I WOKE UP in the hospital with my evil stepmother Lucinda by my bed.
And youย knowย it was bad if Lucinda showed up.
I opened my eyes, and I saw one of my least favorite people on the planet leaning forward, elbows on knees, peering over the bed rail, flaring her nostrils and staring at me like sheโd never seen me before.
โWhat happened?โ was all I could think of to say.
At that, Lucinda went into full gossip mode, filling me in on the details as if she were talking to a random neighborโand I canโt tell you how weird it was to be getting the story of my life from the person who had ruined it.
Anyhoo.
Apparently, Iโd had what they call a nonconvulsive seizure, right there in the middle of the crosswalk in front of my building. I froze into an empty stare in the street and was almost mowed down by a Volkswagen Beetle before a mysterious Good Samaritan shoved me to the curb at the last second and saved my life.
Next, after not getting run over, I passed out on the sidewalk in front of my building.
The Good Samaritan then called 911 and handed me off to the paramedics when they arrived. According to the nurse at the hospital, I was semiconscious when they wheeled me in and was asking everyone to find my fatherโthough thatโs another thing I donโt remember.
I really must have been out of it to ask for my dad. Of all people. A person I would never voluntarily turn to in need.
But over and over, apparently, I asked for him, saying his name. Which the nurses recognized. Because my dad was, to be honest, a bit of a celebrity surgeon.
The staff called his office, according to that same nurse, but he was โunavailable.โ
Which is how Lucinda wound up here.
She was absolutely the last person Iโd want at my bedsideโbesides perhaps her daughter. Honestly, Iโd rather have woken up to Miranda Priestly. Or Mommie Dearest. Or Ursula fromย The Little Mermaid.
And from the looks of those nostrils of hers, Lucinda wasnโt too thrilled to be seeing me, either.
Still, she kind of liked the drama.
Her tone was a little bit incredulous as she brought me up to speed, like how I couldโve chosen the crosswalk of a busy street, of all places, to have that nonconvulsive seizure was beyond her. โIf that Good Samaritan hadnโt saved you, youโd be flat as a pancake right now.โ She paused and tilted her head, like she might be picturing that. โI was at my Whining & Wine-ing group when they called, but itโs okay. Itโs fine. Of course I dropped everything and came here right away.โ
Her tone made me wonder if that was true. Like maybe sheโd tossed back one last glass of chardonnay.
I shook my baffled head again, like,ย Wait. โWhat happened?โ
She leaned in a little, like I hadnโt been paying attention. โYou almost died in the road.โ
โBut what caused the seizure?โ I asked at last, my wits starting to come back.
โThey donโt know. Could even just be dehydration. But they want to do an MRI before they release you. Looks like youโll have to stay overnight.โ
And then, quickly, to snuff out even the possibility that I might ask her to stayโwhich I would absolutely never doโshe added, โIโll be back first thing in the morning.โ
I waited for it all to sink in while Lucinda checked her texts and then gathered up her things.
She was one of those put-together ladies who always matched her shoes to her purse. She kept her hair no-nonsense and short, but she always had a full face of makeup. Iโd always suspected she focused hard on her surface because there wasnโt much underneath. But I really didnโt know her that well. Even after all these years.
I did not anticipate, for example, that when her daughter, Parker, also known as my evil stepsister, FaceTimed her right then, Lucinda would answer the call. Or that sheโd proceed to fill Parker in on everything that had just happened like she was relating the hottest of hot-off-the-press gossip. And then, when Parker said, โLet me see,โ that Lucinda would turn the phone around and train it on me.
I frowned at Lucinda and shook my head. But it was too late.
There was Parkerโs catlike faceโas scary at iPhone size as it was in real life.
How long had it been since Iโd seen her? Years.
I could go my whole life, and it wouldnโt be too long.
โOh my god!โ Parker shrieked. โI canโt believe you almost got killed by a Volkswagen Beetle! I mean, at least pick something cool, like a Tesla.โ
โNoted,โ I said.
It was strange to see her again. Sheโd highlighted the hell out of her hair. And sheโd really taken a deep dive into the world of eye shadow. She had better style than she had in high schoolโin a newscaster-ish way. The sight of her kind of stung my eyes. But I couldnโt deny that technicallyโ and I say this as a professional in the industryโshe had a pretty face.
Too bad she ruined it by being โฆ pure evil.
