{"id":151,"date":"2022-08-04T13:51:00","date_gmt":"2022-08-04T17:51:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/?post_type=chapter&p=151"},"modified":"2022-08-05T13:37:31","modified_gmt":"2022-08-05T17:37:31","slug":"when-the-sun","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/chapter\/when-the-sun\/","title":{"raw":"When the Sun Lays to Rest","rendered":"When the Sun Lays to Rest"},"content":{"raw":"

October<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\nMaeve\u2019s looking down, concentrating on the battered paperback in her lap. It\u2019s early, too early for me, but somehow she always seems content waking up with the sun. It begins to rise, peeking through the window beside her and bouncing off of her dark complexion. A thin gold chain with a small daisy rests above her jutting collarbone, glinting in the gentle light. Suddenly she shivers a bit, and I watch her reach in behind the chair and pull out a thick knit sweater, put it on, then settle back into her book. I glance at the microwave clock across the room. 6:02am. Goddamn, how does she do this every day?\r\n\r\nWhen I first moved in, I thought her early rising would be an occasional thing. I guess not. The coffee maker beeps and Maeve slowly folds over the corner of her page, stands, and walks over to the kitchen island, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her. Her bare feet pad past my chair on the cold tile and I see that she\u2019s painted her nails a new colour. Dark blue, almost black, and I wonder if she knows how nicely it compliments her skin. She probably does. She\u2019s clever like that.\r\n\r\nI hear a soft clink behind me as she places two mugs on the counter and begins pouring cream and sugar into mine. She drinks hers black, claiming it makes her feel awake faster. I don\u2019t know if that\u2019s true, but regardless, it\u2019s too bitter for me. She walks back and sets my mug on the small wooden table beside me, affectionately smoothing back the hair that\u2019s fallen in my face and lightly placing a kiss on my forehead. Just as Maeve is about to return to her novel, the phone rings. She answers, and the atmosphere dampens as she takes the phone into our small bedroom and closes the door.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\r\n\u201cMum, why are you calling so early?\u201d\r\n\r\nI glance at the small clock on my bedside table. 6:13am. Why does she always do this? I thought the whole point of moving four provinces away was to escape this and be able to find my own rhythm and have my own life. My mother had different plans.\r\n\r\n\u201cI missed you last night, so I thought I\u2019d call again this morning before you left for work. Don\u2019t sound so disappointed to hear from the person who gave you life.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s Sunday. I\u2019m not working today. And you just called last Wednesday. You don\u2019t have to keep checking in.\u201d\r\n\r\nI don\u2019t know what she expects to happen in the span of four days, but I humour her and answer the rapid-fire questions she throws at me. All the same answers as last time. I\u2019m twenty-five, and how I spend my Saturday night is between me and the girl currently sitting on my couch.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry Mum, but I should go. I have some company over right now, so I\u2019ll talk to you tonight, okay?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThat company had better be female, Maeve. I don\u2019t need you making those kinds of mistakes.\u201d\r\n\r\nIt\u2019s too early for this.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m gonna go, Mum. And yes, she\u2019s female. And no, I will not embark on motherhood without your blessing, don\u2019t worry. Bye, Mum.\u201d\r\n\r\nI end the call and sit on my bed for a second. She has no clue. And I don\u2019t really want to have to explain it all. I look at the clock again. 6:27am. My coffee is going to be cold.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\nI watch the bedroom door open again and Maeve walks out a little less stormy than she was when she went in. But still not right.\r\n\r\n\u201cEverything okay, M?\u201d\r\n\r\nShe gives me a soft smile, walks over to where she left her coffee and takes a sip. It has to be cold by now. Her scrunched face tells me I\u2019m right and I laugh to myself as she walks back to the island in defeat, pours out her abandoned coffee, and makes a fresh cup. When she returns to the living room, she sets her mug back on the table and sits herself in my lap, legs extended beside me, her ear against my shoulder. She looks down, then back up at me, her eyes dark.