Page 72 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
I forced a smile and moved closer to her bed. "I'm not sad, sweetheart. I'm just thinking."
"About what?"
How do you tell an eleven-year-old that you're thinking about how much you want to knock some sense into her mother? That you're thinking about the unfairness of life, about lost hopes and dreams?
"About how glad I am that you're safe," I said instead, which was also true.
Macy picked at her sandwich, taking small bites. The ginger ale seemed to be helping—there was more color in her cheeks now. "Felicity, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you think my mom loves me?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. Caden's head snapped up from his phone, and I saw the same pain reflected in his eyes that I felt in my chest.
"Oh, honey," I said, sitting on the other side of her bed. "Of course she loves you—so much. Even when people make bad choices, even when they're sick like your mom is, that doesn't mean they don't love you."
"Then why did she hurt me?"
The innocence in that question nearly undid me. How do you explain addiction to a child? How do you make sense of something that doesn't make sense?
"Sometimes when people are really sick," Caden said carefully, "they do things they would never normally do or that they don’t even realize they're doing. It's like... imagine if you had a really high fever, and you said things you didn't mean, or do things that were scary. Your mom's sickness is like that, but in her brain."
"Will she get better?"
Caden and I exchanged another look. The truth was, we didn't know. It's clear Jessica had been struggling with prescription drug abuse for a while, this is not something that just happened yesterday. Who even knew what recovery would look like—or even what Macy will be exposed to given the legal ramifications of everything Jessica has done.
"We hope so," I said finally. "But that's going to take a long time, and I don't know that we have all the answers right now, but I think that's okay, right?"
"Yeah, I think you're right." Macy looked back and forth from me to Caden, "you promise I can stay with you guys, right—not just weekends like before?"
"Honey, of course you'll come home with us." Caden said. "We want you with us, Macy. We are your family, and we love you."
Macy nodded, then settled back against her pillows. She was quiet for a moment, picking at the crust of her sandwich. "Will I have to see her? My mom, I mean."
The question hung in the air between us. Caden and I exchanged another look, this one full of uncertainty.
"I don't know, sweetheart," Caden said honestly. "That might depend on a lot of things—how she's doing, what the doctors say—I just don't know. Do youwantto see her, Macy?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. Not right now. Is that okay?"
My heart broke a little more. An eleven-year-old shouldn't have to make decisions like this. She shouldn't have to be afraid of her own mother.
"Of course it's okay. But Macy, these aren't things you have to decide right now." I said firmly. "We'll figure it out."
Macy seemed to consider this, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I'm really tired now."
"Of course you are, honey," Caden said, adjusting her blanket. "You've been through so much today."
"Will you both stay here tonight?" she asked, her voice small and vulnerable.
"Absolutely," I said without hesitation. "Wild horses couldn't pull me away."
As if those were the words she'd been waiting to hear, Macy's eyes finally began to close. A minute or so later, I heard her say, "Hey Felicity?"
"Yes, Macy?"
Still sleepy with her eyes closed, she responded "Did you hear I got to turn on the sirens in the ambulance?"