โYou look terrible,โ Parker said, squinting in faux sympathy. โDid you land on your face?โ
I looked at Lucinda, like,ย Seriously?
But Lucinda just smiled and gestured for me to answer, like she thought this might be a nice conversation.
I sighed and shifted my eyes back to the screen. โI did not land on my face,โ I answered robotically.
โYou just look so bloated,โ she went on. โIโm fine.โ
โDid they have to pump you full of saline or something?โ โWhat? No.โ
โYou just kind of look like James Gandolfini right now. Thatโs all Iโm saying.โ
Okay. We were done here.
โHoo-boy,โ I said, checking the nonexistent watch on my wrist. โLook at the time.โ
Then I rolled over to face the wall.
โIs she pouting?โ Parker demanded as Lucinda took the phone back. โYouโd be fussy, too, if it had happened to you.โ
โBut it would never happen to me. If I ever get run over, itโll be by an Aston Martin.โ
A thousand years later, after Lucinda finally hung up and was ready to go, she paused by my bed, looking me over as if she couldnโt begin to fathom my life choices.
โI hope the Betty Ford Center isnโt next for you,โ she said then, shaking her head like I was an unsolvable mystery. โThey said you showed up in the ER positively dripping in red wine.โ
At the words, I sucked in a breath. โWhereโs the dress?โ โWhat dress?โ
โThe one I was wearing. When I got here.โ
โOh,โ Lucinda said, shaking her head with disgust. โItโs in the trash.โ โThe trash?โ I grabbed the bed rail.
โIt was ruined,โ Lucinda said. โWine-drenched, bloodstainedโand the paramedics had to cut it off you. Itโs not even fit for cleaning rags now. Unsalvageable. I told the orderly to throw it away.โ
I donโt remember starting to cry, but by the time Lucinda paused, my face was wet, my throat was thick, and my breathing was shaky. โThey threw away the dress?โ
โIt was trash, Sadie,โ Lucinda said, doubling down. โIt was beyond hope.โ
But I shook my head. โBut I need it,โ I said.
Lucinda lifted her eyebrows, like,ย This better be good. โWhy?โ โBecauseโฆโ I started.
But there was nothing to say. Lucinda had spent her entire marriage to my dad trying to erase all traces of my mother. If sheโd known that dress was my momโs, sheโd have thrown it away even sooner.
And maybe set a match to it first. โโฆ Because I just do,โ I finished.
Lucinda stepped back then and eyed me as if to say,ย Just what I expected.ย Like sheโd called me on my insultingly obvious bluff. โItโs gone,โ she said on her way out the door. โJust let it go.โ
But after she left, I pressed the button for the nurse.
When she showed up, I was crying so much, she took my hand and squeezed it. โDeep breaths. Deep breaths,โ she said encouragingly.
Finally, through breaths that were more like spasms, I conveyed the question. โThe dressโI was wearingโwhen I came hereโmy stepmother saidโto throw it awayโbut I need it. Is there any way toโget it back?โ
Her sigh seemed to deflate her entire body. โOh, sweetheart,โ she said
โand by the end of those first two words alone, I knew all hope was lost. โIf we threw it away, it went to the incinerator.โ
And so there was nothing left to do but cry myself to sleep.
LUCINDA DID NOT return โfirst thing in the morning.โ Which was fine with me. Iโd already had breakfast, an MRI, and begun a consultation with a deeply serious Filipino brain surgeon named Dr. Sylvan Estrera before she showed back up, appearing in the room just as he got to the juicy stuff.
โThe scan didnโt reveal anything urgent,โ Dr. Estrera was saying. โNo stroke or hemorrhage. No significant bleeds in the brain.โ
โThatโs a relief,โ I said.
Then he continued. โBut it did reveal a neurovascular issue.โ
Okay, that didnโt sound good. โA neurovascular issue?โ The word
neurovascularย felt like a foreign language in my mouth. โA lesion,โ he explained, โthat should be treated.โ
โAย lesion?โ I asked, like heโd said something obscene.
Dr. Estrera put some images from the MRI up onto a lightboard. He pointed to an area with a tiny dark dot and said, โThe scan revealed a cavernoma.โ
He waited for recognition, like I might know what that was. I did not. So I just waited for him to go on.
โItโs a malformed blood vessel in the brain,โ he explained next. โYouโve had it all your life. An inherited condition.โ
I glanced at Lucinda, like that didnโt seem right.
But Lucinda lifted her hands and said, โDonโt blame me. Iโm just the stepmother.โ
I looked back at the scanโand that menacing little dot.
