Polly Olly Oxen Free: Chapter 3 - The Bahtia's (Draft 1)
A Trio of Unexpected Guests
Rohan Bahtia looked as if my mere existence was an insult, but that was nothing new. He had looked at me like that ever since Saffi’s announced our breakup to her parents. He continued to do it when she explained she was the one to break it off.
It would be one thing if he’d always been this way; but when Saffi and I started dating in 8th grade, Rohan and I had hit it off. Seeing him like this now, holding a briefcase as if he was finally here to sue me for being dumped by his daughter three years ago, stung more than I wanted it to.
And that pissed me off.
In an act of grace, Saffi’s mother saved me from myself. Priya took one look at me, sobbed, and ran up to gather me in a hug.
My heart caught in my throat. The blur of her rushing toward me, the shape of her shoulders, and the sweet smell of coconut conditioner and plumeria body balm was so much like Saffi that my heart burned hot with hope before falling to ash in blinding realization of why they must be here.
With shaking hands I gently pressed her back from me, and cleared my throat.
“Is she—“
“Saffi is stable.” Rohan interrupted. He was standing by the soccer net now, looking down at the apple with disgust. “Nothing has changed.”
Whether or not that statement was meant to communicate Saffi’s condition, it was still one hell of a statement to say to a girl in a body cast. And I wasn’t the only one to think it.
I could feel Priya tense at the edge of my bed. She wringed her hands in her lap, stood, and smoothed the disturbed sheets absentmindedly; all of this was done while shooting glances at the briefcase in her husband’s white knuckle grip.
Saffi had forever joked that her mother was absolute crap at keeping secrets. Suddenly I felt very aware of the fact that I was alone with two people who likely blamed me for their daughter’s condition. Saffi was driving me around after all.
“Where is my brother?” I demanded. “And what is in the briefcase.”
“I’m right here Pol.” Tibbs’ voice boomed from just outside the hallway along with his stomping footsteps. “And I told them they can wait to show you that when Uncle Ali gets here. I’m just calling his office now.”
Tibbs came in already glaring at Priya in disgust. The woman shifted to stand behind her husband at once and Tibbs stepped between them and me, his back turned to them.
“Uncle Ali?” I all but laughed. “Are you expecting them to wait here for two days? Isn’t he in Greece?”
Rohan’s nostrils flared.
“Is that true young man?” He demanded. “I will not be toyed with. This is a serious matter and if an adult cannot be present to accept—“
Tibbs whipped around, phone still held to his ear. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m going to just stand around like I moron while you burst in here to serve Pol papers?”
Serve me papers? I looked incredulous at Priya and Rohan who both looked equally as stunned at Tibbs’ statement as I was.
“That isn’t why they are here Tibbs.” I growled at the back of his dumb rainbow head.
“Yeah?” Tibbs asked, phone still at his ear, and not bothering to turn around, “then what is in the briefcase Mr. Big man Rohan? A check? Finally decide to do the right thing and pay up?”
“TIBBS!” I barked. All three of them jumped. Tibbs glared at me and with every bit of malice in his body, turned to face the Bahtia’s. I bit my lip hard in personal chastisement.
Outbursts weren’t going to help anyone right now, and here was Tibbs going nuclear on the only people that could dig the family out of medical bankruptcy. That was not an .
“The Bahtia’s don’t owe me anything. They have enough on their plate taking care of Saffi. She’s the one they need to be focusing on getting bet—“
A gasping sob from Priya cut me off, “Pol!”
But by the time I glance her way she’d already hidden her face behind a handkerchief. Rohan’s face however had grown exponentially more stone cold than before—which was a feat.
He clears his throat which sands down the harshest edges of his demeanor as he opens the front of his briefcase, and pulls out a document.
“Thank you, Pol. Yes. Saffi’s care has been—.” He strains to swallow before continuing. “Very, costly. In more ways than one.”
Another sob came from Priya, this one softer and so much like the way Saffi used to cry into my shoulder that it made my stomach turn.
“You don’t understand.”
“I can imagine.” My voice came out as sweet and compassionate as it always does when I overcompensate. “Thank goodness for your company’s health plan. My parent’s plan barely let us stay in the hospital long enough for me to get my catheter out.”
Priya’s sobs escalated to nearly a shriek as she crumpled to the ground. Rohan cleared his throat again, placed his brief case down, and set the document on top with a snap before turning to help his wife back up to stand. Grumbling anger spread from him to Priya just below the level of audible, but the sentiment was clear enough.
And it was completely unacceptable in Thibado-land. Tibbs stepped forward just enough to snatch the document while Rohan was still occupied.
Holding his cell to his ear with his shoulder, he starts flipping through the document. At page 5, he turns to me with a clenched jaw, drops the document in my lap, and states flatly, “Fuck it. I’m calling his emergency cell.”
My stomach felt like it had dropped clear through the floor as Tibbs walked over to lean in the doorway—not unlike a barricade. I scan the document in my lap at once, trying to take in what had driven Tibbs to use up his allotted one call a year to our godfather’s “always on him” line.
