Page 11 of Worst Wingman Ever

I nodded. “She really did. And she’s going to have a great death too. Surrounded by people who love her, at home, not in pain.”

“I hope I die like that,” she said. “Or doing what I love.”

“Not me. I wanna die doing what I hate. Put me out of my misery, kill me on the stair-stepper.”

She laughed and balled up her napkin and threw it at me.

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “This is so hard. Like, seriously. How do you do this for work?”

“It’s easier when it’s strangers,” I said.

“No, it isn’t. I’d be a hot mess doing this, you’re built different.”

“I’m not. It’s hard as hell. Even for me.”

“Did you know that it’s not ‘hard as hell’?” she said. “It’s hard as hail.”

I tilted my head. “Is it?”

“Yeah. You know who told me that? This homeless guy at the farmers market.”

“No. I’m googling this.” I picked up my phone and typed. “Oh my God. You’re right. I mean, the internet is a little divided on it, but there’s definitely a ‘hard as hail’ camp.”

“It makes sense. Hail is hard.”

“Hell is also hard, though,” I said.

“Well, we’ll never know. Neither of us are going.” She checked her phone. “I gotta take off,” she said, getting up. “I’m getting a new guinea pig foster.”

“You and your guinea pigs.”

“I love ’em. They only need four hours of sleep a day.”

“Like someone I know.”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

When Jillian was gone, we had a rare lull in visitors again, only this time the energy was very different. Grandma wasn’t awake, talking to me. The apartment was buttoned up, the lights were off, and the curtains were drawn. It was eerie. It was never this quiet during sunlight hours.

She’d sleep more and more now. That was normal. She might start to have visions, see people who’d passed on before her. Her mother, Grandpa. She might see a light or an angel. A tunnel.

All normal.

Some patients wait until the loved ones they want to see have come. Then they let go. A lot of people rally right before they pass. They have one really great day where they’re awake and alert. They might even ask for food or something to drink. Then when everyone leaves, they slip away.

I hoped for that the most. I wanted her last moments to be her, surrounded by everyone who loves her.

I sat at the tiny table and pulled out my book.

“What are you reading?” Her frail voice surprised me.

“Just a romance,” I said.

She sat up. “Did I fall asleep? What time is it?”

I looked at my watch. “Six fifteen.”

“Early still. I must be worn out from yesterday.”