Page 47 of Baby, It’s You (Clairesville #1)

Olive

T wo days later, I wake up to the call that I’ve been anxiously dreading.

One of Jane’s favorite nurses, Jojo, at the memory care facility, tells me that she recommends me coming to visit Jane today .

I know what this call means; she’s telling me that this might be Jane’s last day.

I planned to visit her tomorrow on my day off, but I know the urgency of seeing her today.

She has not been eating for a while now and no longer wants to even take a sip of water. Her body is failing her.

I tell the nurse that I will be there within the hour and thank her for letting me know. Since I am not family, I know she took a risk by telling me this information, but everyone there knows how close Jane and I are.

I stand up to get dressed and stare blankly at my closet.

What do you wear to possibly say goodbye to someone?

I throw on a sparkly top with a butterfly on it that she gave me for my birthday a few years ago.

The shirt is much more her than me; I never knew where I would wear it.

Jane would always buy me shirts she found at the store in the juniors’ section.

I think she knew I didn’t have a mother that cared enough to buy me fun, girlie things as a child, and she never had a daughter of her own.

She was always trying to make up for the time in our lives before we knew each other.

So today I will wear the top for her. I throw on some jeans with it, and look at myself in the mirror.

I glance down and make eye contact with the painting Hunter’s mom gave me.

It currently rests in the corner of my room.

After looking at the canvas in the mirror, I walk over to my jewelry box and find the biggest dangling earrings I own and put them on. For her.

My stomach rumbles, so I eat a quick bowl of cereal in the kitchen. I’m almost done when I hear my phone ring again. I hold my breath as I check the caller ID and feel relief when I see it’s Hunter.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Good morning, beautiful,” He sounds cheery on the other side of the call, and I can’t even fake match his enthusiasm as he continues talking. “I was going to see if you wanted to grab breakfast before work.”

“I am actually about to go visit Jane.” I clear my throat. “She’s not doing well; a nurse at Hills Pointe called me a few minutes ago.”

I hear Hunter breathe deeply on the other side. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help you today? Would you like me to come?”

I think this over momentarily and I realize, yes, I would like him to come.

I feel so safe with Hunter next to me. He’s almost become like a security blanket unintentionally.

But I also don’t want to ask him to come—knowing he lost his father, this would be heavy for him.

I feel like I need to do this alone, that I need time to say goodbye to Jane. Be brave, Olive, I tell myself.

“No, it’s okay,” I say to Hunter quietly.

He seems concerned but says, “Okay, text me after if you want to talk. I’m here.”

“Thank you,” I tell him and hang up shortly after. I grab the basket of petunias that Hunter brought me from next to my front door, and feel my hands start to shake.

Knowing I can’t put this visit off any longer, I head to see Jane.

When I arrive, there are only two cars in the parking lot.

It’s still early and I know most of the residents will just be starting their day.

I’m thankful for this because I don’t feel like small talk right now.

No one is sitting at the front desk yet, so I head straight to Jane’s room.

When I get to her room, I see the nurses have moved her into a hospital-style bed towards the corner of the room. She is asleep, snoring lightly, and I quietly set the basket of flowers on the floor nearby. Then I take a seat on the side of her bed.

I look at her for a moment—her body looks even smaller in the bed than usual.

She can’t weigh more than eighty pounds now.

I’m not sure when the last time she actually ate a meal was.

The nurses and I tried everything to get her to eat this past month, but she just continued to say, “I’m tired, I’m not hungry. ”

Taking a shuddering breath, I reach out for her hand.

It’s warm and quaking slightly. I run my thumb over the top of her wrinkled hand, aged with years of a beautiful life lived, and start to think about my best moments with her.

I decide to tell them aloud to her, hoping maybe she will feel comfort from my voice while she sleeps.

“You know, Jane, you have always been the most generous person I’ve ever met,” I rasp out, emotion taking hold of me already.

“I remember every time I would give you a compliment about something you were wearing, you would say, ‘You like it, baby? It’s yours!’ in your Southern accent and then try to give me the item the next time I saw you. ” I softly laugh to myself.

“I remember how many times you dragged me onto the stage of the bar to do karaoke with you when I was young and awkward. I remember looking over at you in awe, constantly. Seeing someone that had suffered the pain of losing her husband, her best friend, and still getting up every day with a smile. Doing what you had to do for the bar. You didn’t care what anyone thought of you, and I admire that so much.

I want to be like you. Thank you for always taking care of me like I was your daughter. I hope I made you proud.”

At this, I break into violent tears, my vision blurring as they soak my face.

My whole body shakes as I continue to talk.

“I met a boy I like, and I wish you could have met him. He even gave me petunias to bring for you. He’s basically perfect.

” I laugh through my tears, and I grab a flower out of the basket and place it next to Jane.

She stirs lightly, and I see her blink her eyes open.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” I smile at her, brushing the tears away from my face quickly, wanting her to see my smile, not my tears, if this is our last time together.

She doesn’t say anything but gives me a small smile back. Her breathing is heavy and I can tell it pains her.

“I know you are tired, Jane,” I tell her and brush my hand over her white hair. “It’s okay for you to be with Seymour now. I’m sure he’s looking down at you, getting ready to give you a big hug.”

Jane opens her mouth and quietly whispers out a weak, “Seymour.”

“Yes. He’s going to be so happy to see you.” I fight back the quiver in my voice, struggling through tears. I continue to brush my hand over her hair softly.

Jane nods her head once and closes her eyes again.

Her exhaustion is clear, and I watch as she drifts back to sleep.

Then, I reach forward, take her hand again, and squeeze it tight.

We sit there in silence for at least an hour while I weep.

I don’t think I have the strength to get up and leave her, to say goodbye.

Knowing I need to be strong, though, I lean in and hug her.

I hold her frail body for a minute and then pull back to kiss her on the forehead.

“I’m going to leave these flowers here for you,” I tell her. “How about next to the window?” I pick up the basket, placing them on a small table by the window. “You’re going to love these when you wake up.”

I force myself to keep talking, swallowing down the pain of what I’m about to say.

“Alright, well I’m going to head out now.

I need to go get ready for work.” I chuckle and try to keep my voice light, not wanting there to be sadness in the room, even as it consumes me internally.

“I promise I’ll take care of the bar for you.

” I head towards the door and breathe deeply.

I turn back to face Jane, and I say the thing I’ve always wanted to tell her.

I bite the inside of my cheek and then say with the only strength I have left in my body at this moment, “ I love you, Mom . I’ll see you again. ”