Chapter 9: 08 | YOUR MOM

08 | YOUR MOM

When your “Never Lose To Hope” mantra changes into “Never Lose Hope,” you know you’re in trouble

Ivan’s POV

Alexander looks at me like I’m some weird foreign creature, maybe I am.

“Your mom?” he asks.

“Uh yeah,” I mumble, feeling uneasily small. “She, uh, she…” I swallow hard and try again. “She’s in the hospital,” I manage, pressing my eyes shut.

“I know, you told me.” His voice is softer now. Kinder. And laced with realization.

I nod, refusing to make eye-contact with him. My whole body is shaking, I don’t know why. My legs are bouncing up and down. My hands are balled into fists and I’m sliding one set of knuckles against the other so that they rub against each other.

“Hey.” He’s closer to me than he was a few seconds ago. I know this because he’s practically whispering and I can still hear him. He places a hand gently on my knee and my shaking slows down. “It’s okay,” he says, soothingly. “I’ll take you there. Don’t worry so much.”

I nod. There’s a lump in my throat and I know if I express something now it’ll probably be through my eyes. So I stay quiet and stare at my knee and the hand he placed there.

“Okay,” he whispers, tentatively taking his hand off my leg and placing it on the gearshift. The engine fires and he starts reversing his convertible.

We drive in silence. He assures me that he can take care of the directions on his own. He keeps glancing at me to check if I’m okay but I stare upwards, at the flecks of the sky I can see through the canopy of leaves.

Hope parks his car in the almost empty parking lot in front of the hospital. He looks at me and his eyes seem to be saying good luck and I'm sorry at the same time. Exhaling, I step out of the car and walk mindlessly towards the hospital door. A few seconds later, I turn around and walk back to the car.

“Uh, Hope?” I say, hovering around his side of the car. He jerks at the sound of my voice and tears his eyes from his phone.

“I, uh, I left my phone at your place,” I say nervously. “And we need to give our number for checking in…”

He nods understandingly and pushes his door open, stepping out. His messy hair dwindles with the breeze as we walk into the hospital. Hope gives his phone number to the woman standing at the reception and we take the elevator to the third floor, where my mother is.

As we walk to her room, a nurse - one I recognise - comes to a halt beside me.

“Ivan,” she says, giving me a wry smile. “You’ve come at the right time. Elena was just talking about you.”

“Is she-- she’s awake?” Even though my mother won’t have many more days to live, the fact that she’s awake - that I can hear her voice for one last time - brings me a sense of bittersweet happiness.

The nurse nods. “Yes. But I’m afraid…”  Her voice trails off. I know she’s going to tell me that I might not have much time with her - both literally and figuratively. My mother’s condition hasn’t really improved in the past few days and I can feel her slipping away.

I give her a sad smile. “How much longer?” I ask. “How much longer does she have?”

“The doctor is saying a week, at most.” She sighs. “I’m sorry, Ivan. This must be hard for you.”

I shake my head, looking away. “It’s fine,” my voice hitches. “I should go see her.”

She smiles at me and looks up at Hope. “And you are his friend, I suppose?”

Hope is unresponsive for some time and then nods. “Yes, miss.”

She nods at his direction. “Take care of him, okay? This boy’s got a lot on his plate.”

Hope looks at me wearily and then back at the nurse. “Okay.”

She offers the two of us a meek smile. “Your mother must be waiting.”

We nod and head to my mum’s room. She’s lying on the bed in a blue hospital gown, the white sheets covering her till her chest. Her face is wrinkled and pale. Her brown eyes still have some light in them though.

“Mama,” I whisper, rushing to her side.

She smiles and her eyes twinkle. “Vanya, ty nakonets zdes.” Vanya, you’re finally here.

I almost wince when she calls me by my nickname. She’s the only one who called me ‘Vanya’ and this is when I realize that her death will mean the death of a part of me I only showed to her. The Vanya she raised and loved.

“I’m here now, Mama,” I respond. “Kak dela?” How are you?

She’s about to respond but she sees Hope. He looks quite uncomfortable with us conversing in Russian, so she switches to English. “I’m fine. But I am concerned about you.”

That’s my mum in a sentence for you. She’s worried about me even though she’s the one on her deathbed.

“What about me?”

