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Chapter no 2

Hello Stranger

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 sheโ€™d never seen me before.

โ€œWhat 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 neighborโ€”and I canโ€™t tell you how weird it was to be getting the story of my life from the person who had ruined it.

Anyhoo.

Apparently, Iโ€™d 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 fatherโ€”though thatโ€™s another thing I donโ€™t 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 โ€œunavailable.โ€

Which is how Lucinda wound up here.

She was absolutely the last person Iโ€™d want at my bedsideโ€”besides perhaps her daughter. Honestly, Iโ€™d 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 wasnโ€™t 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 couldโ€™ve chosen the crosswalk of a busy street, of all places, to have that nonconvulsive seizure was beyond her. โ€œIf that Good Samaritan hadnโ€™t saved you, youโ€™d be flat as a pancake right now.โ€ She paused and tilted her head, like she might be picturing that. โ€œI was at my Whining & Wine-ing group when they called, but itโ€™s okay. Itโ€™s fine. Of course I dropped everything and came here right away.โ€

Her tone made me wonder if that was true. Like maybe sheโ€™d tossed back one last glass of chardonnay.

I shook my baffled head again, like,ย Wait. โ€œWhat happened?โ€

She leaned in a little, like I hadnโ€™t been paying attention. โ€œYou almost died in the road.โ€

โ€œBut what caused the seizure?โ€ I asked at last, my wits starting to come back.

โ€œThey donโ€™t know. Could even just be dehydration. But they want to do an MRI before they release you. Looks like youโ€™ll have to stay overnight.โ€

And then, quickly, to snuff out even the possibility that I might ask her to stayโ€”which I would absolutely never doโ€”she added, โ€œIโ€™ll 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. Iโ€™d always suspected she focused hard on her surface because there wasnโ€™t much underneath. But I really didnโ€™t 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 sheโ€™d 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, โ€œLet 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 Parkerโ€™s catlike faceโ€”as scary at iPhone size as it was in real life.

How long had it been since Iโ€™d seen her? Years.

I could go my whole life, and it wouldnโ€™t be too long.

โ€œOh my god!โ€ Parker shrieked. โ€œI canโ€™t believe you almost got killed by a Volkswagen Beetle! I mean, at least pick something cool, like a Tesla.โ€

โ€œNoted,โ€ I said.

It was strange to see her again. Sheโ€™d highlighted the hell out of her hair. And sheโ€™d really taken a deep dive into the world of eye shadow. She had better style than she had in high schoolโ€”in a newscaster-ish way. The sight of her kind of stung my eyes. But I couldnโ€™t deny that technicallyโ€” and I say this as a professional in the industryโ€”she had a pretty face.

Too bad she ruined it by being โ€ฆ pure evil.

โ€œYou look terrible,โ€ Parker said, squinting in faux sympathy. โ€œDid 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. โ€œI did not land on my face,โ€ I answered robotically.

โ€œYou just look so bloated,โ€ she went on. โ€œIโ€™m fine.โ€

โ€œDid they have to pump you full of saline or something?โ€ โ€œWhat? No.โ€

โ€œYou just kind of look like James Gandolfini right now. Thatโ€™s all Iโ€™m saying.โ€

Okay. We were done here.

โ€œHoo-boy,โ€ I said, checking the nonexistent watch on my wrist. โ€œLook at the time.โ€

Then I rolled over to face the wall.

โ€œIs she pouting?โ€ Parker demanded as Lucinda took the phone back. โ€œYouโ€™d be fussy, too, if it had happened to you.โ€

โ€œBut it would never happen to me. If I ever get run over, itโ€™ll 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 couldnโ€™t begin to fathom my life choices.

โ€œI hope the Betty Ford Center isnโ€™t next for you,โ€ she said then, shaking her head like I was an unsolvable mystery. โ€œThey said you showed up in the ER positively dripping in red wine.โ€

At the words, I sucked in a breath. โ€œWhereโ€™s the dress?โ€ โ€œWhat dress?โ€

โ€œThe one I was wearing. When I got here.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ Lucinda said, shaking her head with disgust. โ€œItโ€™s in the trash.โ€ โ€œThe trash?โ€ I grabbed the bed rail.

โ€œIt was ruined,โ€ Lucinda said. โ€œWine-drenched, bloodstainedโ€”and the paramedics had to cut it off you. Itโ€™s not even fit for cleaning rags now. Unsalvageable. I told the orderly to throw it away.โ€

I donโ€™t remember starting to cry, but by the time Lucinda paused, my face was wet, my throat was thick, and my breathing was shaky. โ€œThey threw away the dress?โ€

โ€œIt was trash, Sadie,โ€ Lucinda said, doubling down. โ€œIt was beyond hope.โ€

But I shook my head. โ€œBut I need it,โ€ I said.

Lucinda lifted her eyebrows, like,ย This better be good. โ€œWhy?โ€ โ€œBecauseโ€ฆโ€ 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 sheโ€™d known that dress was my momโ€™s, sheโ€™d have thrown it away even sooner.

