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the hospice nurse speaks and moves in a cheery sorta way that makes richie profoundly uncomfortable. probably why his mom likes her so damn much. all that weird, positive energy. ‘rich, honey, you’re going to just love loraine.’ that sentence came outta her mouth at least once every phone call and, since the diagnosis, richie calls her every few days.
loraine leads richie into the living room. she smiles, pats him on the shoulder, and promptly excuses herself. he half-expected her to stay and chit-chat, but nope. consummate professional. maybe he does love loraine.
"hey, mom."
maggie tozier is propped up in a hospital bed, smack-dab in the middle of a cozy living room straight outta home country magazine. her warm, brown eyes and kind smile are the only bits he really recognizes. her sallow skin is yellow-tinged and waxy, spread tightly over bone. a brightly colored scarf is wrapped around her head, covering the short brunette hairs she managed to grow back post-chemo. a bunch of wires and tubes are curved around her tiny frame. his heart gives a painful squeeze.
“oh, honey, i’m so happy you’re here. rich, sweetheart, come sit down. are you thirsty? did you get enough to drink on the flight? i could ding loraine, ask her to get you a glass.” she gestures towards the plush, burgundy chair wedged up against her hospital bed.
“i’m fine, mom. seriously. i had plenty to drink on my way here, so don’t worry 'bout me. i know my theoretical dry throat deserves way more attention than your silly cancer, but i wanna let you have the spotlight for a while, ‘kay?” he shoots her a genuine grin, sinking into the chair and taking her bony hand in his. richie elects not to mention the type of drinks he had on the flight over.
she wheezes a laugh. he wonders how her eyes can look so bright, while the rest of her body withers away. “you’re such a doofus,” she tells him. then she looks at him, in the sorta way that always makes richie feel like she can see right through him. her expression softens, but the grip on his hand tightens. “no. no, you’re not. you’re a good son.”
“we both know i coulda done a better job, ma.” he tries to sound casual, but fails spectacularly.
she narrows her eyes, dry lips pursed. richie is well-acquainted with this expression. he got that look whenever his report card came home, detailing his less-than-stellar behavior. ”richard, will you stop? you’re always doing that, have since you were a little boy.”
“doing what?”
“putting yourself down. you’re always doing that, especially when someone is trying to pay you a compliment. you make a joke or come up with something ridiculous to change the subject. you never just take the compliment. take the compliment, honey.” the looks is still there, will be until he relents.
“okay, i just -- ” richie sighs, readjusts his glasses, tries to fucking collect himself and not start crying like a goddamn baby. “i’m trying to -- shit -- i mean shoot --- i’m trying to apologize, ya know? for being such a handful. i know you worried about me. i know i could be too much, bouncing off the walls and never knowing when to shut my mouth. i know i probably wasn’t what you and dad wanted. i know -- ”
“richie, stop.” her voice is firm, stronger and louder than he thought possible.
he notices the glossiness in her eyes, eliciting a wave of guilt that makes his stomach churn. “oh no, i -- “
“richie, i love you. i love you more than anything in the world. if i had a hundred years, i still wouldn’t be able to properly express how much i love you. there aren’t even words. ” richie feels a prickling behind his eyes. she squeezes his hand as if sensing the oncoming flood. “your father felt the same. i know he did. and if you ever thought differently, that’s on us.”
“mom -- “ he croaks.
“i didn’t always know how to be your mother. you had so much energy, and you were so loud. i never felt like i could keep up. half the time, i couldn’t even follow your train of thought. at first, i told myself that i would never understand, because you were a boy. i mean, went could really talk to you, so i figured he just related better, being a man and all. i just -- i didn’t understand, sweetheart. for a long time, i didn’t get it. then when you were about thirteen, i think, that’s when everything clicked. it was summer. you were coming in from lord knows where. normally, you’d stop to talk, at least for a bit, but you just flew on by that day. i followed you up the stairs and found you in your bedroom. you seemed so upset. i asked why, and you -- well, you came back with a lot of inappropriate jokes. really vulgar. worse than usual. about someone's mother, i think. you didn't make much sense, talking about a broken arm and an old house. i opened my mouth to scold you, but then you just -- you fell apart. i hadn’t seen you cry in years. and you kept putting your hands over your eyes and tried making more jokes even though you could barely breathe. you wouldn’t let me hold you for the first few minutes, but then you finally just gave in. you cried and you cried, told me that you screwed up and how some mother wouldn’t let you see your friend. i don’t -- it’s all a bit fuzzy, but i know that. and i thought to myself, you know, he’s got a lot of heart. he cares so much more than he lets on, but he’s - you’re afraid. you don’t want to let people see, richie. you move so fast and talk so fast, hoping no one will be able to get a close look at you. and i don’t think much has changed since then. i think you’re still scared, but -- but, baby, there’s nothing to be scared of. i’m so proud of who you are. you’re the very best thing i ever did. the very best. i just wish you could see that, because you’re so good. you have so much to give. i mean it, rich. you’re a good son, and and i love you.”
his cheeks are wet with tears. he feels shaky all over, breath coming in short gasps. richie brings her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her cool skin. he can feel the words bubbling up from somewhere deep in his gut, fighting to be free.
“mom, i’m -- “ he swallows hard, as if those same words are now caught in his throat.
“what, baby?“
richie glances down at their linked hands and shakes his head. “i’m, uh, i’m just really happy to be here. with you.“
maybe the tears are fucking with his vision, but richie swears a flash of disappointment crosses his mother’s face, as if she knew exactly what he wanted to say and wishes he would spit it out. but before he can process, she’s smiling again, soft and kind as ever. “i’m happy to be here with you, too.“