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Chapter Fifteen / 2013


Abbey

Thanksgiving has long been one of the holidays that I don't really celebrate - lumped in with Valentine's Day and my Birthday. The reason being that I don't have any family left besides Matty, I'm a terrible cook, and four out of six of Matty's Thanksgivings have been spent in a hospital bed. The other two we sat in front of the TV set at home with a rotisserie chicken and instant potato and watched A Charlie Brown Christmas over and over again while playing Parcheesi.

It never occurred to me that this lack of tradition on Turkey Day might bother Matty until Thanksgiving Day, during the Macy's parade telecast, when Matty turned to me and asked, "Next year, can we have a turkey for Thanksgiving?"

And in that instant it occurred to me what an incredibly shitty parent I'd been. Here I was, sitting in a hospital room, holding the hand of my dying six and a half year old son, and he'd never had a Thanksgiving turkey. My heart seared in my chest and I closed my eyes, trying to keep from just bursting into tears on the spot. "Yes, if you want to, of course," I croaked.

"And the Stove Top, too?" he asked, "Like in the commercials?"

Even more guilt splashed over me. "Yes."

Matty smiled, "Maybe we could have Nick come, too," he suggested, snuggling into the pillows and staring up at the parade with a contented smile, as though just dreaming of the future Thanksgivings made this one all the better.

I felt like I'd been rolled around in a pile of guilt like batter. How many other important things had Matty never done and would never get to do because of my thoughtlessness or my fears? He'd never ridden a bicycle, never been on an airplane, or gone camping, or been in a club, or a public school for that matter. I suddenly felt like I was drowning. I needed air. I leaped to my feet. "I'll be right back."

"You'll miss the big Pikachu," he warned.

"You can tell me all about it," I answered, and I bolted from the room.

I ended up out on the quad that Nick and I had gone to that first day, where he'd first done the math and figured out about Matty. I sat on the bench and I breathed in the frigid cold air. The weathermen were calling for snow that evening and I could smell it in the air. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself.

What if he did die? I wondered. What would I do then? I tried to picture my life without Matty in it as calmly as I could, tried to search myself beyond the grief that I was certain would overwhelm me, to a time when I'd healed and I was able to live again. I pictured myself getting a better job, maybe even going back to school, maybe living abroad for a couple years, like I'd always dreamed...

And I suddenly realized that I was picturing myself doing all of these things with Nick.

I shook myself out of the thoughts and shivered. Overhead, some birds were settling into the trees, trying to hide from the wind that whistled over the top of the hospital. I shoved my hands in my pockets and that's when I noticed my phone vibrating. I pulled it out and there was Nick's goofy selfie, the one he'd taken seven years ago.

"Hello," I said, my voice shaky.

"Hey," Nick said, a smile in his tone. "Happy Thanksgiving. How's you and Matty?" he asked.

I stared at my feet. "We're okay," I replied.

"You don't sound okay."

"I'm having a mini-melt down, but it's okay."

Nick's tone was so soothing as he asked, "What's the matter?"

I tried to stop myself. My cries stopped in my throat and I felt my face warp and twist and I held my breath for a second, trying to remember how to breath smoothly, without trembling, but I couldn't and I choked out a sob, and once the first one was out, the rest came easily. I felt so stupid, sitting on the bench in the back of the almost desolate cafeteria, sobbing like a crazy person. I knew I wasn't the first person to cry out here, nor would I be the last, but I still felt funny doing it. "There's so many things he's never gonna get to do," I sobbed, "And I've been such a terrible mom because he hasn't even had the basics like - like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey. What kind of mom lets her kid die without having Thanksgiving turkey?" I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like something had been wrapped around it real tight and restrictive-like.

"He's never had a Thanksgiving turkey?" Nick repeated in surprise. "Never? In his whole life?"

"Never!" I wailed. "He's never rode a bike or gone camping or to a football game or played catch or owned a dog or been on a plane or memorized the multiplication tables. Nick, he's never gonna learn how to drive or get his first job or go to college and meet a girl and get married or give me grandbabies or --" I lost control completely.

"Hey -- hey -- hey... shhh.. Shhh, it's okay," Nick said. "Shhh. It's gonna be okay. There's still time. You don't know he won't do that stuff. He could do all of that, you never know. Don't go givin' up on him just cos of what some doctor says. He's bigger than that. He's bigger than this heart thing. He could wake up tomorrow with the opportunity for a new heart, Abbey. Don't you give up on him."