Could he have gotten my scan mixed up with someone elseโs? I mean, I just didnโtย feelย like a person walking around with a malformed blood vessel in her brain.
I frowned at Dr. Estrera. โAre you sure?โ
โItโs plain as day right here,โ he said, pointing at the image. Plain as day? More like a fuzzy blur, but okay.
โCavernomas frequently cause seizures,โ he went on. โThey can be neurologically silent. You could go your whole life without ever having a problem. But they can also start to leak. So your best option is to get it surgically resected.โ
โItโs leaking?โ I asked.
โIt is. Thatโs what brought on the seizure.โ
โTheย nonconvulsiveย seizure,โ Lucinda noted, like that made it better. โI thought you said there was no bleed in the brain,โ I said.
โNoย significantย bleed,โ he clarified. Why was I arguing with him?
He went on, โWe need to go in and resect that blood vessel.โ Huh. โByย go in,โ I said, โdo you mean go in โฆย to my brain?โ โExactly,โ he said, pleased I was getting it now.
I was definitely getting it now. โYouโre telling me I need brain surgery?โ
I looked at Lucinda again. There was no one else to look at.
Lucinda leaned toward the doctor like she had a juicy secret. โHer father is a very prominent cardiothoracic surgeon,โ she said, as if that might somehow earn me a pass. Then, with all the confidence of a woman whose biggest accomplishment was being married to a very prominent cardiothoracic surgeon, she stated: โRichard Montgomery.โ
Dr. Estrera took that in like a random pleasantry he was too polite to ignore. โYes. Iโve met him on several occasions.โ He turned back to me. โItโs an elective procedure, in the sense that you can schedule it at your convenience. But Iโd recommend sooner rather than later.โ
โHow canย brain surgeryย be an elective procedure?โ I asked. Botox was an elective procedure. Tummy tucks. Tonsillectomies.
โIโll have to refer you to scheduling,โ Dr. Estrera went on, โbut we can probably get it done in the next few weeks.โ
The next few weeks!ย Uh, no. That wouldnโt work.
I mentally scanned back through the email I had just gotten yesterday about placing in the portrait competition.
Placing in this contestโlanding in the top ten of two thousand entrants
โmeant that I had exactly six precious weeks to plan and execute the best portrait Iโd ever painted in my life. From choosing a model, a color palette, and a setting, to doing the prep work and the initial sketches, to rendering the final, full painting โฆ I was going to need every minute I had.
The competition. Iโd almost forgotten. I was a finalist in the most prestigious portrait competition in the country.
I couldnโt blow it. After all those years of failure: just scraping by and working overlapping jobs and questioning my value as a human being, I had to win.
Sue had wanted to celebrate yesterday, but now the real work started.
This was my shot. Possibly the only one Iโd ever have.
So no, I wasnโt going to sign up for elective brain surgery right now, thanks very much.
โUm,โ I said to Dr. Estrera, in a soft voice, like I didnโt want to offend him, โI just donโt have the time for brain surgery.โ
How bizarre to say those words out loud.
And then my desireย not to have brain surgeryย ran into direct conflict with my desire for Lucindaย to never know anything about my lifeโand I hesitated so hard to explain my situation that when it all came out, it was one rapid burst: โIโm a portrait artist, and Iโm a finalist in a competition that has a deadline in six weeks, and the first-place prize is ten thousand dollars, and this really is my big break that could change everything for me, and Iโm going to need every single second between now and then to create the most kick-ass portrait in the history of time because I really, really need to win this thing.โ
Had I just said the wordย assย in front of a brain surgeon?
โI understand,โ Dr. Estrera said. โBut please realize, there is some urgency here. Bleedingโeven seepageโin the brain is never a good thing. And while โbrain surgeryโโโhe made air quotes with his fingersโโsounds like a big deal, and it is, this procedure is relatively quick. Youโd need only two to four days in the hospital. We can even do hair-sparing techniques to avoid shaving your head.โ
Was he trying to make it soundย appealing? I hadnโt even thought about anyone shaving my head.
What had started as a simple no was rapidly becoming a โhell, no.โ I nodded like I was thinking about it. But what was there to think about? An oldย New Yorkerย cartoon of a person scheduling a meeting and saying, โHow about never?โ came to mind.
โI think,โ I said then, โthat Iโd really like to put the surgery off for as long as humanly possible.โ