Chapter 11

Irene

I am craving a Twix so bad right now. Dammit, Jackson.

I couldn't hear the majority of his conversation with his son when he was out in the hallway earlier. I heard words here and there and could tell he was talking to a child, so when I heard the word "dad," it all made sense.

I suddenly understood why he seemed so alpha-male on the surface, but also somehow had an extremely adorable, romantic side to him. I knew he loved fast cars and extreme sports, but on our date, I couldn't help but wonder what must have forced him to settle down and take his career seriously like he did.

That something turned out to be Justice.

I still don't know why Jackson made that Twix comment, but now the only things on my mind are the speed at which Jackson rushed out of this hospital room…and Twix.

I reach over to my nightstand and grab my phone. I don't know which one of them is driving, so I open up a group text between the three of us.

Irene: I really need a Twix.

Bobby: A Twix? Like the candy bar?

Irene: Yes. And a Dr. Pepper, please.

Lisa: Bobby, stop texting and driving.

Bobby: It's cool, I'm invincible.

Lisa: But I'm not.

Irene: Are you guys almost here?

Lisa: Five minutes away. We'll stop at the store before we get there but we're only getting you a Diet Dr. Pepper. You need to watch your blood sugar. Need anything else?

Irene: I think we're way overdue for an AMA.

Lisa: Nope. I don't think so.

Bobby: Did someone say AMA? (And I'll get you a Twix, Irene.)

Lisa: No.

Bobby: LET'S DO IT!!! Be out front in five minutes, Irene!

Lisa: Don't, Irene. We'll be up there in five minutes.

Bobby: No, we'll be out front in five minutes.

I ignore Lisa's concern and choose to side with Bobby. I throw the covers off me, feeling the first flicker of happiness since Jackson walked into this room. God, I've missed them so much. I look around the room to make sure I won't be leaving anything behind. My doctor left about half an hour before Jackson showed up, so I'm not due for another visit from her until morning. This is the perfect time to make my escape. I reach down to remove my IV, knowing exactly what Lisa is thinking right now.

AMA is the acronym for when a patient leaves a hospital Against Medical Advice. I've only been able to successfully sneak out of a hospital twice in all my years, but Bobby and Lisa were there for both escapes. And it's not as irresponsible as Lisa is making it seem. I'm an expert when it comes to IVs and needles. And I know they're only keeping me overnight to be monitored. Not because I'm in any immediate danger. I have been more congested today than normal, but my blood sugars are stable now, and that's the only reason I'm here right now. Stable enough to eat at least a bite of a Twix bar. And the last thing I want to do is lie in a hospital bed all night while getting absolutely no sleep.

I'll contact the hospital in the morning and apologize, letting them know it was a family emergency. My doctor will be pissed, but I piss her off a lot. She's used to being irritated with me.

When she was here earlier, she started to get invasive about my "support system" since my health has been on somewhat of a decline this year. She's been my primary doctor for ten years now, so she knows everything about my situation. I was raised by my grandparents, who are no longer taking care of me. My grandmother passed away, and my grandfather recently went to a nursing home. My doctor knows about Lisa and our recent break-up because she's almost always with me at my appointments and anytime I'm in the hospital. But she's noticed her sudden absence in my life because she asked about it during my last visit with her. And then today, she asked again because no one was with me in the hospital this time.

After hearing her concern today, for a split second it made me regret pushing Lisa away in the end. I'm not still in love with her, but I do love her. And part of me, when I start to worry about being alone, thinks maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should have held on to her love and loyalty. But most of me knows that ending our relationship was the right thing to do. She would have conveniently remained in a mediocre relationship with me for the rest of my life if I hadn't forced her to look at our relationship through a magnifying glass instead of her rose-colored glasses.

Our relationship wasn't a healthy one. She was stifling me, wanting me to be someone I didn't want to be. I was growing resentful under the weight of her protection. And I always felt guilty. Every time she dropped everything she was doing for me, I felt guilty for pulling her away from her life.

Yet…here we are, in the same predicament.

