Page 21 of The Art of Exiley

We had so much to say to each other when I was young, but these days talking to him feels like talking to a stranger. When we talk at all. His prediction that he’d be gone longer than usual has proven more than accurate.

Mom’s voice rises again. “Can’t they at least first try the standard treatment, even if it’s unlikely to change the prognosis?”

That doesn’t sound good. I tiptoe closer to listen at the door.

I’ve seen the creases between Mom’s eyes deepening over the past few months (as much as the Botox will allow), and I’ve heard her whispered conversations with Dr. Ambrose. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve walked in on her talking with Grandfather and they both become silent the moment they see me… I’m not an idiot; I know Grandfather is sick, and I know it must be something serious. He’s lost a ton of weight over the past few months, and he barely eats. But I’ve never heard scary words like “treatment” and “prognosis” bandied about until now. I wish they would just tell me what’s going on instead of keeping me in the dark about everything, as usual.

Mom’s voice rises as she exclaims, “No, you cannot test Ada’s blood. Leave her out of this.”

What? Does Grandfather need a blood transfusion or a donor forsomething? Why wouldn’t she let them test my blood? I would gladly give my blood to help him. I try to hear more, but Mom has calmed down, and I can only make out broken mutterings, something about stem cell transplants and then the two-syllable word I was dreading.Cancer.

I blink away tears, my fists clenched so tight that my nails dig painfully into my palms. I knew Grandfather hadn’t been well, but I’d been assuring myself it was just regular old-person stuff. Not something serious.

Mom’s footsteps grow louder, and I scurry away before I’m caught eavesdropping. I immediately head to the sunroom, where I know Grandfather will be. He likes when I join him there; he says his plants are fond of me and that they grow better when I’m around.

The sunroom is bright with afternoon sunlight streaming in through the glass walls. The air is fresh and tangy, and I breathe in the smell of all the memories made in this room. I developed my interest in plants from gardening with Grandfather here. Repotting aloe vera plants, trying to coax blooms from the orchids, trimming the rosebush that had been my grandmother’s favorite.

Grandfather sits reading a newspaper in his favorite chair, tendrils of vines creeping up the upholstery. A few months ago, if I’d come in at this time of day, I would have found him wrist deep in soil instead of looking so weary. He definitely looks sick. Worse than before I left for my trip.

“Good morning, mi reinita,” he says when he sees me approaching.

“Hi, Grandfather.” I kiss his cheek, then sit next to him on a cushioned stool and grasp his leathery hand. His bones are so light. His eyes twinkle, and his crepey skin wrinkles as he smiles. He’s thinner, gaunter, less vibrant. He seems to be… wilting.

“Something is troubling you.”

“Just your health, Grandfather.”

“My health? Don’t fuss over me, or I’ll feel my age.”

What am I supposed to say to that? Ask him if he’s dying?

“Your mother tells me that you may be leaving for university sooner than we expected. Are you excited?”

It’s hard for me to care about Genesis or anything to do with the Families after what I’ve just learned. “I’m not so sure,” I say.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for the program.”

“Nonsense. My granddaughter?” He boops my nose. “In this family, we know how to fight our way to the top and become exactly who we are meant to be.”

Despite what I’m used to from everyone else, Grandfather has always had unwavering confidence in me.

I smile weakly, not wanting to disappoint him with my own, less-flattering assessment of myself.

“Your mother was also unsure of herself when she was your age,” Grandfather says.

“Really?” Unsure is the last way I’d describe my laser-focused mother.

“Oh yes, she agonized for months before deciding to go to business school.”

“How did she decide?”

He chuckles. “I believe she chose whatever was the most different from anything me or your grandmother did.” I can’t tell if he’s joking.

We are connected to the order through my grandmother’s side of the family, and it was extremely important to my grandmother that her daughter be an active member of the Inner Chamber. But I’d always had the impression that’s what Mom wanted too.

When I’m being generous, I can feel bad for Mom having to live up to even higher standards than I do. I never knew my grandmother well, as she died very soon after I was born, but she was a senior policy adviser for theUnited Nations, and she had also played for the New York Philharmonic when she was in her teens. And Grandfather has an MD-PhD and was a world-renowned epidemiologist until he retired. Apparently, he traveled a lot for his job, so he wasn’t part of all the Families-related activities that dominated my mother’s life, and the two of them were never close the way he is with me.

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