“Your father? Things must be tough between the two of you…”

She sounds so weak, I don’t want to worry her by telling that my father threw me out of the house and now I’m living with Hope.

“We’re fine, Mama. Not the best. But yeah.” I smile at her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Vanya. I can see right through you,” my mother chides. Then her expression slips into a sad one, like she’s reliving a distant memory. “Your father was a good man. I don’t know what happened to him.”

I happened. Me being gay happened. “We’ll be fine, Ma,” I comfort her. “We’ll figure it out.” I hate lying to her on one of her last days but it’s all for the best.

She smiles wanly, looking right through me. A few moments of silence pass by before I say, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Mama looks at me curiously. I meet Hope’s eyes and I think he knows what I want to tell my mother.

“I, uh, I’ll leave you two alone,” he says and rushes out of the room.

I inhale. I never planned to do this but this could be the last time with my mother, and I want to tell her at least one sentence that isn’t a complete or partial lie.

“Mama,” I say again. I look her right in the eye. Her eyes are beautiful, welcoming, kind.

I inhale again. I have to do this. She’s my mom. I love her. I also know she’ll love me back even if - even though - I’m- I’m…

“I…” I falter. I’m looking at her bed now. It doesn’t look comforting. “I’m…” I choke on my own words. I can’t say anything. My voice box won’t let me. I won’t let myself.

“Ma, I’m…” I can’t say it. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I even want to tell her.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she says politely. My eyes meet hers - she’s being genuine.

“You don’t understand.” My voice quivers. “I need to.”

“You don’t always want the things you need, and that’s okay,” she says kindly. Her eyes speak to me more than her words do. She knows. I know she does. And she doesn’t hate me for it. From the look in her eyes, I think her love for me has only increased.

This should be easy for me. She still loves me. It takes only three words - even two, maybe - but I can’t bring myself to do it. I just can’t.

“You aren’t obliged to do anything for anyone,” she continues when I don’t respond. “You should know that, Vanya.”

I nod. “I want to tell you. I really do.” I look at her. “But I don’t think I can.”

“It’s okay,” she offers. “But is this why you and Fedor don’t get along?”

Fedor. My father. I flinch when I hear his name. “Yes.”

She extends her finger and it brushes against my hand. “Everything will be alright.”

“Do you really believe that?”

She nods. “I know I won’t live to see you grow much more.” Her breath hitches.

“Ma,” I say softly and hold her hand.

“Let me finish, Vanya.” Her eyes are dim, watery. “And maybe Fedor will accept you for who you are. But I want you to hang tough. Promise me, Ivan, to always have hope.”

I nod sincerely. “I promise.”

She smiles. “Whatever happens, Vanya. Never lose hope. And I promise you, things will get better.”

“I promise,” I repeat even though I don’t believe that everything will be okay like she does. But she’s my mom. And she’s dying.

“Good,” she whispers, lightening the mood. “Now let's move on to some other rather interesting things. Like who’s that handsome young gentleman you’ve brought along?”

Hope, I think. “You really think he’s handsome?” I joke.

“Well, of course I do. He’s got the hair, the jawline, the muscles. I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw him on a billboard. Is it wrong that I think so?” she asks.

I laugh. “No, there’s nothing wrong at all…”

And so we continue talking about seemingly trivial things, but my mother enjoys it anyway. I do too. I fill her in on school. She even lets me bitch about Donovan for a while. I honestly wished I felt guilty for bad-mouthing him, but I don’t.

I leave after she falls asleep. She looks peaceful. A bittersweet smile finds a place on my face. When I walk out of the hospital room, I spot Hope sitting on one of the many chairs in the empty waiting area. His legs are folded, his shoes are on the chair. His face is buried in the crevice between his knees, looking like he’s trying to hide from someone.

He hears my approaching footsteps and looks up. Sighing in relief, he stands up, facing me. “Don’t mind the awkward position,” he starts explaining. “I just saw Jessica Snow - Bas’s girlfriend - and I’m hoping she doesn’t see me.”

“And what if she sees you?”

“Well, she’ll ask me what I’m doing here. And what should I say?  That my rival has to see his mom and I’m being a good chauffeur? She’ll surely buy that.” I don't miss the sarcasm in his voice.