Legalese stared back up at me from the papers, unwilling to untangle itself into something coherent until I got to the middle of the page:
I, Pollyanna Marie Monroe, hereby acknowledge and agree that I shall not pursue, initiate, or support any legal proceedings, civil or otherwise, against Rohan and Priya Bahtia, or any individuals acting on their behalf, in relation to the motor vehicle accident occurring on [insert date], including but not limited to claims of physical injury, psychological harm, or financial damages. This waiver shall remain in full force and effect regardless of the decisions made concerning the continuation or termination of life-sustaining treatment for Saffira Bahtia, and shall survive both my post-rehabilitation in-person visitation and the immediate or eventual cessation of such treatment thereafter.”
“POL!” Priya’s shriek and Rohans bark came booming at me in sync, but only Priya came to my bedside.
“How can you give up on her?” I ask, my face is burning and my words sound as hollow as my heart. “She would never give up on you, or me.”
“We don’t want to give up—“ Priya started, but Rohan cut in.
“WE aren’t. The doctors have said that she is beyond the point of coming back. She wouldn’t want this.”
“BULLSHIT.” I scream at him, sitting forward. Priya reaches for mr and the papers but I pull them out of her reach.
Once again I find myself in a moment where everything happens all at once.
Priya stumbles into the bed, arm outstretched and lands on my leg hammock.
I feel a pop and a snap in my knee, right above the cast before the whole hammock snaps from its quick-release and falls to the bed with Priya Bahtia on top of it.
The pain is a white hot razor wire winding and ripping through my leg. My ears ring from the piercing pitch of my own scream. Tibbs is a white blur of feral Monroe rage ripping Priya from the bed—she goes flying back and lands on the floor at Rohan’s feet along with Tibbs’ phone which crack’s against Rohan’s shin deadened thud.
As the Bahtia’s are doubled over groaning, Tibbs grabs my knee and in one sharp upward jerk, pops it back into alignment. The relief is significant, but not enough to rid the vomit rising in my throat.
In tune with the moment as ever, Tibbs’ is already holding the trash can for me when my stomach heaves everything out. Tibbs is wiping my hair out of the way and helps me grip the bucket with my shaking hands while he returns focus on replacing my leg in the hammock.
Priya unfortunately had the same idea.
She stood down at the end of my bed looking helpless as she held the straps of the hammock in her hands with tears streaming down her face. Rohan stood behind her, swiping furiously through his phone.
No. Not his phone. Tibbs’ phone.
The shift in energy from my brother from caregiver to rage tornado was tangible in the room and my body reacted to it by ever-so-helpfully choosing to wretch again. This had the effect of a starting gun at a race on the scene before me.
“Get the FUCK away from her!” Tibbs growled in his deepest voice. He snatched the straps from Priya and lunged at her. From where I was sitting I could tell it was a warning lunge—if he had wanted to shove her again he could have done it with a single step—but Priya didn’t know that. And neither did Rohan.
Priya wimpered, stumbling back into Rohan who arose from his scrolling stupor long enough to pull his wife behind him. And step with his full height up to Tibbs. He shoved Tibbs phone into his chest.
“I don’t know what you hope to gain from talking to your brother about our daughters situation, but he is woefully uninformed of our decision making when it comes to—“
“My twin you fucking bigot.” Tibbs’ voice is acid. He takes his phone and reached back to grab the papers from my lap and tosses them at Priya. “And they got their info from your nephew. So stop pretending that document doesn’t say exactly what it is meant to say. God. You are lucky as hell that Saffi isn’t here to see you treat Pol like this.”
“Excuse me?” Rohan bellows, taking a step closer to Tibbs.
Tibbs doesn’t even flinch. But then, hurricanes never do.
Priya starts to walk toward Rohan with wide eyes and arms outstretched as if readying herself to stop him from lunging. I wish I could do the same. Instead, I settle for puking again and in between hurls, I yell at him.
“TIBBS. STOP.”
“NO.” Tibbs spits the word into Rohan’s face and takes a step forward so that the two of them are inches from each other. “Telly got word from Johna. Says they came here to blackmail you into not suing them. If you want to see Saffi before they pull the plug you need to sign a contract saying you won’t sue them for medical bills.”
“That’s not…” Rohan’s face is red and he is spluttering. Tibbs rips the papers back out from Priya’s hands and starts flipping through the pages. Before he can gets to page five, Rohan grabs him by the shoulder and tries to rip them from while shoving Tibbs back.
“That’s a lie!” Rohan growls.
“Not from what I can see!” Tibbs spits back nodding at the papers still firm in his grip. Rohan shoves Tibbs harder. And he stumbles toward my bed but catches his balance before landing on my leg.
“Stop! Please!” Priya cries out, her hands in her hair and her eyes frantic.
The chaos is enough to wipe the pain and nausea from my awareness and I fall into a numb buzz. I’m careful to set my puke bucket down where I won’t kick it out of the way, and start shifting myself toward the end of my bed. The nausea returns in droves as the motion slices into my knee like a table saw, but I make it to the end.
Before I can attempt to stand on the non-injured foot to draw the attention of the still struggling tangle of man & boy to myself, a boom shakes the room as my bedroom door slams wide open against the wall.
“GET YOUR GODDAMN HANDS OFF MY GODSON THIS INSTANT OR I WILL SUE YOU TO HELL AND BACK.”