Page 10 of Where We Went Wrong

“Hey,Mrs. Schreiber,” I said, turning into the room.

Theold woman rolled her head against the pillow to face me. “Hi, honey,” shegreeted with familiarity, but I saw the confusion glistening in her eyes.

“I’mAndrea,” I said cheerfully, never minding that I had given her my name fivetimes already today. “Ready for your medicine?”

“Oh,I suppose,” she replied, feigning happiness while exhaustion dimmed thebrightness of her smile.

The87-year-old mother of five and grandmother of twelve had been in and out of thehospital six times in the past year. A stroke in September, a mild cardiacevent in January, and a serious case of pneumonia in March, had all left herkids wondering if this was it for their mom. But the old woman’s body andspirit were tough. She had survived surgeries and broken bones. She had birthedchildren. She had been through more than her fair share of trauma in her timeon this Earth. She had weathered the storm, but the soul can only take so muchbefore it begins to let go, and I knew Mrs. Schreiber was losing her grip.

Iplaced the paper cup full of pills in her hand and grabbed the water bottlefrom her bedside table. “Have you seen the grandkids yet?” I asked as Iuncapped the bottle and inserted a straw.

Afterswallowing the pills and a swig of water, she shook her head. “I don’t likethem to see me like this,” she explained, a hint of sadness in her voice. “If Idie here, I don’t want their last memory of me to be of this room.”

Inodded. “I totally understand.”

“Atleast someone does,” she grumbled under her breath. Then, her eyes met mine asshe offered an apologetic smile. “My kids don't see any reason why they can'tcome down.”

Isat at the edge of her bed and laid a comforting hand on her knee. “It's hardfor them to understand,” I replied softly. “But ultimately, you're the patient,and this is your life. You call the shots.”

Smilinggratefully, she placed her hand over mine. “Thank you, honey.” Then, with aquick glance around the room, she said, “I never thought it'd be like this, youknow?”

“What?”

“Dying,”she whispered, as if it was a secret. “I never thought I'd want to be alone.”

“It'sa very private thing for a lot of people,” I agreed, choosing not to divulgethat she wasn't at all alone.

***

“Iheard about this place online,” Elle said excitedly, as she opened the door.“It was ranked as like, the best pizza in the city or something like that.”

“Everypizza place says they have the best pizza,” I disputed.

“Yeah,butDevin O’Learyhas been here,” she countered, knowing that themention of my favorite singer would spark excitement.

Westepped inside and were shrouded with a blend of garlic and spice. It waspleasant enough, but it was also crowded. The dining area was completely packedwith people, and above their racket was the familiar white noise thatthreatened to drive me crazy on a daily basis.

“Butstill, it's just pizza,” I said, resisting the urge to stuff my fingers in myears. “We can get pizza anywhere. We could just order a pie and eat it in thebreakroom.”

Elleknew I hated crowds, and with a glance around the room, her smile wilted. “I'msorry,” she sighed. “I'm just dying to try this place, and after the night Ihad, I could really use it.”

Sighingand sucking down my groan, I nodded begrudgingly. “Fine. But I'm eatingoutside.”

Theline was long, and the cacophony of voices and fuzzy static made the wait feellike torture. I tried to admire the bricked walls and old photographs of who Iassumed was the owner, but I knew better than to try and distract myself. Itwas always impossible and every passing second felt like an hour.

Eventually,we ordered our food from a tall man with chocolate skin and warm eyes. Then, wewaited some more, as he called to a Jenna to grab our slices and sodas, and wewatched as the curly-haired woman bustled around to collect our lunch.

“Ihad such a freakin’ night,” Elle complained, crowding one of my ears, amidstthe static, while the other was occupied with the now annoyed curly-hairedwoman.

“Dammit,we're outta paper plates,” she muttered, before calling out, “Vinnie! Grab someplates back there, will ya?”

Ibelieve we are all born with gifts, and one of mine is intuition. I could be havingthe most ordinary day, until I hear a name, see a sign,orturn acorner, and intuition will strike. Sometimes it comes as a ping in the gut, oras a gentle brush against my heart. And right now, it was a flick against mybrain, a sudden rekindling of a memory.

Iturned my head toward what I assumed to be the kitchen door, as Elle continued,“Mike is driving me completely insane. And it’s not like I ask for much. Justgive me some attention, you know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh,”I muttered, watching the door.

“So,last night, we’re getting hot and heavy, and he tells me he really wants me to,you know, use my mouth. And I did, thinking, like, I’m gonna get the sametreatment, right? But the bastard just fell asleep—girl, are you even listeningto me?”

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