Don’t tell me you disagree, because I’ve overheard too many of your arguments.”
He takes a step towards her. “This isn’t the time—”
“When is? When Mom’s here, pretending to be okay with him in a coma, just so—”
He moves in another step, close enough that their shoes nearly touch. “Cal, drop it.”
Anger erupts across her face with pink cheeks. “You think you can—”
“I don’t think,” he says in that scary, quiet even voice. “I know. And I can just as easily revoke your visitation privileges—”
“Jonah!” I squeak out, appalled.
“Because,” he continues, not looking at me, “as I’m sure you are well-aware of, Kate has explicitly instructed that Chloe—and Kellan—are not to be upset during their recoveries.”
Her rosy lips flatten, and I swear her nostrils flare, but she gives him a nod of consent.
And then the door opens, and Astrid Lotus comes in, carrying a vase of exotic flowers I’ve never seen before. Jonah and Callie take several steps back from one another—not quickly, but leisurely, like it doesn’t bother them in the slightest that Astrid has caught them mid-fight. “Hello, Chloe,” she says to me, ignoring them as she crosses the room. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought you these. Flowers always cheer me up when I’m not feeling my best.”
I take the flowers, feeling even more uncomfortable, as if that was even possible, and thank her. She leans down and hugs me, and it’s just like I remember from our session last year. It’s the perfect kind of motherly hug, all warm and firm and accepting.
Yet brief. Because she’s gone far too quickly, back over to where her kids are. “You look terrible,” she says to Jonah. “Please tell me you got some rest this morning.”
He kisses her cheek and she smooshes him into a hug. A big, long, loving one that I can’t help but envy. What must that be like, to have a mom who hugs you whenever she wants like that? Who wants to hug you like that? And, in return, not feel privileged or surprised, but simply know and accept that this is how hugs are between the two of you?
It’s too painful to watch. Karnach in the distance is easier to focus on, less likely to inspire tears. Mom, I think, desperately sending the words out past the glass and into the air, where are you? Why aren’t we hugging like this?
I want my mom.
“I’m fine,” Jonah is saying behind me, and it’s done with an indulgent hint of loving exasperation. Like he has to suffer through these sorts of questions more often than not.
“Liar,” Callie mutters.
“She’s right,” Astrid says fondly.
“You think after mastering inscrutability, you could control your tell-tale bat signal that lets us all know when you’re stressed out,” Callie adds.
My eyes swing back involuntarily towards them. He has a tic that gives away when he lies?
Astrid touches his hand gently and he actually blushes. “I, for one, am glad for this. It’ll be a sad day for me, indeed, when I can no longer tell if my boys are lying to me or not.”
To say I feel betrayed is an understatement. It’s completely irrational, but for these people to know Jonah so well that they instantly can identify a lie when I never have been able to, well . . . it’s like a huge slap in the face.
His eyes meet mine, unnecessarily apologetic and sad. Like he’s already regretting inviting Astrid and Callie here. So, I say, as cheerily as I can, “I’m really glad you guys are here.” And I mean it.
I really do.
Astrid kisses Jonah’s temple. “I’m glad we’re here, too,” she says softly. And then she goes over to where her other son is, to kiss his forehead and his cheek and to squeeze his hand, and even though she tries so hard to keep it together, she ends up crying. Not the kind of tears that are embarrassing, but the quiet kind, born of equal parts love and agony. Tears that tell me exactly how she feels about Kellan, how she wants so badly to do something, fix him, but ultimately knows she can’t do anything other than sit here and hold the hand of a man she considers to be her son, blood or not.
Her other children converge on her; Callie wraps her arms around her mom’s shoulders, pressing her cheek against Astrid’s, and Jonah’s hand goes to her back. And they stay there like that, for a long time—a family unit, connected not by blood but by the bonds of love.
Callie’s brought a deck of cards with her; apparently, she and the twins used to play all the time as a way to while away the hours when their parents were busy with Council work. She and Jonah are viciously competitive with one another, and it’s fascinating to watch them battle it out over the simple privilege of being called winner.
This is more Lotus-Whitecomb history that I’m not a part of, and only serves to remind me of all of the shared bits of history I’ve wanted but never gained with my own parents. So, during a rather intense match of—well, I don’t know what game it is, but I think it’s Elvin in nature considering Astrid grimaced while mentioning something about how it never went well for her as a child as she left for a meeting minutes before—but anyway, the point is, I decide to call my mom.
She answers after three or so rings, and I’m surprised by her intro, considering I’m calling on Jonah’s cell: “How are you feeling, Chloe?”
I make sure my head is turned completely away from the two people playing at the table behind me. My nose practically bumps the cool glass separating me from a six-story drop. And I can’t help it. I really can’t. My voice cracks and wavers when I say, “Hi, Mom.”
Not Mommy. Not Mama. Not even Mother. Just plain old-fashioned, stereotypical Mom, which is about as close as the two of us get when it comes to terms of endearments.
“You had me worried,” she says, and my insides do a pretty good approximation of hand wringing. “I spoke to Kate Blackthorn earlier today, though. She told me you’re doing better.”
I repeat dumbly, “You talked to my Shaman?”
“Well, of course I talked to Kate Blackthorn! Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve spoken to her daily about your condition after Jonah called to tell me you were found.”
My forehead presses against the glass. Maybe it’s weakness, or maybe it’s because I just witnessed a family acting like it ought to, but I decide to push the matter. “I guess . . . I’m surprised? Since you haven’t been here to visit?”
There’s a sigh, but across the phone line, it’s nearly impossible to decipher. “I’m on assignment right now in Chile, tracking down a plant I can use to cross with another I’m to find next week in Iceland. It’s been a tough go so far, the little bugger has been elusive, even for me.” She sighs again. “Your father . . . he’s in Annar, but the last I heard, he was drowning in meetings. You know how he gets. He’s probably forgotten to even eat or comb his hair, let alone remember to go see his daughter in the hospital.”
“You’d come, though?” I whisper. A tiny seed takes root in a bed within my heart all too often found lacking or too hopeful. “If you were here?”
“What a ridiculous question,” is her response. There’s a voice in the background, and she pulls away to answer it. Afterwards, to me she says, “I’m sorry to have to do this, but we’ve got a lead on the plant that I need to follow.”
I’m not ready to let her go yet, not ready to let go of the possibility of what might be. “Mom, can we—”
But she cuts me off. “Take care of yourself.” More words are said to somebody on her end. Then she’s back to me. “I’ll see you when I’m back in Annar next month, Chloe.”
And . . . she’s gone, with nothing but silence across the line to fill my ear. A whoop nearby breaks this; reflected in the glass, I can see Callie fist pumping in the air. “In your face, Whitecomb!”
“Two out of three,” he urges, collecting the cards. But then he turns towards me. “Chloe, do you want play?”
I take a deep breath and imagine I’m like him. That I can compose myself and show what I want, that people will see only what I let them see. I turn and give them a tired smile. “No, thanks. I’m really dragging all of a sudden. I think I’ll take a nap instead, if you don’t mind.”
But he knows me apparently better than I know him, because he’s out of his seat and over by me before I can protest. His eyes track down to his cell phone, still in my hand, and then back to my face. Of course he knows what just happened. Of course he knows exactly how I’m feeling about it all. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks me quietly, which I appreciate considering I hate the thought of showing weakness in front of Callie.
