Clary's family meant everything to her. Her mother, whom which she shared her love of art with, was always there for her, ready and waiting with a box of tissues every time a guy dumped her or giving her advice when life around her became just too overwhelming. Her father, no matter how busy he was with his job as a hot-shot New York criminal defense lawyer, always managed to make time for her and gave her everything she could have ever wanted and more: clothes, private schooling, art supplies, etc.
Okay, now back to reality.
Her phone made a deafening smack against the floor underneath her, no doubt shattering the screen, destroying the phone.
"Clary?!" her mother yelled at her from inside the silver slab of crystal glass But Clary couldn't focus on that right now, she couldn't focus on anything. The words her mother had said just moments before swam around her reeling brain.
"transplant" "donor" "fatal" "testing"
"Clary!" Simon yelled, snapping her out of her trance. Her cracked screen now rested against Simon's ear. Clary could barely make out the faint directions her mother, Jocelyn, was ordering at him through the device.
"Okay. Okay, we're on our way." Simon promised into the phone, ending the call just before meeting Clary with his wide, brown eyes. "Your mom wants you there." he said soothingly.
Clary was still shocked. She had known her father was a bit of an alcoholic, however she had never guessed he would be put in a fatal situation in which he would need a liver transplant. If he couldn't find a donor, he would die.
"Clare, we gotta go." Simon pressed once more. Clary shook her head as if to collect herself again.
"Yeah," she said almost inaudibly, "yeah, let's go." Clary picked up her bag and walked at a brisk pace out the front door of Java Jones, her and Simon's favorite coffee shop that his band sometimes managed to play at. Simon scuttled behind her, only barely able to keep up with her determined footing.
When Clary and Simon arrived at Idris Hill hospital a teary-eyed Jocelyn was there to meet them immediately.
"Clary!" she sighed with relief, pulling her only daughter into her arms.
"Mom what happened?" Clary questioned frantically, her voice muffled in her mother's embrace. She pulled back to look up into the green eyes her mother bore that seemed to match her own perfectly. "I saw him just a few days ago. He was fine! I don't understand."
"I don't know either, sweetheart." Jocelyn said softly, cupping Clary's pale face with her equally pale, petite hands. "I was at Luke's and the hospital called me. They said he was at work and all of a sudden he was coughing up blooding and then he passed out."
"Oh my God!" Clary cried, covering her face with her hands as she backed away from her mother into a chair. "What's going to happen to him?! Is he going to die?" Simon sat in the chair next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder in comfort, not quite sure how to console her properly. He also chose not to speak which probably was for the best.
"Clarissa, honey, listen to me." her mother said severely, kneeling on the ground in front of her. "Your father is not going to die. We are gonna do everything we can to find him a donor."
"Excuse me, Mrs. Morgenstern," a tall, greying man in scrubs interjected. Three heads snapped to him and stood immediately.
"Yes?" Jocelyn said nervously, grasping her daughter's hand for support.
"I'm Dr. Starkweather, your husband's physician." he said with concern tainted through his eyes and voice. "As I am sure you already know, your husband is going to need a liver transplant within a matter of weeks." he sighed, "Unfortunately, he's at the bottom of a transplant list for our particular hospital and I am afraid a few weeks will not be enough time for a new liver to be reached to his place on said list." he said gravely, following his statement with a few moments of silence in order for the news to sink in.
"Oh!" Clary's mother cried, tears falling from her eyelids, wetting her recently dried cheeks yet again. "Wh-What... what can we do?" she blubbered, devastated by the news.
"Well," Dr Starkweather began, hesitating only for a moment. "If you can find a willing donor that is also a match for your husband, we can preform the surgery as soon as the correct paperwork has been taken care of." his eyes flicked to Clary, then back to a crying Jocelyn. "Do you and your husband have any children that could be a potential match?"
"Yes." she said, regaining her composure-yet only slightly. Turning to Clary, Jocelyn put her hands on her daughter's shoulders and pushed her forward ever-so-slightly. "This is our daughter, Clary." she said. "Do you think Clary could be a match?"
"It is possible," the old doctor offered, "we would obviously have to do a few tests to see if she is indeed an acceptable donor."
Immediately, Clary stepped up. "I'm ready. How soon can I be tested?" she asked, unwavering in her sudden words.
Taken aback by her forwardness, Dr. Starkweather stared for a moment. "Well, Miss Morgenstern... this may be something you would like to consider." he began, "the recovery time alone is a substantial amount of time and the surgery can have compli-"
"This is my father." Clary deadpanned, cutting him short.
"I understand Miss Morgenstern, but-" again, Clary had him cut short.
"No, Dr. Starkweather you don't understand." She stated, finality laced in her words. "This. Is. My. Father. Now, where can I be admitted to gets these tests ran?" Jocelyn squeezed Clary's hand tightly, as she pushed a small smile on her face. Simon took her other hand quickly, squeezing it as well to show her his support.
"Shit!" Clary winced as another painfully long needle inserted itself into her forearm.
Clary already had issues with needles and it certainly wasn't helping that the nervous-and obviously new-nurse had shoved two other needles into her skin, failing to hit her vein. This one hadn't hit either, and Clary thought she was either gonna pass out or slap the shit out of this woman. The latter seemed like a more promising idea.