"I'm just so scared Nick," I croaked, "I'm scared all of the time."

"It's okay to be scared, you'd be nuts not to be, but you gotta head that scared off with belief it's gonna be okay."

"I'm trying," I whispered. "But why's it gotta be so hard?"

"Cos life ain't easy, but the best stuff comes from the stuff that's the hardest to do," he answered. "You got this. He's got this. You just gotta hold up and believe it until it happens."




Nick

When I hung up with Abbey, I walked into the kitchen door way and stood there, holding my phone, watching as Lauren stirred gravy with a whisk. She was covered with food, a really old cookbook open on the counter beside her, which she kept glancing at through her reading glasses. I stood there several moments, just turning my phone over and over in my palm.

"Laur?" I said.

She looked up, nudging the glasses up with the back of her wrist, getting flour on her cheek.

I walked over and I took her face in my hand and gently wiped away the flour. "Nick, you're messing up the gravy mixing," she said. But I didn't care, I kissed her anyways because she looked gorgeous all flour-covered and Betty Crocker-ish. "Mm," she gave in, and melted into me, dropping the whisk into the pan with a clatter and wrapping her arms around my neck.

When we pulled back, I said to her, "How would you feel about Thanksgiving to go?"

Lauren stared up at me. "Come again?"

"What if... when it's all ready... instead of putting it all on the table and sitting there and eating it all, what if we put it all in tinfoil and stuff and bring it over to the hospital to Abbey and Matty and we all have Thanksgiving together there?"

She stared at me in disbelief. "What? Nick, are you crazy? Would they even allow that?"

I shrugged, "Only one way to find out, right? I just -- I can't help but think of the two of them over there, all alone for the holiday, and... I just called Abbey and wished her Happy Thanksgiving and she had this little meltdown in my ear about Matty and the experiences he's never gonna have..." I took a deep breath, "Laur, he's never had a real Thanksgiving turkey."

I saw the flicker of shock in her eyes at that. "Never?"

"Never."

Lauren sighed and turned back to the gravy, fishing the wisk out of the pan.

"Well?"

She sighed again. "Get the tupperware out... And you're responsible for figuring out how to transport this damn turkey of yours. You had to get a big one..."

I kissed her cheek again, excitedly, and rushed to the cupboard to get the tupperware.

Two hours later, I stepped into Matthew's room slowly. "Knock, knock," I called.

"Nick?!" Matthew's voice carried around the curtain that afforded him and Abbey privacy. As I stepped around the curtain, Abbey looked up in surprise from the chair as Matthew eagerly held up his hands for a hug. I smiled and went over, hugging him carefully because of all the little sensor thingies he had all over the place. "Happy Thanksgibbin'," he said, his face smooshed into my shoulder.

"Happy Thanksgiving, buddy," I answered. I let go and I said, "Lauren and I have a surprise." I ducked back out of the room and helped Lauren drag in the two rolling trays we'd hijacked from an empty room down the hall, and I hauled in the big cooler full of food. Lauren pulled a table cloth out of a bag and I started unpacking the tupperware containers one by one.

Matthew's eyes were round as could be.

So were Abbey's.

"What's all this?" she stammered, breathless.

"A real Thanksgiving Turkey," I answered, unpacking the carefully tinfoiled bird and putting it on the make-shift dinner table.

"Oh wow," Matthew gasped, his hands on his cheeks like the Home Alone kid in shock, "Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow," he repeated.

Abbey's jaw was dropped.

Lauren pulled a package of paper plates with turkeys on them out of her bag of tricks and a couple chocolate turkeys, too. When we'd finished unpacking it all and putting it out on the two tray tables we'd pushed together with Matty's own to create one big table, it actually kind of looked like a real live Thanksgiving feast with all the fixin's. Matty's face was red with excitement and Abbey's was pale with disbelief.

Abbey started crying silently, tears just rolling down her face.

Matty looked around between the three of us standing around him and the food on the tables, a big grin on his face. "This is so cool," he said thickly, "Like the coolest ever, huh Mom?"

Abbey nodded. "Absolutely," she said. "The coolest ever." She looked up at me, "And in the spirit of the day, I am so very thankful for everything you've done for us, Nick."

"I'm just thankful I didn't drop the turkey on the way here," I laughed.