I don't think I realized how alone I was outside of her while I was dating her. It was when we finally separated that I truly realized she and Bobby are all I had. It's part of the reason I agreed they could come tonight. I think the three of us need to really sit down and have a heart-to-heart about this entire situation. I don't want Lisa to feel like she's all I have when I do have an emergency. But in reality…she is all I have. And I don't want that to hinder her relationship with Jennie in any way. I mean, I know I have Bobby, too. But I think Bobby needs more care than even I do.

My life is starting to feel like a merry-go-round, and I'm the only one on the ride. Sometimes it's fun and exciting, but sometimes I feel like puking and I want it all to just stop. I realize I focus on all the negative way more than I should, but part of me wonders if it's because my situation is so unusual. Most people have huge support systems, so they can live normal lives with this illness. My support system was my family, and that's now non-existent. Then my support system became Lisa. Now? It's still Lisa, but with different rules. The last few months of dissecting my situation has been eye-opening. And it puts me in weird funks. I used to feel stifled, but never alone.

I wish I could find a good mental balance. I want to do things, see things, live a normal life. And sometimes there are stretches where I do that and it's all fine. But then I have days or weeks where the illness reminds me that I'm not in full control.

Sometimes I feel like I'm two different people. I'm Irene, the girl who chases down items on her bucket list at one hundred miles per hour, the girl who turns down hot doctors because she wants to be single, the girl who sneaks out of hospitals because she enjoys the thrill, the girl who broke up with her girlfriend of six years because she wants to live her life and not be held down.

The girl who feels full of life, despite her illness.

And then there's this quieter version of Irene, who's been looking back at me in the mirror these last few days. The Irene who lets her worries consume her. The Irene who thinks she's too much of a burden to date a man she's completely into. The Irene who has moments of regret for ending a six-year relationship, even though it absolutely needed to end. The Irene who allows her illness to make her feel like she's dying, despite being very much alive. The Irene whose doctor was so concerned about her today, she called in a prescription for anti-depressants.

I don't like this version of myself. It's a much sadder, lonelier me, and luckily only appears once in a blue moon. The original version of myself is what I strive to be at all times. Most of the time that's who I am. But this week…not so much. Especially after the visit with my doctor today. She's never seemed as concerned for me as she was today. Which makes me more concerned than I've ever been. Which is why I just pulled out my IV, am changing out of this gown, and am about to sneak out of this hospital.

I need to feel like the original Irene for a few hours. The other version is exhausting.

The walk out of my room and down the hallway is surprisingly uneventful. I even pass one of the shift nurses in the hospital, and she just smiles at me like she has no idea she refilled my IV solution an hour ago.

When I step off the elevator and into the lobby, I can see Bobby's car idling outside. I'm instantly filled with adrenaline as I rush across the lobby and out the doors. Lisa steps out of the passenger seat and opens the door for me. She forces a smile, but I can see it all over her face. She's angry that I'm leaving before being discharged. She's angry that Bobby is encouraging it. But unlike pre-breakup Lisa, she says nothing. She holds her tongue and holds the door as I climb quickly inside. She closes my door, and I'm putting on my seatbelt when Bobby leans across the seat and kisses me on the cheek.

"Missed you."

I smile, relieved to be in this car. Relieved to see both him and Lisa. Relieved to be getting the hell out of this hospital. Bobby reaches between us and holds up a Twix and a Diet Dr. Pepper. "We brought you dinner. King Size."

I immediately open the package and pull out one of the bars. I say, "Thank you," with a mouthful of chocolate. I hand Bobby one of the four bars just as he hits the gas and drives away from the hospital. I turn around, and Lisa is sitting in the middle of the backseat, looking out the window.

Her gaze meets mine, and I hand her one of the Twix bars. She takes it and smiles at me. "Thank you," she says.

My mouth falls open so far, chocolate almost falls out of it. I laugh and cover my mouth with my hand. "You"—I look at Bobby—"She spoke." I look back at Lisa. "You're speaking?"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Bobby says.

I'm dumbfounded. I have never heard her speak a single word. "How long have you been verbalizing?" I sign.