"Would you just find the damn vein before I end up like swiss cheese with all these fucking holes!" Clary yelled.
"I'm sorry," the tiny nurse squeaked, as she finally managed to do the job.
As the blood slurped up through the tube alarmingly slowly, Clary found herself having to turn away from it, her stomach churning. Her eyes found Simon's who gave her a reassuring smile, knowing how hard it was for her to let someone jab a needle into her arm. Clary didn't like veins. Or blood. Twenty-one years old and she still couldn't bear the sight of her own blood; it was revolting. She gazed out the door of the small room she was in to get her blood drawn, looking for her mother. She found her at a desk conversing with the nurse behind it, scribbling on paperwork as she did.
Clary always thought her mother looked so pristine. A long, unbuttoned, black peacoat covered a sleeveless, emerald green dress that matched her dazzling eyes hugged tightly to her curves. Black heels that took her a few inches off the ground strapped around her feet and her usual delicate jewelry frosted her wrists, neck, and ears. Clary's father, Valentine, had never spared any expense on his wife or daughter when it came to adorning them with the finest jewelry. Clary noted that her mothers long, red hair was in soft curls down her back and her makeup, as usual, was light yet striking.
She looked down her own outfit, desperately trying to keep the tube of blood out of her peripheral vision as she did so. Clary wore dark wash designer jeans, cuffed at the bottom, they stopped at her ankle which had a single, brown strap form her Tory Burch Sandals wrapped around it. The hem of her black tank top showed an inch or two of toned, flat midriff and she wore a light grey, long-sleeved sweater overtop. Her fiery red hair fell across her shoulders in soft curls that matched her mothers. The makeup on her face was minuscule: a sweep of black eyeliner, powdered foundation to even out her skin tone, mascara, and a light brush of cherry Chapstick.
"We're all done." the stupid nurse next to Clary said softly, removing the needle from her skin with as little grace as she had put it in. Clary flinched and pursed her lips so as not to spew another string of profanities at the poor woman and stood up, still hand in hand with Simon.
"That wasn't so bad, right?" he offered, "Last time you cried like a baby the whole time."
"Oh I did not!" Clary defended, swatting him with her free hand. She allowed Simon to guide her out toward the cafeteria where her mother had told them to wait for her until after she had finished the necessary paperwork.
Three boys sitting at a small table in the cafeteria turned their heads in Clary's direction as her and Simon walked by. She always thought that she would get used to it: the staring. She never did. To this day the thought of male eyes raking up and down her body like they normally did made her squirm. Clary knew she was pretty; not gorgeous, not breathtaking, just decently pretty. Simon always noticed too.
"There staring at you." Simon mumbled, obviously annoyed. But Clary was oblivious to his annoyance, every time it happened. Never had she thought of Simon as more than a friend. Little did she know that that was all he thought about.
"Are they?" she asked, seeming disinterested as she picked through a plate of fruit at the complimentary buffet table they stood at.
"How long until you get your labs back? Did they say?" Simon asked, changing the subject.
"I dunno." Clary sighed, distracted at the thought of her dad that she was still unable to see. "I think they said they would try to rush it... maybe a few hours."
Simon filled a plate and lead Clary and himself to a nearby table. Looking around, Clary noticed that doctors, patients, and family or friends of patients packed into the bustling cafeteria. There were so many people it occurred to her that maybe all the other people here were here for the same reason as her: trying to save the lives of the people that meant the most to them.
"Want some?" Simon asked, his mouth full of green jello. It was an empty gesture. He wasn't sharing. Clary shook her head.
Three servings of green jello and two Words With Friends games later, Clary saw her mother walking briskly toward them, her father's doctor in tow. Seeing the distressed look on her mothers face, Clary frantically shot up out of her chair across from Simon. On her way up she bumped the table just enough to knock over the last spoonful of Simon's third green jello onto the table.
"Hey!" he cried.
"Is everything okay, Mom? Did the tests come back? Am I cleared for the transplant?"
A tear-which was quickly wiped away-began to slide down her sad mother's face. Saying nothing, Jocelyn pulled Clary into an embrace. Then the doctor guy began to speak.
"Unfortunately Clarissa-"
"Clary." she interrupted. She really needed to stop doing that, people might take her as rude.
"Yes, of course, Clary," he corrected, "Unfortunately, you aren't a match for your father." he relayed gravely. "The two of you have different blood types and I'm afraid that there just isn't anything else we can do until we have a donor that is a match."
The news hit Clary harder than she had expected it would. Then again, she had also expected that she would have been a match and a bunch of nurses would be poking her again, prepping her for surgery right about now. Simon stayed silent and her mother did as well although she still clung to Clary like a lifeline.
"I'm so sorry. Mrs. Morgenstern," Dr. Starkweather said to her mother, "I really am."
It was at this point that a steady stream of silent tears began to fall from Jocelyn's eyes.
With her mother still not speaking, Dr. Starkweather continued, "If you would like to see him now, you may." As he said this his eyes now went to Clary, assuming her into the position of the adult due to her mother's current state.
