Page 98 of The Grumpy Billionaire
“They took him to surgery in the cardiac unit. They said his arteries were almost entirely blocked. This is all my fault.”
She flopped back into her chair and put her head in her hands, crying quietly.
I sat down in the plastic chair next to her. “Mom… how is this your fault?”
“I should have been taking care of him. Your father has always eaten too much fried food. I’ll bet he’s done nothing but eat out since I kicked him out of the house—and oh—the corn chips. I made sure never to keep them in the house because he couldn’t resist eating a whole bag at a time. His condo in the city is probably overrun with them.”
What is happening here?
As Mom wept, I sat rubbing her back in small circles and reeling from shock. She’d always exhibited strong emotions about Dad, but recently they’d been mostly negative.
It was surreal to see her so torn up now, so frightened for his health, and blaming herself foranythingthat had to do with him.
Next someone was going to tell me black was white, up was down, and caramel turtle cheesecake was health food.
“Whatever caused the heart attack… it had nothing to do with you, Mom. He’s a grown man, and he’s made his own decisions. Like you said, it’s usually whatever he wants and lots of it, whether it’s corn chips or something else. I’m sure he’ll be okay. And… if not…”
I had to stop and swallow the boulder that had lodged in my throat. “If not… you’ll be okay. You don’t need anyone. You’re a strong, independent—”
“No I’m not,” she snapped, lifting her head to look at me. “That was a bunch of crap. I love him, Mara. I need him. It’s impossible not to need anyone. And I can’t imagine a fate worse than marrying someone youdon’tlove… or not being with the person you do.”
She stared at me for a minute. “I don’t want that for you. The advice I gave you the past few weeks—I only wanted you to be safe—not to suffer like I did. But I waswrong. And you did suffer. I regret that I treated you like a friend or a therapist instead of like my daughter.”
“No. It’s okay. You didn’t—”
“I did. I was hurting, and I was selfish. But you didn’t need to hear all of that, see all of that. I blamed your father for ruining my perfect life—ourlives. But I probably did as much damage to you as he did. I hope you can forgive me. And I hope I don’t have to spend the rest of my life regretting that I didn’t forgive your dad and give us another chance.”
I sat hard into the back of my chair, breathless. Had I really just heard that? I looked over at Mom.
She was quietly crying again. I slid my hand over to cover hers, and she gripped it tightly. Maybe she’d said it out of emotional shock or something. Was she really ready to forgive Dad?
Was she really advocating for true love?
A few minutes later, someone came over and instructed us on how to get to the cardiac waiting area where we stayed for the next two hours.
Finally, a doctor stepped out of the door to the operating area. “Is the Neely family here?”
Mom and I both sprang to our feet. “Here,” she said walking briskly toward the doctor. “I’m Mrs. Neely. I’m his wife.”
I blew out a breath.Okay.So this was really happening.
As we listened to the doctor explain the procedure he’d performed on Dad, it was as if my entire lens on life had shifted. Up really was down, in was out, Mom didn’t hate Dad.
I wasn’t sure I could adjust to the change. I’d become so accustomed to viewing love as a dangerous thing, to seeing a need for someone as something poisonous, like a heroin addiction, which could only end in tragedy.
But over the next few days, as I visited Dad in intensive care and then in a regular room, as I watched my mother caring for him, being there through his recovery, forgiving old hurts and forging new ties, something inside my own heart began to heal.
I realized that I had hidden it behind an overgrowth of vines and thorns, just like that mythical princess in the fairytale.
I’d been sleepwalking through my life instead of truly living it.
When I got ready to leave the hospital on Monday night, Mom and Dad were laughing together, sharing a tray of rather unappetizing cafeteria food.
“Want me to bring you back some takeout, Mom? Or are you coming home tonight?” She hadn’t left the building since Friday. I’d been bringing her changes of clothes.
She looked up. “I’ll go home when he comes home.”
Mom rubbed a hand through Dad’s thinning gray hair. “We’ve spent enough nights apart already. And this food really isn’t all that bad. You go on and get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
