“Oh, I’m just rambling.” Blah cleared her throat and her voice was crisper when she said, “Anyway, this is all to say, Doll . . .” Sewanee heard the rustling of paper on the other end. “I think I’m going to need more help. That it might be time to take the next step. Before I don’t know where the step is.”
Sewanee hadn’t known it was possible to feel relief and shock at the same time. She sat forward. “You don’t have to worry about any of that. Soon you’re going to have another place. At Seasons. You’ll be just down the hall, in memory care, okay? More help when you need it, but you’ll still have Mitzi and Birdie and Amanda and, of course, me. You’ll have me, whether you like it or not,” she joked.
A charged kind of silence fell, like the expectant moment right after the power goes out, waiting for it to come back on. Sewanee heard paper rustling again.
“Listen to me, Doll. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. And I love you so much. And I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise. Anything.”
“Good. When the next step comes, you are not to visit me anymore. You–”
Sewanee jerked. “What are you–”
“Let me finish. No visits. No phone calls. You are not to be any part of this.”
“Of what?”
“My end.”
All of Sewanee’s blood rushed to her head. “I’m coming over. You’re going to say this to my face–”
“No! No, you’re not! I’ve thought this through, thought it all out. I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.” The paper shook near the phone. “I’ve decided. It’s done. Now, enough of all that. I want to tell you about Birdie.”
“I don’t want to fucking hear about Birdie, what are you–”
“We are not discussing this.” Blah’s voice cracked and Sewanee’s eye filled with tears as if they shared a body. “Endings are messy and I’ll be damned if you remember me as a mess.”
Sewanee was on her feet. “That is not how I’ll remember you! I’ll remember you at the pool and cruising around in the Olds and trying on clothes and smoking and drinking and swearing and laughing and rolling your eyes at Mitzi.”
“No, trust me. You’ll remember the end.”
“Stop saying the end!” Sewanee was shouting. “Shut up about the end!”
“Don’t tell your grandmother to shut up!” Blah sputtered.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
After a silence in which Sewanee felt like all her nerve endings had been thrown into a blender, Blah laughed. And kept laughing. Sewanee couldn’t make her face smile the way she wanted to.
Then Blah started to cry. To hear that and not be able to touch her could barely be endured. Eventually, Blah spoke. “It’s just so sad, Doll. Don’t make us say goodbye. I can’t bear it. I need you to understand that. Leave ’em laughing, remember? Please.”
The tears fell fatly down Sewanee’s cheek. “You could ask anything of me. Literally anything but this.”
“Dollface. Please.”
Three distinct thoughts came to Sewanee simultaneously:
Tell her what she wants to hear.
Argue until she forgets what she’s asking.
And Henry saying, she would see. That she could take her turn caring for Blah, if she wanted, but, trust him, she’d see.
Sewanee had to gather all the pieces of herself that had splintered off before she could speak again. “I can’t do it,” she said. “But I will.”
As much as Sewanee didn’t want to admit it, Blah had a point. Didn’t a person have the right to decide how they wanted to be remembered? And didn’t she owe it to her grandmother to honor that? In the end, what the hell else was there to leave behind, really, but memories?
She decided she would keep her promise as long as Blah remembered to hold her to it. She knew, at a certain point, that would no longer be the case, and then Sewanee would do whatever she believed was right for herself. This was fair. To both of them.
Blah exhaled. She said, “I love you, Doll,” which echoed through Sewanee as if it had been shouted from a mountaintop.
“I want to see you,” Sewanee murmured.
“Who’s stopping you?”
Sewanee dropped back down to the floor, a strangled laugh escaping her. “I swear to God.” She shook her exhausted head. “One of these days, Alice, bang, zoom, you’re going to the moon.”