And maybe set a match to it first. โ€œโ€ฆ 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 sheโ€™d called me on my insultingly obvious bluff. โ€œItโ€™s gone,โ€ she said on her way out the door. โ€œJust 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. โ€œDeep breaths. Deep breaths,โ€ she said encouragingly.

Finally, through breaths that were more like spasms, I conveyed the question. โ€œThe dressโ€”I was wearingโ€”when I came hereโ€”my stepmother saidโ€”to throw it awayโ€”but I need it. Is there any way toโ€”get it back?โ€

Her sigh seemed to deflate her entire body. โ€œOh, sweetheart,โ€ she said

โ€”and by the end of those first two words alone, I knew all hope was lost. โ€œIf 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 โ€œfirst thing in the morning.โ€ Which was fine with me. Iโ€™d 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.

โ€œThe scan didnโ€™t reveal anything urgent,โ€ Dr. Estrera was saying. โ€œNo stroke or hemorrhage. No significant bleeds in the brain.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s a relief,โ€ I said.

Then he continued. โ€œBut it did reveal a neurovascular issue.โ€

Okay, that didnโ€™t sound good. โ€œA neurovascular issue?โ€ The word

neurovascularย felt like a foreign language in my mouth. โ€œA lesion,โ€ he explained, โ€œthat should be treated.โ€

โ€œAย lesion?โ€ I asked, like heโ€™d 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, โ€œThe 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.

โ€œItโ€™s a malformed blood vessel in the brain,โ€ he explained next. โ€œYouโ€™ve had it all your life. An inherited condition.โ€

I glanced at Lucinda, like that didnโ€™t seem right.

But Lucinda lifted her hands and said, โ€œDonโ€™t blame me. Iโ€™m just the stepmother.โ€

I looked back at the scanโ€”and that menacing little dot.

Could he have gotten my scan mixed up with someone elseโ€™s? I mean, I just didnโ€™tย feelย like a person walking around with a malformed blood vessel in her brain.

I frowned at Dr. Estrera. โ€œAre you sure?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s plain as day right here,โ€ he said, pointing at the image. Plain as day? More like a fuzzy blur, but okay.

โ€œCavernomas frequently cause seizures,โ€ he went on. โ€œThey 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€

โ€œItโ€™s leaking?โ€ I asked.

โ€œIt is. Thatโ€™s what brought on the seizure.โ€

โ€œTheย nonconvulsiveย seizure,โ€ Lucinda noted, like that made it better. โ€œI thought you said there was no bleed in the brain,โ€ I said.

โ€œNoย significantย bleed,โ€ he clarified. Why was I arguing with him?

He went on, โ€œWe need to go in and resect that blood vessel.โ€ Huh. โ€œByย go in,โ€ I said, โ€œdo you mean go in โ€ฆย to my brain?โ€ โ€œExactly,โ€ he said, pleased I was getting it now.

I was definitely getting it now. โ€œYouโ€™re 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. โ€œHer 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: โ€œRichard Montgomery.โ€

Dr. Estrera took that in like a random pleasantry he was too polite to ignore. โ€œYes. Iโ€™ve met him on several occasions.โ€ He turned back to me. โ€œItโ€™s an elective procedure, in the sense that you can schedule it at your convenience. But Iโ€™d recommend sooner rather than later.โ€

โ€œHow canย brain surgeryย be an elective procedure?โ€ I asked. Botox was an elective procedure. Tummy tucks. Tonsillectomies.

โ€œIโ€™ll have to refer you to scheduling,โ€ Dr. Estrera went on, โ€œbut we can probably get it done in the next few weeks.โ€

The next few weeks!ย Uh, no. That wouldnโ€™t work.

I mentally scanned back through the email I had just gotten yesterday about placing in the portrait competition.

Placing in this contestโ€”landing in the top ten of two thousand entrants

โ€”meant that I had exactly six precious weeks to plan and execute the best portrait Iโ€™d 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 โ€ฆ I was going to need every minute I had.

The competition. Iโ€™d almost forgotten. I was a finalist in the most prestigious portrait competition in the country.

I couldnโ€™t 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 Iโ€™d ever have.

So no, I wasnโ€™t going to sign up for elective brain surgery right now, thanks very much.

โ€œUm,โ€ I said to Dr. Estrera, in a soft voice, like I didnโ€™t want to offend him, โ€œI just donโ€™t 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 lifeโ€”and I hesitated so hard to explain my situation that when it all came out, it was one rapid burst: โ€œIโ€™m a portrait artist, and Iโ€™m 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 Iโ€™m 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?

โ€œI understand,โ€ Dr. Estrera said. โ€œBut please realize, there is some urgency here. Bleedingโ€”even seepageโ€”in the brain is never a good thing. And while โ€˜brain surgeryโ€™โ€โ€”he made air quotes with his fingersโ€”โ€œsounds like a big deal, and it is, this procedure is relatively quick. Youโ€™d 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 hadnโ€™t even thought about anyone shaving my head.

What had started as a simple no was rapidly becoming a โ€œhell, 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, โ€œHow about never?โ€ came to mind.

โ€œI think,โ€ I said then, โ€œthat Iโ€™d really like to put the surgery off for as long as humanly possible.โ€

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