Most Wonderful

Chapter 40

40.

Liz paused at the front door to Belvedere Inn, inhaling a steadying breath. She’d gone for a drive to give Violet space. Now Liz prayed Violet hadn’t meant all the things she’d said and was ready to talk. But as soon as Liz stepped through the front door, she was bowled over by Ash, bolting from the direction of her mother’s suite. “Liz!” Ash was wide-eyed and frantic. “Come, now!”

“What’s going—”

“Now!” He dragged her into her mom’s suite.

An impossible sight. Her mother, unresponsive on the carpet, surrounded by three manic dogs.

Her brother was on his knees next to their mother’s body, babbling about finding her like this, just now: “I don’t know how long she’s been like this. Mom!”

The unreality of the moment threatened to cut Liz adrift. Her sanity wobbled. Was her mother dead? “Is she—is she breathing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Rafi was panicking. “Mom! Wake up!”

Liz hadn’t seen her mom all day. Monster waves of guilt and fear reared up, but she had to focus. Do the next right thing. “Nine-one-one.”

“I’m on with them.” Ash had the phone pressed to one ear, face set in concentration. “They need to know if she’s breathing.”

“She’s breathing.” Violet was kneeling by Babs’s body. Liz hadn’t even seen her enter the room. Vi held up a fogged hand mirror. “Her airway is clear.”

The dogs were yapping, circling the room. “Can we get them out of here?” Liz snapped.

“—taking any medication?” Ash switched the 911 call to speaker, a woman’s curt voice cutting through the noise.

“We need an ambulance.” Liz grabbed the phone. “Now, right now.”

“I’ve dispatched an ambulance to your address.” The operator sounded efficient, unshakable. “Does she take any medication?”

Hadn’t Jin-soo mentioned something about medication before they left? “Yes, I…yes,” Liz said.

“What kind?” the 911 operator asked.

Liz whipped her gaze around the room. Violet came out of Babs’s bathroom with a pink-and-white box, pushing it into Liz’s shaking hands.

“It looks like she’s taking Gilenya,” Liz read the label aloud. Liz was expecting pain medication for her mother’s ankle—Advil, maybe Percocet. This name was frighteningly foreign.

“Gilenya?” the operator repeated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, what is that?” Liz’s gaze rocketed from Violet to Ash to Rafi. Everyone stared back, shaking their heads.

Tell me. The instruction Liz gave her mother the night of the holiday party. Even if you don’t tell Raf and Birds: tell me the truth.

But she hadn’t. Liz was panting from the adrenaline, staring at her mother’s inert body. “Oh, Mom,” she whispered. “What is going on?”

Violet came into the room. Liz hadn’t realized she’d left. “I think there’s paparazzi on the street out front.”

“Paparazzi?” Rafi gripped one of Babs’s limp hands. “How could they already know?”

Liz knew the photographers weren’t there for their mother, they were there for Violet. But what a scoop—Babs Belvedere carted away in an ambulance on Christmas Eve. Her mother would hate that. Whatever health issue she’d likely been covering up would be front-page news.

“I’ll go.” Violet addressed the group. “I’ll take my car, make sure they follow me.”

“Where?” Liz tried to understand. “You can’t go alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Violet said, “trust me.”

She smiled reassuringly at Ash and Rafi, knelt to touch Babs’s arm, then ran out of the room.

The front door slammed. Ten seconds later, Violet took off down the drive, followed by the sound of engines revving, then receding into the night.

Time folded itself in thick, messy layers. Ash was talking about following the ambulance to the hospital, asking questions about health insurance Liz couldn’t answer. A siren sounded, growing in intensity. Red-and-white lights streaked over the bedroom walls, so different from gentle holiday lights. Two EMTs, both young men, were moving Babs onto a stretcher, speaking in medicalese. They didn’t take their shoes off. No one ever kept their shoes on in Babs’s bedroom. And it was this silly detail that misted sadness up Liz’s throat, threatening tears. She forced them away and somehow she was outside, getting into the ambulance with her mother on a stretcher.

Then she was in the back of the ambulance, the house gone, Ash and Rafi gone, just her mother lying prostrate and the EMTs saying things she didn’t understand while putting an oxygen mask over Babs’s face. Liz tried to ask them about the medication, but she couldn’t remember the name on the pink-and-white box. Gily-something?

Her mother’s eyes fluttered.

“Mom!” Liz pitched forward, her heart thrown into her throat. “She’s awake!”

The EMTs flashed a pin light in her eyes, asking questions.

Babs’s head lolled as the ambulance zoomed over a bump. Her voice was croaky, gaze unfocused. “Jin-soo? I need…Jin-soo.”

