Page 1 of A Brilliant Spring

Chapter

One

Elissa

My mother’s copper hair, once perfectly sculpted, is now frizzy and unkempt, with pieces sticking up out of her bun. The powdery florals of her Chanel No. 5 assault my senses as she sobs into my jacket, her shoulders shaking. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a cold sweat breaks out over my body at our oddly intimate embrace.

“He…he…he didn’t make it.”

My world stops spinning. Harold didn’t make it. What does that…

“They had to take him to surgery…to clear a blockage…and he had another heart attack on the table, and…” My mother’s wails echo down the cardiac wing hallway. “What am I going to do?” she cries. The shrill squeaks of busy hospital professionals’ shoes fill the background as doctors, nurses, and orderlies flow around us like a river, moving from room to room and to the nurses’ station. Beeps, whirrs, and a mumble of voices surround us as I stand frozen, rigid, with my mother’s arms crushing me.

“Uh, Mrs. Black?” A tall, handsome nurse wearing light green scrubs appears behind my mother. I feel her stiffen and her arms drop from around me. She delicately wipes the tears from her face as she turns around, trying to appear composed.

“Would you like to see him now?” the nurse asks softly. My mother gives him a curt nod and follows him down the hallway. After a few feet she stops short, then turns to look at me.

“Elissa,” she hisses incredulously. “Aren’t you coming to say your goodbyes to your father?” Her eyes narrow, but her sniffling breaks the sternness of her look.

“Uh, maybe in a second. I need a minute.” Isn’t that what the funerals are for? The goodbyes? A warm hand rests on my shoulder, giving it a small squeeze when another nurse bustles by us, tugging her stethoscope off her neck and hooking the earpieces in her ears. I turn to Brandt and his eyes are shadowed with uncertainty. “I’m fine,” I whisper to him.

“Are you sure? It’s okay to be sad, or, you know, not okay.” His eyes flicker across my face, looking for any signs of sadness or devastation, but I’m fine. A little numb, maybe, and a little angry over the fact that I’ll never get my father’s respect like I deserve, but who am I kidding. That was never going to happen anyway. I pull my phone from the purse slung over the crook of my arm and message Riley.

Me: Harold’s gone. Had two massive heart attacks. One during surgery and croaked.

“Wow, a little insensitive,” Brandt says, a hint of judgement colouring his voice. I shrug off his comment.

“Riley knows me. I don’t have to pretend with her.” A second later my phone beeps.

Riley: Do you need me to come down there? U okay?

I smile at my bestie’s unwavering support. I message her back saying I’ll be home soon, grab Brandt’s hand, and follow the path my mother took down the hallway of gloom to see my dead father.

•••

He looks…swollen. The person lying in front of me looks so unlike my father. The man before me is calm, relaxed, and peaceful. But…yes, somewhat swollen. The doctor said that it’s a side effect of the surgery. Collette is leaning over the bed, arms stretched out and hands wrapped around my father’s hands, sobbing uncontrollably, and it’s unbearable. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her shed a tear my entire life, so to say it’s uncomfortable is an understatement.

It hits me at this moment that these two people in front of me right now are people I don’t even recognize. My mother has actual feelings, which I assume she’s having because she now doesn’t have a husband to rely on, and not because she truly loved him. She loved the money. And her pool boys.

But the biggest stranger is my father; he always has been. And now, that’s all he’ll ever be. A stranger. It’s odd that I feel nothing. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’m angry, sure. But only because I’ll never have that moment. The one in the movies, where the father finally says, “I’m proud of you.” I’ll never have that.

I tear my eyes away from my mother and father and look around the bleak little room. It’s painted a dull, murky, blueish gray that just looks deathly. And that’s all I smell, death. Maybe that’s all in my mind, but it’s what I smell. Well, death, and that weird, antiseptic, clean-but-doesn’t-feel-clean smell of hospitals. The long greyish curtains around the bed are pushed up against the wall, hanging beside an end table that has a vase of fake sunflowers, in a weak attempt to brighten up the morbid room.

I shuffle my feet awkwardly, and Brandt’s shoulder nudges me from behind. I lurch forward, his action catching me off guard. I catch myself a step closer to my mother and she looks up at me, tears brimming in her eyes, their light blue looking more turquoise because of the bloodshot red tinting the whites.

Her hands fall away from my father, a Kleenex wedged and sopping in one palm, and she stretches her hand out to reach for mine. I’m frozen, not sure what to do or how to comfort her. Brandt’s large hand rests on my shoulder blade and he nudges me forward again until I’m within my mother’s reach.

Her long, slim fingers weave around my hand and squeeze, and the moisture from her tears and snot slides against my hand. I resist the urge to gag. Her eyes lock onto mine, and her lips quiver as a small, warm, genuine smile stretches across her face.

“Thank you for being here,” she whispers. My heart does a flip, and I’m not sure why. I gently squeeze my mother’s hand back before slipping out of her grip.

“We’re going to head out now,” I say. “Do you need a ride home?” Collette shakes her head, her bangs swishing across her forehead.

“No, thank you. I have the driver downstairs waiting. Have a good night, you two.” My mother stands up and brushes the wrinkles out of her skirt. Her heels click on the tile floor as she steps into me and wraps her arms around my stiff body. I’m frozen in place, my arms rigid at my sides, as my mother’s embrace stifles me. My breathing quickens and becomes shallow, my heart rate spikes. She releases me, and her cold hands slide down my arms as a tight smile appears on her face.

I step out of her reach, backing away until I bump into Brandt’s hard chest. His arm snakes around my waist and I offer my mother a silent nod before we turn and leave the room. I can feel Brandt’s heavy gaze lingering on me as we walk toward the elevator. I sigh.

“I’m fine. I promise.” But my words seem to do nothing to assuage his concern. His arm tightens around my waist, tugging me closer to him. We step into the elevator, surrounded by nurses, patients, and doctors. I lean in a little closer to Brandt and rest my head on his shoulder.

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