Free Heart of the Matter by Emily Giffin

dressing almost exclusively in jeans and flannel shirts.
    “But he is gay, Ma,” Valerie said, recognizing that part of love is acceptance—and that she wouldn’t change a thing about her brother, just as she wouldn’t change a thing about her son.
    In any event, Valerie has feared her mother’s reaction to Charlie’s injury, anticipating either breezy denial, a stockpile of guilt, or endless if onlys.
    She picks up her tray now, dumping the contents into a nearby wastebasket and leading her mother and brother to the cafeteria exit. By the time they’ve arrived at the elevator, Rosemary has asked her first loaded question. “I’m still a little hazy here . . . How in the world did this happen?”
    Jason gives his mother an incredulous look, as Valerie sighs and says, “I don’t know, Ma. I wasn’t there—and I obviously haven’t talked to Charlie about it yet.”
    “What about the other little boys at the party? Or the parents? What did they tell you?” Rosemary asks, her angular face moving back and forth like an old-fashioned windup toy.
    Valerie thinks of Romy, who has left her multiple voice mails and has been by the hospital twice, dropping off handmade cards from Grayson. Despite her desire to know every detail about that night, she cannot bring herself to see Romy, or even call her back. She is not ready to hear her excuses or apologies, and she is certain that she will never forgive. Valerie and her mother have this in common, too, Rosemary holding grudges more firmly than anyone she’s ever known.
    “Well, let’s go see him,” Rosemary says, exhaling ominously.
    Valerie nods, as they ride the elevator up two floors and then walk in silence to the end of the hall. As they approach Charlie’s room, Valerie hears her mother mumble, “I really wish you had called me straightaway.
    “I know, Ma . . . I’m sorry . . . I just wanted to get through those first hours . . . Besides, there was nothing to be done long-distance.”
    “Prayer,” Rosemary says, lifting one eyebrow. “I could have prayed for him . . . What if, God forbid . . .” Her voice trails off, a wounded expression on her heavily lined face.
    “I’m sorry, Ma,” Valerie says again, keeping silent tally of her apologies.
    “Well, you’re here now,” Jason says, flashing Rosemary his most captivating smile. It is no family secret that Jason is her favorite child, his homosexuality notwithstanding.
    “And you,” Rosemary says, giving Jason a once-over that he would later joke to Valerie looked like a search for signs of AIDS. “You’re way too thin, honey.”
    Jason drapes one arm over Rosemary’s shoulder, further charming her. “Oh, come on, Ma,” he says. “Look at this face. You know I look good.”
    Valerie considers his statement and feels herself tense. Not so much because Jason is talking about his handsome, unscarred face, but because of the glance he shoots her afterward. It is a look of worry, of sympathy, of realizing that he, too, just said the wrong thing. Valerie knows this look of pity well and feels an ache in her heart that her son will now come to know it, too.
    ***
    The following morning, while Charlie is still dozing, Dr. Russo comes to examine his hand. Valerie can tell right away that something is wrong despite his impassive expression and slow, deliberate movements.
    “What’s wrong?” she says. “Tell me.”
    He shakes his head and says, “It’s not looking good. His hand. There’s too much swelling . . .”
    “Does he need surgery?” Valerie asks, steeling herself for bad news.
    Dr. Russo nods and says, “Yeah. I think we need to go in there and release the pressure.”
    Valerie feels her throat constrict at the thought of what “going in there” entails until he says, “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. We just need to release the pressure and do a graft on his hand.”
    “A graft?” she says.
    “A skin graft, yes.”
    “From where?”
    “His leg—the thigh area. Just a little