“Jin-soo’s gone home, Mom.” Liz took her mother’s hand. “It’s me, it’s Lizzie. You’re in an ambulance. You were unconscious.” Liz was shaking with adrenaline, with the effort of not breaking down. “Mom? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Babs’s gaze sharpened up. She took in the details—the interior of the moving ambulance, the wail of the siren, the two EMTs. Her gaze rested on Liz, lucid. Her voice was faint, but audible enough. “MS. I have MS.”

—

In her mid-fifties, Babs had played a character with breast cancer in a forgettable weepie. The character, a selfless and chatty librarian, told everyone who’d listen about her cancer diagnosis. If it was me, Babs had muttered to Liz on the way home from an under-attended premiere, I’d keep my mouth shut.

Liz had been in her early twenties, more focused on her new boyfriend and NYU than on an offhand comment in the back of a cab. Still, she filed it away as not only her mother’s strategy, but one available to her. In order to protect herself, it might be wise to hide the truth.

Liz told her brother when he arrived in the hospital waiting room. They clung to each other, Liz in speechless shock, her brother heaving sobs, while Ash conferred with the admitting staff. The hospital was small and quiet, hung with sad holiday decorations. A fake tree strung with fake candy canes.

“It doesn’t feel real,” Rafi whispered, looking dazed and devastated. “She has MS ?”

Liz knew nothing about multiple sclerosis except broad basics: A disease of the nervous system. Difficult to diagnose. No cure. Googling it, she was quickly overwhelmed by a language she didn’t speak: clinically isolated, relapsing-remitting, brain stem lesions, axonal loss.

How long had her mother been hiding this?

Birdie wasn’t picking up, every call going to voicemail, every text unanswered. Liz’s hand tightened around her phone. Of course her careless little sister was MIA.

“I’ll never forgive myself.” Rafi slumped forward, head in his hands. “For not paying more attention. So caught up in…everything else.”

Ash rubbed his back, murmuring words of comfort.

Liz wasn’t in the mood to console her brother. Part of what he was saying was true. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

But she wasn’t sure. Would their mother be okay?

The waiting room door flung open with a bang.

“ Guys! ” Birdie stumbled in, puffer coat flapping, hair a crazed mess.

Her shout was so loud, it woke a sleeping baby in a young woman’s arms on the other side of the room. Startled, the child began to wail.

Birdie didn’t notice, bolting over to the trio. “Guys, guys, guys! What the hell?”

She stunk of liquor. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. “Jesus,” Liz hissed, “of course you’re wasted.”

Birdie squinted, trying hard to focus. “What happened to Ma?”

The child’s crying became louder, despite the woman’s fussing.

“She has MS—multiple sclerosis.” Rafi was sobbing.

“ Shhh. ” Liz glanced around the waiting room at the half dozen strangers bearing witness to all this.

Birdie’s face went slack. “What?”

“She passed out,” Rafi went on, gulping air. “In her bedroom—there was paparazzi—I found her.” He whispered the diagnosis tearfully. “ MS. ”

Birdie stared at Liz. “Is that true?”

Anger was spewing into Liz’s stomach. She couldn’t yell at her mother’s illness, but she could yell at her sister. “Of course you show up drunk. Of course you weren’t there. Did you drive here? That’s so irresponsible. You could’ve killed someone!”

Birdie flinched like she’d been slapped, swaying back and almost tripping. “Does Ma really have MS?”

“Yes!” Rafi wailed.

“Shut up, ” Liz ordered.

Her brother was as loud as the child howling on the other side of the waiting room. Why did he get to sit there and bawl? Why did Birdie get to miss the horrible drama of the ambulance and EMTs? Liz snapped. “Birdie, sit down. Rafi, stop crying.” Her instructions were as sharp as a knife. “Both of you, grow up.”

“Hey! I’m an emotional person!” Rafi shot back, wounded and wiping at his nose.

“And there’s nothing wrong with crying because something bad is happening.” Ash’s tone was a warning. “We all have different ways of coping, Liz.”

Liz whipped on him. “ Don’t. You’re not a part of this family.”

Rafi sucked in a stunned breath.

“Liz.” Birdie sounded shocked. “Defang.”

“But he’s not,” Liz cried, her self-control starting to fall apart. “ We are. We’re her children, she’s our mother, and we weren’t there. Why didn’t she tell me the truth?”

“Why are you the only one she’d wanna tell?” Birdie asked, then belched. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Because that’s my role!” Liz flung back. “And I’m fucking sick of it!”

