Only to run into Sebastian coming out of our building, his eyes blazing and feverish. I freeze, caught by surprise, and he shoves me aside.
"Stay out of my fucking way," he hisses, and stumbles past me. "I don't have time for you, you poor bastard."
"Watch where you're going, dammit." I look at him go, not sure why I'm so rattled. His words shouldn't sting like that, but they're the last drop in a long motherfucking torrent of abuse today. "And fuck you, anyway."
For some strange reason, the need to see Mom hits me so hard I can't breathe. I don't even care that my clothes are covered in greasy mayo stains, that I stink like fried fat and sweat.
But first I have a gang meeting to attend.
"We're evolving," Mav is saying, gesturing with his lit cigarette around, leaving smoke signals with every move. "Like a living organism, we're taking over more and more territory. We're expanding our business."
He stops and waits, and I imagine a round of applause going up.
Maybe he does, too, but the silence he gets instead doesn't seem to faze him. Everyone's looking bored, or drunk, or both, sprawled on plastic chairs in this backroom of a bar we've been using lately to meet.
What exactly is he talking about, anyway? This is a gang that nobody talks about. Well, apart from Gus, but that doesn't really count. I always knew Mav and Angel were ambitious little shits, but this sounds like they're planning something …
Or I'm just tired and hearing things in Mav's ramblings that aren't there. Is he just trying to make himself look important?
"Angel will tell you more about this," he goes on. "Soon, when he has the details."
And now I'm thinking again that Mav is planning something.
Whispers fly around the room. Jorge is looking more alert than I've ever seen him. What does he know?
"Hey, Mav. You sure you should be talking about this in front of him?" Declan asks, sneering at me. "He can't be trusted. Do you ever wonder what he's doing when he's not here, who he's talking to?"
"Fuck you." I lean back in my chair. "Who would I talk to?"
"That's the question, ain't it?" He shoots me a nasty grin.
I push my chair back as I get to my feet. "You really want my fist in your ugly mug, asshole?"
"Gonna hit me? Do it, motherfucker." He opens his arms, his grin widening.
I'm gonna rip him a new one.
"Jarett, sit down," Mav barks. "Dec, shut your trap."
"Lay off him, Dec." Sebastian throws an empty can of beer at Declan. "Fen isn't talking to anyone outside us."
I turn, startled, but Seb only glares at me as if I pissed in his Cheerios.
Right. So what was that about? Is he just concerned about me blackening his image in the gang?
"Fuck you," I tell him.
I don't need his support. I knew they don't really trust me, and it seems they sensed I'm pulling back more and more these days.
Well, fuck them.
Fuck them all. I don't give a damn.
I walk to the bus stop and catch the next bus in the direction of the nursing home. I'm numb, and tired, and content to just let the city roll by, lights and people and noise.
My phone bleeps with a message. I glance at it and find it's from Gigi, asking me how I am.
That makes me smile. In the middle of my anger and frustration, only she can do that.
‘I'm fine,' I send back and slump back in my seat.
I just want to see Mom. Hug her. Tell her about my day. Maybe she'll understand what I'm saying. Maybe she'll tell me not to worry. That everything will be okay. That she's glad I'm keeping an eye on Seb. That things will get better.
The reception lady, not Macy this time, tries to stop me, but I mutter at her something about emergency and run down the hallway to Mom's room.
Entering, closing the door behind me, I walk right over to her and go to my knees in front of her. Mom, I want to say.
Mom.
But I can't make myself speak the word.
And the illusion doesn't even last two seconds this time.
She screams, batting at my hands, no recognition in her eyes. She's saying something, but I can't make out the words, and I'm too stunned to move, even as two nurses burst into the room.
"What's going on?" one of them asks. "Who are you?"
"He's her son," the other one says, and I vaguely recognize him from my visits here. "Just give her the sedative, Jimmy. She'll be fine."
