The Fleeting Happy

Twenty-Four

I'd only ever been to Severn Valley Hospital twice before. The first time was when I was born and the second time was when I was fourteen and I fainted at school. Since I'd been fresh out of the womb the first time around and mostly unconscious during the second, I didn't have a very clear memory of the place.

It didn't stand out to me. It was an ordinary hospital, much smaller than the one in Atlantic City and much less busy. My mom and I had no trouble finding the psych ward, where my father was kept curtained off in a room with three other people.

When he saw us, his eyes lit up.

"Rory!"

"Dad!"

My eyes stung with tears as I rammed into him in a crushing hug. Before I could stop myself, the tears came: horrible, ugly, hot tears that dampened the shoulders of my father's green hospital pajamas.

"Are you crying?" Dad asked. "Sweetie, don't cry. I'm okay! I have good news, actually. Dr. Gibson thinks I'm just about ready to be discharged. And guess when they're letting me leave?"

"Next month?"

He shook his head. "Closer."

"In two weeks?"

"Closer."

My heart leaped, but I didn't want to let myself get my hopes up too high just yet. This seemed too good to be true. "N-Next... next week?"

Dad grinned. "Closer."

"Today?"

"Tomorrow, actually."

I clapped my hand to my mouth and flung my arms around my father again. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God." I let out an elated, relieved laugh. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Ror. When I get out of here, I'm gonna be changing up my speech and I want you to be the first person who hears it."

"Yeah?" I smiled a teary smile.

"You bet, princess."

He seemed to have noticed my mother standing at the doorway, clutching her purse. He glanced from Mom to me and back to Mom. "Madoka?"

"Hi, Scott." She stayed right where she was. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better," he said. "I'm really craving some fast food, though. You wouldn't believe the crap they serve here."

She smiled. "Rory and I can drive over to McDonald's and pick you up a burger. That is, if Rory's okay with it."

"You should ask her," Dad said, glancing at me with a twinkle in his eye.

Mom turned to me. "Rory, would you like to come with me to pick up a burger for your father from McDonald's?"

"No," I said. "Not without fries and a drink."

Dad ruffled my hair. "I'll be waiting here. You better make it quick, you two."

I quickly kissed his cheek before scampering out of the hospital room after my mother. It was strange, but I really did always forget how young they were. They were no older than 32 and yet look at how their lives had turned out, when they'd sped things up so drastically as teenagers: Mom was managing a restaurant and raising a daughter alone. Dad was a mentally ill motivational speaker who was recovering from a suicide attempt. My parents didn't mix. They never did and they never would, and it was unfortunate that they'd conceived a child together when they probably shouldn't have.

My existence was a mistake, but then didn't that mean that mom's career in restaurant management was also a mistake? That Dad's mental health was also a mistake? That every outcome of every decision we ever make every day of our lives are mistakes?