Birdie had gone pale. “Actually, I’m gonna be sick.” She stumbled toward the waiting room’s Christmas tree, falling to her knees and vomiting into the pot. Once. Twice. Three times. The acrid smell of puke filled the waiting room.

Rafi was by his sister’s side, rubbing her back. Ash got her a cup of water, helping Birdie rinse out her mouth.

Liz closed her eyes, willing this nightmare to smash cut to black.

“Belvedere?”

Liz jerked her head in the direction of the authoritative voice. A short, dark-skinned woman in a white doctor’s coat entered the waiting room holding a clipboard. The doctor. News. Ash and Rafi helped Birdie up. Her skin was the color of oat milk, and her sweatshirt was stained with sick. Rafi’s eyes were panicked. Ash’s mouth was a hard line. The sorry quartet assembled in front of the doctor.

“How is she?” asked Liz at the same time Rafi asked, “Is she okay?”

“I’m Dr. Sampath.” The doctor’s manner was direct but not without kindness. “Your mother is going to be fine.”

They all sagged, exhaling relief.

“She experienced a short loss of consciousness related to her MS.”

Liz shook her head, hands bunching into fists. “What type does she have? How long has she had it? How is she treating it?”

“She can share those details when she’s ready,” Dr. Sampath said. “For now, I’ve administered a mild sedative so she can get a good night’s sleep. Why don’t you go home, and we’ll call you when she wakes up.”

“No.” The siblings spoke as one.

Liz felt a primal need to be as close as possible to her parent. “We’ll wait here.”

The doctor shrugged, glancing around the not-very-comfortable room. “Suit yourself. There’s a coffee machine downstairs,” she added, glancing at Birdie. “If you need it.”

Outside, snow fell in earnest. An orderly removed the puke-filled Christmas tree. Birdie mumbled something about getting caffeine. Liz, Rafi, and Ash returned to their seats, avoiding one another’s eyes.

Liz messaged Siouxsie, canceling the drop-off of their decadent Christmas Day lunch and Venmoing her the balance.

Violet had texted, saying she’d gotten a hotel. Liz updated her, suggesting now would be a good time to pick up her pajamas and meds. Violet texted she would, adding Do you need anything?

Liz needed for her mom to be okay.

She messaged her mother’s longtime publicist, Marty. He called, telling Liz that HIPAA, the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, prevented hospital staff from privacy violation, but to make sure no one in the waiting room was taking pictures. Liz assured him she knew the drill, thinking, Do I? She hadn’t earlier, a move that blew up everything with Violet before it even started. At least Violet was still in communication with her. Something to be grateful for.

Birdie returned with a paper tray of coffees. Liz couldn’t stomach hers.

The lights were too bright. The syrupy holiday classics playing in the waiting room sounded grating. Enough with the fucking silver bells. This was a world away from how things should be on Christmas Eve.

Regret over her earlier outburst polluted her bloodstream. Liz felt strung out and tense, her chest tight with anxiety. She inhaled for a count of five and then let it out, recalling the lunch she and Violet had with Babs last week. Her mother had been so generous, so open: her best self. Babs Belvedere had not been a perfect mother—she could be vain, obsessed with success, not always honest. But she lived a life driven by passion and family. She was a workhorse and a raconteur. A funny, opinionated, ballsy mother. Liz loved her with all of her heart, discovering its depth anew in this terrible moment.

At least she was in it with her brother and sister and Ash. Liz finally met their eyes, and they all exchanged some wobbly smiles.

“Do you remember that Christmas,” Rafi said, “when Mom sang ‘Santa Baby’ at the holiday party?”

Birdie exhaled a tentative laugh.

Liz let out a quick smile, recalling the very skimpy outfit their younger mother had poured herself into. “Didn’t she practically give someone a lap dance?”

“Her accountant, wasn’t it?” Ash recalled.

“His sexiest Christmas ever,” Birdie said.

They all chuckled. Birdie put her head on Liz’s shoulder. Rafi snuggled into Ash. The four lapsed into silence, exhaustion taking hold. Liz was the last to fall asleep.

—

In Liz’s dream, Violet was a journalist on the set of Sweet. Glasses, a blazer, holding a tape recorder. She kept asking Liz, “When are you going to announce it? When are you going to tell everyone?”

“Liz?” Dr. Sampath’s voice broke into Liz’s dreams. “Your mother’s awake.”

She blinked her eyes open. Rafi was asleep, his head in Ash’s lap. A milky-pale dawn. Christmas Day.

“Squeak,” Liz croaked, pulling herself upright. “Mom’s awake.”

“Ten more minutes.” Birdie snuggled back into Liz, still reeking of booze.

Liz nudged her. “No, Birds, wake up.”