I roll my eyes. I start walking towards the elevator but he holds me back. “Can we use the stairs? Please? Jess is here and…”

I nod slowly. I understand his desire to not want to be spotted. We walk down the empty stairs in silence. I let my conversation with my mother sink in. It was a rather casual conversation. But it feels different than all the other conversations I’ve had with her.

We reach Hope’s car and sit on the passenger seat.

“How was it? With your mom?” he asks, adjusting himself on the driver’s seat.

“Good,” I choke out.

He studies me carefully. “Was it your first time coming out? By choice, I mean?”

“I…” I press my head against the headrest. I’m not feeling as sweaty because I just spent an hour or so in an airconditioned hospital. But I know I’ll take a shower as soon as I reach Hope’s house. “I…” My head is aching like it always does when I feel like crying. My vision is fogged up. My hands clutch the loose fabric of my shorts so tightly, my knuckles are white. “I didn’t - I didn’t come out.”

Hope looks at me with wide eyes, and then starts nodding. “Okay,” he says understandingly. “It’s fine. Coming out isn’t easy.”

I shake my head, pressing my eyes shut so that my tears won’t slip out. “You don’t understand,” I lament. “What if - this could be the last time I see her and I - I couldn’t tell her that I’m… ” I whimper. “Christ, I can’t even say it.”

Groaning, I bend down and press my forehead to my knees. I can’t. My hair falls on ahead, in front of my knees. It’s damp with sweat, but not slick and shiny like it was while we were playing.

I don’t know why but I keep going on. “I have a feeling that I won’t speak to her again - not when she can hear me, at least - and if there’s one thing I should tell her, it’s this. And I just couldn’t.” My voice is muffled by my shorts and I’m practically wailing. I don’t expect Hope to understand what I’m saying.

I turn my head so that my large brown eyes meet his green-gray ones. His eyes are more gray now. His eyes are so fluid. The proportions of green and gray keep changing.

I’m teary-eyed. I still haven’t started crying as such. My eyes are damp but I haven’t let my tears fall onto my skin. “What does that make me?”

I don’t expect an answer - I don't want one. I already know. What do you call a person who can’t come out to his own mother? A coward? A loser?

I’m everything my father told me I was.

I press my eyes shut and turn back to the fabric of my shorts. My hands aren’t balled into fists anymore. I hear the click of the seatbelt near me unfastening and a hand grips my shoulder soon after.

My eyes are open as Hope pulls me away from my legs. I’m facing him now. His eyes are completely gray now except for the green flecks that pepper his irises.

He extends his arms and envelopes me in a hug. I didn’t expect that to happen but I find myself relaxing in his grip. I wrap my hands around his shoulder and neck; they’re dangling against his back.

I take slow, deep breaths.

“You have your mother’s eyes,” he whispers. I don’t know why he says it. And I don’t know why it helps, but it does.

I pull away. I’m hugging my enemy. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He looks puzzled. He lowers his eyes, meeting mine. “Doing what?” He asks softly. Genuinely.

“This,” I say. “Being kind. I didn’t ask for it. Do you want me to be easy on you while we play? Are you trying to mess with me? Is that the plan?”

His face falls. “I-- What? Why is it so hard for you to believe that I actually am a nice person?”

I shake my head. Strands of hair are sticking on my face. “Why did you hug me?”

“Because I am a nice person,” he says sincerely. “And you need it.”

He meets my eyes and extends his arms, like he’s offering me a hug.

Don’t take it, Ivan, I tell myself. I’m determined to leave him hanging there. He’s being kind. And he thinks I need a hug. Well, I fucking don’t.

I meet his eyes again, and that’s all it takes. I plunge forward, accepting his hug, as he holds me against himself. I need this so much. Why is he right all the time?

“Everything will be alright,” he murmurs.

I press my forehead against the space between his neck and shoulder. “That’s what my mom said.”

“Mmm,” he hums, holding me tighter, closer. “What else did she tell you?”

I sigh and bury my head in the crook of his neck.

“To always have hope.”

xxx

A/N

Fluff, kinda? I liked this chapter (though I must admit, I cringed at a few lines while rereading it).

Also the opening lines ("Alexander looks at me like I’m some weird foreign creature, maybe I am.")were written by none other than my sister! So there's that:))