Alan entered the darkened room. He crossed to the bed and laid the tray over his wife's legs. "I'm going to open the blinds," he said.
"No," Margaret replied. Her voice was soft and raspy. She raised a frail hand. "The light hurts my eyes."
Alan sat down on the edge of the bed. "Alright. We'll leave them closed. How are you feeling today?"
She shut her eyes and shrugged ever so slightly. "I feel fine today." It was a lie, but one that they had both become accustomed to.
"That's good," he said. He took her small hand in his own large one. She was so delicate he felt like he could snap her in two. "I have a present for you."
She smiled sadly. "Pearls?" she joked.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You're the pearl," he whispered. "No," he said, "Don's birthday party." He held up a videotape that was lying on the edge of her food tray.
Her face lit up and she clapped her hands together like a small child. "Oh, goody. Put it in. Dinner and a movie. Just like our first date."
Margaret had been looking forward to her oldest son's birthday party for weeks. She had even made Alan buy her a new dress for the occasion. It was several sizes smaller than the ones in the closet. She could hardly eat anymore. But, she had insisted that there be mountains of food at the party along with cases of wine and champagne. It wasn't what you would expect in a birthday party for a 33 year old man, but no one stood in her way or even suggested that she tone things down. Whatever she wanted, she got.
The day before the party, she woke up choking and was rushed to the hospital. Don tried to cancel the party, or at least postpone it, but his mother wouldn't hear of it. The party would go on as planned. And everyone would have a wonderful time. She would make sure of that by sheer force of will, even if she was lying in a hospital bed. So Alan had pulled out his video camera and Don and him had spent a couple of hours with the manual figuring out how to use the thing.
Alan took the video and slid it into the VCR and got comfortable on the bed. She smiled at him. He watched her pick up the spoon, put a miniscule amount of oatmeal on it and slide it in her mouth. He could tell she didn't really want it. He wondered if she could even swallow it. But she would eat it just for him. Alan felt like there was a tight band around his chest.
The picture came up on the TV of a man trying to open a bottle of champagne and struggling with the cork. Don was standing next to him, teasing him for not being able to open it.
"Look how handsome he is!" Margaret exclaimed. "Our little Donnie."
Alan nodded. "He hates being called Donnie, you know."
She smiled a sly little smile. It was just a hint of the woman she once was and it made Alan miss her all the more. "I know. Who is that?" She pointed to the blonde man laughing with Don.
"You remember Paul? Don's friend from high school? He's a cop now."
"Oh, yes, I remember him." She laughed as Paul finally popped the cork and it flew dangerously across the room, smacking into a ceiling beam.
"Everyone okay?" Don was asking, mortified.
"You don't have any better aim with corks than you did with baseballs!" Don joked, clapping Paul on the back.
"My eye!" someone joked in the background of the video and everyone had a good laugh.
Terry, one of Don's team at the FBI, was trying to catch the champagne that was overflowing in a plastic flute. It was spilling all over her hand.
"Such a nice girl," sighed Margaret. "Is Don seeing anyone?"
"No. He's so busy, you know," Alan said. "His work, coming and seeing you every day."
She patted her husband's leg. "You tell him not to bother with me and take that pretty girl out to dinner. He doesn't need to spend so much time here."
"I think he wants to spend as much time with you as possible," Alan said and then instantly regretted it. The works "before you die" were just hanging there in the air, unsaid, but there none-the-less. Both of them were silent for a moment, letting the words wrap around them like a blanket. They both knew she was dying. They both knew she didn't have much time. Why should they pretend? Still, pretending was easier.
The cake was being carried out by David, another agent working for Don. It was white with red flowers. Margaret had designed it. Alan had ordered it over the phone with Margaret whispering in his ear the whole time, making sure he didn't mess it up. The whole room was singing Happy Birthday.
Paul teased Don good-naturedly about his age and the number of candles on the cake and whether he should have the fire extinguisher handy.
To anyone else, the video would probably be a huge bore. Just a bunch of people who were slightly over-enthusiastic about what a great time they were having at a party. But Margaret was entranced. She clasped her hands in front of her and drank in every moment. She giggled at Paul and Don's banter.
"Where is Charlie?" she finally asked.
"He, uh, he couldn't make it," Alan responded dismissively.
Margaret nodded and a sadness crept over her face. "Still in the garage?" she asked, frowning. "Don wishes he were there. I can see it in his face," she said, pensively. Alan wished that were true. The truth was, Don was probably happy that Charlie hadn't come. Ever since Margaret's illness had really taken hold, when it was obvious that she simply wasn't going to get any better, Charlie had sequestered himself away from the rest of the family. Don carried the burden of being the son of a dying woman all by himself.
She watched Don open his presents and made Alan pause the film when he held up the watch she had Alan get for him, just to make sure it was the right one. Slowly her eyelids began to droop and she sank deeper and deeper into her pillow. It threatened to swallow her face, emaciated from the cancer's ravaging. She drifted off to sleep. Alan continued to watch, listening to her rhythmic breathing next to him.
When the party was over, the camera followed the guests outside, showing everyone leaving, hugging Don, telling him "Happy Birthday". Don waved and then disappeared inside. There, in the background, Alan could see the garage. And in the window was Charlie, writing on the blackboard, trying to solve the unsolvable P versus NP. The camera paused on Charlie's image and zoomed in close. In the back of the garage, a figure moved. Alan watched as someone came up behind Charlie. It was Don. Without disturbing his younger brother, Don placed a slice of cake on the table and exited without a word.
Alan stopped the tape. He would watch the rest with Margaret later, after she had rested.