I don't move as this Jimmy lifts a small bottle, shakes it and adds it to the IV going into Mom's hand.
"What's wrong with her?" I whisper. "She's never done this before."
"She's getting worse," Jimmy says. "Quick deterioration, that's what one of the doctors said. So you're her son?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Yes," the second nurse says, ignoring me. "He's here every other day. I think it's safe to leave him with her." He turns to me. "If you want to stay, that is."
I don't know what the hell I want. "What else did the doctor say? Why didn't anyone tell me about this … this quick deterioration?"
What is it supposed to mean?
But the two nurses are already walking out of the room, and Mom is dozing in her chair. Cold sweat has drenched my back, and my heart won't stop racing.
What the fuck was this, what the fuck? Why was she so scared of me? Why couldn't I understand what she was saying? Why … ?
Dragging myself to my feet, I reach out to touch her, and stop.
I walk out and close the door quietly, then head to the reception desk to get some answers.
I don't go over to Gigi's to spend the night.
Instead I sit in the dark in my bedroom and try not to think of what the doctor I spoke to said about Mom's condition.
Worsening. Quick deterioration was accurate. They don't know why for some patients the condition advances so much faster than for others.
Eventually, I roll on my side, grab my phone and shoot Gigi a quick message to let her know not to wait for me, that I'll crash at the apartment. It's way past midnight when I send it, and I don't expect a reply. She's probably long asleep by now.
I still stare at the dark screen of phone on the nightstand for hours. When trying not to think, I still can't stop thinking about her.
Damn, I miss her. How can I miss her when I was with her last night?
I wish I could haul her into my arms right now, let her soft body chase away the cold fear. She speaks softly, touches me softly, moves softly. I crave that. Now that I've been with her, I dunno how I can go back to my life.
How to live without her.
I close my eyes and a reel passes in front of them. Memories of running in the yard with Connor, flying a kite, learning to fish. Then older times, older memories surfacing, gilded and fading, of my real parents-a playground, a toy car, a huge tree with a swing. Smiling faces. A sense of safety and joy.
No, dammit. Don't wanna remember those good times.
Moments like this, I envy Mom's lost memory. She's only kept the good parts. I wish I could forget it all.
And then I feel like an ass for even thinking that.
Christ, Jarett. Stop the pity party. Do something about the mess you're in.
I could go find Gigi and lose myself in her.
But my jaw throbs and my ribs ache, and if she sees the bruises she will ask questions, and I'll have to answer, because it's getting harder and harder to lie to her. To keep the truth hidden.
So I roll on my back and stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks and stains, waiting for morning.
But before dawn breaks, my phone rings.
"Merc isn't answering his phone, and I don't know what to do, I just … couldn't think of who to call," Gigi wails into the phone. Then, "Crap, I shouldn't have called you. Sorry, I just, sorr-"
"Gigi, breathe." I swing my legs off the bed, instantly alert. "What's the matter?"
She doesn't seem to hear me. "You didn't answer last night and didn't come by, and I should have known you don't want to see me. Oh God, I should've called Syd-"
"I wanted so damn much to see you," I tell her earnestly, cutting through her stream of breathless words. "Something came up. Listen to me, Gigi."
"What?" Now she sounds close to crying.
Fuck. Can't stand the thought of her crying. "Tell me what's going on. Did something happen?"
"Okay, okay." She draws a shallow breath. "Mom twisted her ankle and can't walk, and her boyfriend is out of town, and Tati's gone into labor, and there's a complication, and I can't go to be with her because of Mom, and Merc won't answer his frigging phone." A hiccupping sob. "Don't know what to do."
"Tati … That's your sister, right?" I try to think, my brain woolly and foggy from lack of sleep. "Why are you so damn worried? I mean … her husband is with her, right?"
"Yes! But the … the fetal monitoring showed the baby isn't getting enough air, and they will do a C-section, and … I need to be with her." Another hiccupping sob, and I'm already on my feet.