“I had to go on a small trip,” I tell her. Oh God, as if. A long trip, and it involved a plot to take down the men responsible for the kidnapping of women from our homeland.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” my mother asks.
“Yes,” I lie. “Very much.”
“And who did you go with?”
“Stefan,” I say before I can stop myself.
She actually opens one eyes. “Did you really?” A corner of her lips quirks up.
“I did. Really.” But I don’t offer anything else at this stage. I don’t want her thinking that there’s anything at all going on between us, because there isn’t.
“Good,” she says softly, and to my surprise, she lifts the hand I’m not holding, and places it atop mine. “He’ll take care of you now.”
Her words send panic through me. She’s saying goodbye. I can’t stand it. “What?” I ask. “Mom, no!”
But her eyes fall closed like she’s too exhausted to say more, and when she coughs, it’s ragged and desperate. She’s barely hanging on. Barely alive. And I can’t keep her as mine anymore.
A soft knock comes at the door. I don’t look up. I don’t want to see any more nurses or really anyone right now. I want to hold onto this moment. Hold onto my mother.
But when I see Stefan through my blurred vision, I don’t look away. I don’t tell him to fuck off. I take his hand with my free one and he takes my mother’s. And we stand like that, in silence. And even though I want to hate him, or even feel indifferent toward him, I can’t do it. I don’t want to deny my mother time with him, but if I’m honest, I don’t want to be alone right now.
I forgive him for being an asshole, because right now that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. He came. He didn’t leave me to bear this alone but came.
He’s murmuring words in Russian, and I don’t know exactly what he’s saying, but they sound like a sort of prayer. And I love that. I blink, and a tear rolls down my cheek. This man, this man that I love, he’s done terrible things, but he holds my mother’s hand and prays with her on her last moments on earth, and I will never forget that. I don’t know where we go from here, but I don’t care.
“You came for her,” my mother says, her eyes closing again, as if it’s too much effort to keep them open. Then they flutter open again, and she looks from me to him. She takes our hands, the two that she holds, and she joins them. She pulls in a deep, ragged breath. “You have each other now.”
She closes her eyes and my heartbeat spikes because I think she’s gone, but she isn’t, yet. Her breathing comes in ragged, shallow gasps for long moments, and we don’t let go. Standing over her, holding one another’s hands, we look at each other.
I don’t need to say anything. I forgive him for what he did. I love him. And if some stupid misguided notion got him to push me away as he did, I can forgive that.
He isn’t getting rid of me that easily.
He holds my gaze and I hold his.
“I love you,” he mouths, and it hits me in the chest so hard and fast the tears I’ve held back begin to flow.
He does. Oh, God, he does.
“I love you,” I mouth back.
We don’t move, not an inch. I look from him to my mother, and I grab at ragged bits of prayers I learned in my youth. I wipe away tears and gently stroke the top of my mother’s hand while holding Stefan’s with my other hand. And finally, when the sun is setting outside her window, fingertips of orange casting a gentle glow in the room, my mother breathes her last.
It isn’t as dramatic as one would think, watching life usher out of this world and into the next. No one comes running. No angels play their trumpets. But her body goes completely still, and right then, I know she’s more at rest than she ever was in life. I drop my head to her chest, now still, and I know she’s gone. A deep sob racks my body. Though my mother wasn’t perfect, and the past few months have been difficult to manage, she was still my mother. The woman who brought me into this world, who taught me right from wrong, who sacrificed countless days and months and years for me, to bring me to America and see to my education, my safety, my wellbeing.
But right now, my mind is blank, and I ride the waves of grief.
I cry until I have no more tears. I’m vaguely aware of people coming in the room and Stefan lifting me into his arms. I don’t speak but put my arms around his neck, and find that actually, I do have a few more tears to shed. I didn’t realize how badly it devastated me to have a rift between us. But I need him now, and I don’t want him to let me go. He holds me, speaks to the nurses in the room, and places a call on his phone.