Lisa shrugs like it isn't a big deal. "A few months."

I shake my head, completely in shock. Her words are exactly how I imagined they would sound. Our relationship with the deaf culture is what ultimately brought all of us together. Bobby's parents. Mine and Lisa's hearing loss. But Lisa's hearing loss is much more profound. Mine is so mild, it doesn't even hinder my life in any way. Which is why, for years when we were together, I did all of her speaking for her. Even though we could both communicate using ASL, I still wanted so badly for her to learn to speak out loud. I just never really pushed her because I don't know what it's like to have profound hearing loss, so I didn't know what it was that was holding her back.

I guess she figured it out, though. And I want to know every detail. I'm excited for her. This is huge! "How? Why? When? What was the first thing you said out loud?"

Something immediately changes in her expression. She becomes guarded, like it's not something she wants to talk to me about. I glance at Bobby, who is staring straight at the road like he just purposefully checked out of this conversation. I look back at Lisa, but she's looking out the window again.

And then I get it.

Jennie.

She's why she's talking now.

I suddenly feel envious of them. Of her. It makes me wonder what it was about her that made her overcome whatever obstacle it was that held her back. Why wasn't I enough of a motivator to ever make her want to say things to me out loud?

And here she is again: the insecure, depressing version of myself.

I grab the Dr. Pepper and take a drink, trying to drown this sudden onslaught of jealousy. I'm happy for her. And I'm proud of her. It shouldn't matter what spurred her to want to learn how to communicate in more ways. All that matters is that she is. And even though my chest still burns a little, I'm smiling. I turn back around and make sure she can see the pride in my expression.

"Have you cussed out loud yet?" I sign.

She laughs, wiping the corner of her mouth with her finger. "Shit was my first cuss word."

I laugh. Of course it was. She liked watching me say that word when I was angry. I realize speaking words out loud without being able to hear them probably isn't as satisfying as being able to hear your own voice, but it has to feel a little good, finally being able to cuss out loud.

"Call Bobby an asshole," I say.

Lisa looks at the back of Bobby's head. "You're an asshole."

I cover my mouth with my hand, completely in shock that Lisa Manoban is verbalizing. It's like she's this whole new person.

Bobby looks over at me, taking the steering wheel with his knee so that he can sign what he's saying for Lisa. "She isn't a toddler. Or a parrot."

I punch Bobby in the shoulder. "Shut up. Let me enjoy this." I look back at Lisa and rest my chin on the head rest. "Say fuck."

"Fuck," she says, laughing at my immaturity. "Anything else? Damn. Goddamn. Mother-fucker. Hell. Son of a bitch. Sorn."

I die with laughter as soon as she includes her name in her string of profanity. Bobby flips her off. I turn around and face the road again, still laughing. I take a sip of my drink and then relax against the seat with a sigh.

"I've missed you guys," I say. Only Bobby knows I've said it.

"We've missed you, too, Baechu."

I roll my eyes, hearing that nickname again. I look over at him but make sure my headrest is a barrier between me and Lisa so that she can't read my lips. "Is Jennie mad that she came?"

Bobby glances over at me briefly and then stares back at the road. "Mad isn't the right word. She did react, but not like most people would have reacted." He pauses for a moment and then says, "She's good for her, Irene. She's just…good. Period. And if this whole situation weren't so damn weird, I feel like you would really like her."

"I don't dislike her."

Bobby looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He smirks. "Yeah, but you won't be getting manicures together and going on road trips with her anytime soon."

I laugh in agreement. "That's for damn sure."

Lisa leans forward between the seats and grips both the front headrests. She looks at me and then she looks at Bobby. "Rearview mirrors," she says. "It's like a sound system for deaf people." She leans back in her seat. "Stop talking about us like I'm not right here."

Bobby laughs a little. I just sink into my seat, ruminating over that last sentence.

"Stop talking about us like I'm not right here."

"Stop talking about us…"

"Us."

She refers to herself and Jennie as an us now. And she speaks out loud. And…I take another sip of my drink because this isn't quite as easy to swallow as I assumed it would be.