"Yes. We would like that." Clary said.
Dr. Starkweather began to lead Clary, her best friend Simon, and her mother Jocelyn to her father's private room on the third floor. Doctors and nurses scrambling about, tending to patients and barking orders at their inferiors. It was a job Clary knew she would hate. She was never big into competitive playing fields or high-risk situations. Her first true love was drawing and thinking about wearing a boring white lab coat all day whilst cutting into people put her off. Suddenly, Dr. Starkweather stopped at a closed door and turned on his heel in front of them.
"Let's do our best to be positive right now for him. Weeping and negative energy aren't gonna help his case, therefore I suggest we do our absolute best to keep the crying to a minimum." he said, finishing his short soliloquy with an encouraging clap.
Opening the door, Dr. Starkweather stepped aside to let them in, shutting the door behind Simon so the five of them could have some privacy.
"You look like hell, Mr. Morgenstern." Simon said truthfully. No one bothered to correct him. Clary's father did look like hell. He looked puny and pale in the blue hospital bed, making Clary wonder if that was really the same six-foot-something man that would wear a slick, black suit and threaten her dates at the door with the "gun" he kept in the house.
"Thanks, Simon. I feel like hell too." her father croaked out. This too caught Clary off-guard: her father's voice was strong and sturdy, this man sitting in the bed was barely recognizable. Her once strong father was now sitting in a hospital bed with a pained face all because he liked to drink on the weekends (and then some.)
"Are you feeling okay daddy?" Clary asked in her small, childlike voice.
Her father smiled, it was the same smile she had known for twenty one years. "I've been better, princess." This caused Clary to smile. Usually when he called her princess it was intended to come off sarcastic, this time however, it was loving.
"Oh Val," her mother whispered, falling to her knees at his side, clearly torn up and clearly not taking Dr. Starkweather's advice to stay strong and optimistic for her husband. She clutched his hand.
"Mr. Morgenstern, as soon as I can address the things I need to address I'll let you have this time with your family." Dr. Starkweather said almost impatiently. Clary didn't like him.
"Of course, Doc." her father said allowing him to relay his news.
"Your daughter here was testing a few hours ago to determine whether she was a match to possibly donate a portion of her liver to you." At this Clary's father eyes snapped to her. He clearly hadn't been informed. "However our testing determined that she does not share your blood type therefore we have no current donors ready that can help you at this time." the doctor sighed, "You have been put on a list that will likely take months-possibly years-to finally reach you."
Valentine's face stayed impassive while Jocelyn hid hers in her husbands shoulder. It, obviously, was not impassive.
"Unless you have other family that can be tested and are, of course, willing to donate a portion of their liver to you, I am afraid there is nothing else we can do except wait." Dr. Starkweather voiced.
"Val, we're gonna get through this. All of us. Together. As a family." Jocelyn said wearily, "We will find you a donor. Surely there is someone in the family that-"
"Jonathan." Again, Clary really needed to stop this whole "interrupting" thing. Her mother and fathers head swiveled toward Clary dangerously fast. This was not a good idea, Clary knew. But it was the last option. Jonathan was her father's only hope.
"I'm sorry, who is Jonathan?" Dr. Starkweather butted in rudely. Clary really, really didn't like this doctor.
"Jonathan is my son." Valentine clarified.
Technically, Jonathan Morgenstern was Valentine Morgenstern's illegitimate son. After a year or so of marriage, Clary's father cheated on her mother with "some rando" as Clary had always said and they had a child. Two years later, Jocelyn gave birth to Clary and her father (supposedly) had never cheated on her mother again. One happy family. Clary had only met Jonathan a few times during the holidays but mostly, Jocelyn liked to keep Clary far away from her half brother-what her mother saw as the "thing that had almost destroyed her marriage." Yet, Jocelyn had always been civil with Jonathan and his mother, including the both of them on Valentine's birthday and most major holidays. Clary had never met the adulteress however, that was completely out of the question according to Jocelyn.
Sensing that Jonathan was somewhat of a touchy subject, Dr. Starkweather did his best to be polite with his next words.
"Mr. Morgenstern," he started, "as your physician, I must advise you to seek any form of help that you can. With your sons consent, I would like to get some blood work done to see if he is indeed a match."
Staying silent, eyes locked on his feet, Clary's father nodded slowly.
Sighing, the doctor Clary oh-so-hated made toward the door, "I'll leave you to rest, Sir." he finished, just before shutting the door behind him.
"Dad, you're gonna call him right?" Clary questioned. "He may be your only shot and-"
"Clarissa, no." he said. Hm. So that's where she got it from. "Jonathan wants absolutely nothing to do with me I can assure you."
"But-but this could be it..." Clary trailed off
"Val, she's right." her mother motioned, "You need to call him."
"I would never ask my children to make any sacrifices for me." He bellowed regaining his usual composure and voice almost making Clary believe this was a normal dinner argument. "There will be no contacting Jonathan. I mean it, Clarissa. None what-so-ever." He demanded, eyeing Clary sternly.
"Yes sir." Clary said obediently. Unfortunately, Clary was never all that obedient of a child.