For once it’s not about Aviva and the pinch of guilt at not doing enough; she just feels the sadness of Mom’s situation

They sit on plastic chairs, one orange, one blue, the pattern jarring to Aviva’s eye. She should put in a bid to redesign the hospital.

When they’d gotten in, Mom had already been whisked away for testing. Aviva’s waiting to see her.

“Meira, it’s so late. You know you can go.”

“I know I can. But I want to stay. I want to be here for you.”

It’s the second time they’re having this exchange. She’s not keeping track of how long it’s been anymore, but she’s getting the sense that Meira really isn’t going anywhere.

It’s absurdly late, her mind is fuzzy. “You’re a real friend, Meira,” she says.

“I am. I’m wonderful.”

Does she know how wonderful? What it means that she’s here? Even with the nurses asking their hundred and one questions, the lack of privacy, Mom’s medical reports, and Fiona who’d shared too much, Aviva finds that she’s not flinching in front of Meira. It’s okay, it’s okay. Maybe even more than that.