“It doesn’t matter. That’s all over for me. And I shouldn’t even be thinking about that right now. Not with Gigi …” she trailed off.
“Death doesn’t stop you from loving. It makes the love more important. If it’s right, it’ll happen. Now get over here and dry these dishes.”
By Friday, Gigi was so weak she had to be carried to the bathroom.
Sadie wanted to take the knot of Isis and throw it over Two Hands Bridge. Instead, she called Gail and asked if she and Ayana could take over the café until further notice. Sadie had spent two days a week for the last year teaching Gail’s daughter, Ayana, how to make all the staples for the café. Ayana didn’t have the Revelare touch, so nothing turned out magic, but it was delicious, which was a magic in and of itself. And Sadie felt confident that they would take care of the café as if it was their own.
On Saturday, Gigi’s lucidity started to go. They all took turns sitting with her.
Bambi whined constantly, his wet nose nuzzling Gigi’s arm gently.
When Sadie took her hand, her eyes opened, and Sadie tried not to notice their glazed, milky film. But when they rested on her, they cleared.
“Hi, sugar.” Her smile turned warm and soft as freshly spun sugar itself. “I think it’s almost time.”
Sadie forced the tears to remain unshed and sat on the floor beside the couch, gently holding Gigi’s hand. Uncle Brian brought chairs in from the kitchen, and they crowded around the couch, Aunt Kay with continual, unusually silent tears streaming down her face. Aunt Tava wore surprisingly muted colors, and the series of stars that had been painted along her cheekbones had been cried off. Aunt Suzy, who had sat through her own mother’s death years before, looked gravest of all, knowing, in a way the others didn’t, what was coming. She made tea, quietly tidied, and whispered encouraging words in every ear she passed by. Every so often she’d run a tender hand over Gigi’s forehead.
They stayed there until the light in the room softened into an evening glow, which was when Gigi started getting restless.
“I need to cut my hair,” she said abruptly, trying to sit up.
“What?” Sadie asked, startled by her change.
“My hair. It’s a mess. It needs a trim,” she said again.
“Okay,” Sadie said, confused, but willing to do anything her grandmother asked. She ran upstairs to fetch the shears she used on her own hair. Seth was waiting for her in the hallway when she came back down.
“She’s getting ready,” Aunt Suzy murmured quietly.
“For what? Her haircut? What do you mean?” Sadie demanded, not liking where Suzy’s words were leading.
“I read it in one of the pamphlets at the hospital when my mom was … going through this. Toward the end, when they’re not completely lucid, they think they need to get ready for something, but they don’t know what. They’re subconsciously trying to prepare themselves to move on.”
Sadie nodded, her face going blank. She would save her emotions for later. Right now, she was on autopilot. Seth squeezed her shoulder as she walked away, and then he and Aunt Anne helped Gigi into a sitting position.
Anne trimmed her mother’s fine hair. Sadie’s hands were surprisingly steady as she held the mirror for Gigi, who nodded in a distracted sort of way.
“I need a cigarette,” she said, her eyes growing clearer.
“You’ll freeze to death out there,” Sadie said, and then stopped in horror.
“Might be.” Gigi smiled. “I’ll risk it.” Her voice was scratchy, and Sadie had an instant urge to record everything she said so she could have it forever. Why hadn’t she ever been better about taking photos and videos? Why hadn’t she journaled all of Gigi’s stories, recorded all her funny sayings and typed out recipes so she’d never forget them?
Seth scooped Gigi up and placed her gently in her chair outside. Sadie draped a wool blanket around her shoulders and put Seth’s slouchy beanie on her head. Abby tried to jump up on her lap, but her barrel chest and fat tummy wouldn’t let her get that high.
“You look like a fashion plate,” Sadie told her, and Gigi laughed weakly before grimacing in pain. Sadie lit her cigarette for her. Gigi’s eyes closed as she inhaled. Anne joined them and lit her own.
“I’ve been smoking since I was thirteen,” she said, her voice thin and weak. “Your grandfather was older than me, and all his friends smoked. The first time I had one I had to rush outside so I could throw up in the bushes. Did that every time I smoked for the first six months. But eventually it went away. Should have known they’d kill me one day.”