day.
“Rhea's making a spice cake,” said Fiona.
“It smells fantastic.”
“It has rum in it. She's been hitting the sauce ever since.”
A sing-song voice came from deeper in the apartment. “I hear you, Fiona dear.”
“You're hallucinating, Rhea. I left an hour ago,” she yelled back.
“This isn't working,” said Meghan. “Grab the top of this thing and pull.”
“Here?”
“No, here,” she said, pushing the largest branch toward her daughter. The tree snapped free of the door frame and into the living room, falling onto its side.
“Nice one,” said Fiona, her gaze meeting her mother's eye-to-eye, a light smile at her lips. She wore a plaid button-down shirt and leggings that hung off her body like borrowed clothes. Her skin glowed more pale than ivory, a new and unflattering change.
Meghan forced a smile onto her face. “How was your day?
“Good. I take it we're decorating a Christmas tree tonight?”
“Unless you have other plans.”
“Rhonda and Kathy asked me to catch a movie. But that's okay, I'd rather decorate.”
A petite, fifty-something woman with short brown hair walked in the room. “Can I help too?”
“You'd better. We're not doing all the work ourselves.”
The phone rang and Fiona ran off to answer it.
“How was work?” asked Rhea.
“Good, good.” Meghan nodded, then stopped abruptly. “Bad. It was awful, actually. I spent the whole day redoing all the artwork for the Gazelle account that I just did on Friday.”
“I thought that nightmare was finished!”
“Yeah, me too...” Meghan trailed off as Fiona came near with the phone.
“It's for you,” she said, her eyes wide. “It's Dr. Haring.”
Meghan's brows drew together. She took the phone and walked into the kitchen, turning to be sure Fiona hadn't followed her. “This is Meghan.”
“Ms. O'Connor, it's Dr. Haring. I know I said I wouldn't have anything for you until Monday, but I just got the lab results and I wanted to let you know ASAP.”
Every muscle in Meghan's body clenched in anticipation.
“I'm afraid it's not good news,” he said. “Three out of six alleles, which is quite common for a parent.”
Meghan slid down the cupboard and sat on the vinyl floor.
The doctor cleared his throat. “I told you it was extremely unlikely you would be a match, Ms. O'Connor...”
“One in two hundred.” Tears began to collect in her eyes.
My baby. My poor, sweet baby.
She wanted to get off the phone, but didn't trust herself to speak.
“Forgive me, Ms. O'Connor, but I need to ask again. Does Fiona have any other family?”
“No.” The word hung in the air, and Meghan waited to see if he would challenge her with a basic knowledge of biology.
“Well then, you may want to organize a donor drive. But the chances of finding a match from an unrelated donor, not already on the registry, are formidable.”
~~~
Rhea Goldstein sipped her mug of tea as she cleaned up the last of the spice cake dishes. She was more at home in Meghan's kitchen than her own, having cooked the balance of her meals over the last eight years in this space. The mirror image of her own apartment, the kitchen had a breakfast bar that overlooked the living room, and she could see Meghan sitting on the floor in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. Fiona had gone upstairs to take a bath.
Rhea pulled out a bottle of fragrant red wine, poured two glasses.
She drank one down and refilled it, taking a moment to prepare for battle before joining Meghan by the tree, handing her a glass and sitting herself down rigidly in a side chair. “I think it's time you told me the truth,” she said.
Meghan looked confused. “What?”
“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you, God.” Rhea felt her voice shake, knew that her grasp on her wine glass was tight enough to snap the stem if she wasn't careful.
Rhea sipped her wine, remembering the first time she saw Meghan and little Fiona with her Santa hat,
“Rhea's making a spice cake,” said Fiona.
“It smells fantastic.”
“It has rum in it. She's been hitting the sauce ever since.”
A sing-song voice came from deeper in the apartment. “I hear you, Fiona dear.”
“You're hallucinating, Rhea. I left an hour ago,” she yelled back.
“This isn't working,” said Meghan. “Grab the top of this thing and pull.”
“Here?”
“No, here,” she said, pushing the largest branch toward her daughter. The tree snapped free of the door frame and into the living room, falling onto its side.
“Nice one,” said Fiona, her gaze meeting her mother's eye-to-eye, a light smile at her lips. She wore a plaid button-down shirt and leggings that hung off her body like borrowed clothes. Her skin glowed more pale than ivory, a new and unflattering change.
Meghan forced a smile onto her face. “How was your day?
“Good. I take it we're decorating a Christmas tree tonight?”
“Unless you have other plans.”
“Rhonda and Kathy asked me to catch a movie. But that's okay, I'd rather decorate.”
A petite, fifty-something woman with short brown hair walked in the room. “Can I help too?”
“You'd better. We're not doing all the work ourselves.”
The phone rang and Fiona ran off to answer it.
“How was work?” asked Rhea.
“Good, good.” Meghan nodded, then stopped abruptly. “Bad. It was awful, actually. I spent the whole day redoing all the artwork for the Gazelle account that I just did on Friday.”
“I thought that nightmare was finished!”
“Yeah, me too...” Meghan trailed off as Fiona came near with the phone.
“It's for you,” she said, her eyes wide. “It's Dr. Haring.”
Meghan's brows drew together. She took the phone and walked into the kitchen, turning to be sure Fiona hadn't followed her. “This is Meghan.”
“Ms. O'Connor, it's Dr. Haring. I know I said I wouldn't have anything for you until Monday, but I just got the lab results and I wanted to let you know ASAP.”
Every muscle in Meghan's body clenched in anticipation.
“I'm afraid it's not good news,” he said. “Three out of six alleles, which is quite common for a parent.”
Meghan slid down the cupboard and sat on the vinyl floor.
The doctor cleared his throat. “I told you it was extremely unlikely you would be a match, Ms. O'Connor...”
“One in two hundred.” Tears began to collect in her eyes.
My baby. My poor, sweet baby.
She wanted to get off the phone, but didn't trust herself to speak.
“Forgive me, Ms. O'Connor, but I need to ask again. Does Fiona have any other family?”
“No.” The word hung in the air, and Meghan waited to see if he would challenge her with a basic knowledge of biology.
“Well then, you may want to organize a donor drive. But the chances of finding a match from an unrelated donor, not already on the registry, are formidable.”
~~~
Rhea Goldstein sipped her mug of tea as she cleaned up the last of the spice cake dishes. She was more at home in Meghan's kitchen than her own, having cooked the balance of her meals over the last eight years in this space. The mirror image of her own apartment, the kitchen had a breakfast bar that overlooked the living room, and she could see Meghan sitting on the floor in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. Fiona had gone upstairs to take a bath.
Rhea pulled out a bottle of fragrant red wine, poured two glasses.
She drank one down and refilled it, taking a moment to prepare for battle before joining Meghan by the tree, handing her a glass and sitting herself down rigidly in a side chair. “I think it's time you told me the truth,” she said.
Meghan looked confused. “What?”
“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you, God.” Rhea felt her voice shake, knew that her grasp on her wine glass was tight enough to snap the stem if she wasn't careful.
Rhea sipped her wine, remembering the first time she saw Meghan and little Fiona with her Santa hat,
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