Birdie cracked an eye, wincing at the waiting room’s bright lights with a groan. “Oh shit. ” She slumped forward, cradling her head. “I am never drinking again.”

“That would actually be a wonderful choice,” Liz said. She shook Ash, then Rafi, directing her questions at Dr. Sampath. “How is she? How’s she feeling?”

“She’s in good spirits,” the doctor said with a smile. “You can see her now. Family only.”

They all glanced at Ash.

Rafi looked unsure. “What does that mean to you?” he asked Dr. Sampath.

“Whatever it means to you,” she replied, turning back the way she came.

The siblings looked at Ash, who was looking only at Rafi.

An awkward beat passed before Ash spoke. “You guys go. I’ll get a cab back to the house.”

“No, you’re family.” Rafi drew himself taller, glaring at Liz. “Right, Liz?”

“Right.” Liz’s face flushed with shame. She regretted saying the opposite. “I’m sorry, Ash. I was upset and—”

“It’s okay.” Ash’s warm brown eyes were compassionate. “We’ve all had a crazy night. Let’s not overwhelm your mom now.” Ash took Rafi’s face with both hands. “I’ll see you later.” He firmly but tenderly kissed Rafi on the mouth. Not a kiss of passion. A kiss of support. Of care. Of love.

Liz stared at them in shock, then at Birdie, who pointed between the two guys, mouthing gay with a shrug.

Liz squinted, tucking her bangs behind her ears as she absorbed this surprising new information. The initial strangeness melted into undeniable rightness.

Ash murmured something into Rafi’s ear that made him smile, easing his worry.

A wallop of affection caught Liz’s breath in her throat. How desperately she wanted to love like that—open and unafraid. No caveats. No secrets. Birdie looked similarly moved. Similarly rueful. Rafi had always been the baby brother they had taught things: riding a bike, multiplication tables, dressing nice for a dinner out. But Liz was starting to glimpse a larger truth. Maybe, if they all relaxed their age-old understanding of themselves and one another, growth and change could occur. She could learn a lot from the way Rafi Belvedere loved.

Ash gave Liz and Birdie a reassuring nod and left.

“Ready?” Dr. Sampath indicated for the trio to follow her.

Birdie was drained of color and clearly struggling. Liz brushed her sister’s hair out of her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m sick of discovering new versions of rock bottom,” Birdie muttered.

Liz gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. They paused outside a hospital room. Rafi took Liz’s other hand so all three Belvederes were connected. It’d been years since Liz had held her siblings’ hands.

Dr. Sampath opened the door.

Their mother’s room was small but private, fitting not much more than the bed and a few chairs. Liz was prepared for the sight of her mother in a hospital gown, out of makeup, hair limp. She wasn’t prepared for the sight of Babs, pale but animated, holding court with three nurses in scrubs. She appeared to be midway through an anecdote. “—So I said to him, ‘Gimme twenty bucks and find out.’?”

The nurses broke into laughter.

At the sight of them all filing in, Babs gasped theatrically, her face lighting up with a performer’s precision. “My children!”

Rafi was the first to her side. “Mom! I was so scared. How are you?”

Birdie put on a braver face, pretending to sock her mother on the shoulder. “Y’know, Ma, there are easier ways to avoid my cooking.”

Babs cackled, some color returning to her cheeks.

Liz was the last to approach her mother’s bedside. She readied herself to say something practical and sensible, but a knot formed in her throat before she could get the words out. The tears Liz had been working so hard to keep at bay for so many years finally filled her eyes, spilling down both cheeks.

Babs reached for Liz’s hand. Liz was overcome with relief in feeling her mother’s fingers, calloused and knobbly with age, fold into her own. Liz broke down, curling into her mother like a child, salty tears streaming hot and fast. “I thought you were dead,” Liz choked out between sobs. “I thought you were gone.”

Liz could barely imagine the end of her mother. Never again seeing her coming through the Inn’s front door, the dogs dancing at her feet. Never again hearing her loud laugh across the dining room table or at the kitchen island. Never again feeling the warmth of her hug, the press of her lips to a forehead or cheek. Never again seeing the exact blue of her eyes. She’d never said it enough. “I love you, Mom. I love you so much.”

Babs stroked the back of her head, abandoning all theatrics. “I love you, too,” she said, her own cheeks wet with tears. “I know I have some explaining to do, but for now, just be with me.”

They gathered close. It wasn’t how Liz had imagined spending Christmas Day. She very much hoped to never spend another Christmas Day like this again. But as her mother’s hand rested cool on her fevered face, Liz closed her eyes and gave thanks for this Christmas. Exactly as it was.