\r\n\r\n\u201cI think I\u2019m gonna wait a little longer. I\u2019m sorry. If I told her, she just wouldn\u2019t get it.\u201d\r\n\r\nShe looks so small, so worried she\u2019s letting me down. As if that were possible.\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s okay, M. I understand. Whenever you\u2019re ready to tell her, I\u2019ll be here.\u201d\r\n\r\nI reach over beside the couch for Maeve\u2019s novel and begin reading it to her as she turns her head towards the window, watching the last of the sunrise.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\r\nI stare at the small display screen on the handheld phone. 14 minutes and 47 seconds. I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve had a phone call with her last longer than fifteen minutes since she moved out. My baby girl.\r\n\r\nI put the phone down and close my eyes. After a moment, I open them again and stare out the window at the golden leaves dangling off tree branches, gleaming under the early morning sunrays. I turn to the lamp beside me and flick it off, then stand, careful not to look at the empty plaid armchair across the room.\r\n\r\nI take my time as I sleepily pad back to the bedroom. With the curtains drawn, it\u2019s so dark that I can pretend George is still here lying peacefully on the right side of our bed, wrapped in the green quilt I\u2019d made years ago.\r\n\r\nAsleep. Alive.\r\n\r\nOr my little girl, her face completely serene and lost in a dream, sleeping on his chest. I let the darkness drown out the heaviness as I pull the quilt more tightly around my shoulders and close my eyes.\r\n\r\nNo. I jerk awake and sit up in the darkness. Something\u2019s wrong. The small alarm clock beside me reads 9:36am. I can\u2019t shake the feeling. Something is wrong.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\r\n\u201cMaeve? Maeve. It\u2019s me. Wake up. You\u2019re okay, you\u2019re okay, look at me. Does anything hurt? Is your head okay? Sweetie, it\u2019s okay. Just breathe. Breathe.\u201d\r\n\r\nI take a shaky breath. I\u2019m on the floor. My mug is in several pieces beside me, the handle still gripped in my fingers. The floor is cold. My face is cold. I taste pennies in my mouth. Wait\u2026 I think that\u2019s blood. I must have bit my tongue.\r\n\r\n\u201cM, what happened? Is your head okay? Should I call 911?\u201d\r\n\r\nI try to shake my head, but the room is sprinting laps around me. I place a hand beneath me and attempt to push my heavy body up off the floor. Suddenly, everything feels lighter. Then little black dots appear, pixelating the world until I feel nothing.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\n\u201cOh my god! Maeve. Shit! Maeve! Stay awake. Maeve, wake up.\u201d\r\n\r\nI place my hand on her cheek. It\u2019s so cold. Her body is rigid on the floor, her elbows and knees occasionally jerking and knocking against the hard tile. Her skin looks grey, even under the sun rays still falling through the window. I reach up, grab my phone from the granite counter, and dial the worst number in the world, silently willing her eyes to open again as the call goes through.\r\n\r\n\u201c911, what\u2019s your emergency?\u201d\r\n\r\n \r\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\r\nWhy is everything so loud? I brace against the harsh wail of sirens as something is placed over my mouth.\r\n\r\n\u201cDeep breaths, look at me, Maeve. We\u2019re taking you to the hospital.\u201d\r\n\r\nI don\u2019t know what\u2019s going on. I want Amelie. Where\u2019s Amelie? I need her. I can\u2019t breathe. Everything is so bright. Something is beeping beside me. It\u2019s so loud. I just want quiet. The beeps start to get slower and slower. That\u2019s better.\r\n\r\n\u201cWe\u2019re losing her. Come on Maeve, we\u2019re almost there. You can do it. Keep breathing.\u201d\r\n\r\nMy body feels so heavy again. I just want to go to sleep. I close my eyes, and let the nothingness wash over me again.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\nWhite walls with little leaf accents in the most sickly sweet mint-green that they could find. White linoleum floors. No windows. The worn, cushioned waiting chair is uncomfortable, scratching against the underside of my thighs. My light blue sleeping shorts look grey under the blinding fluorescent lighting, and my normally tanned skin looks pale. Expressionless people sit on either side of me, sifting through the faded fashion magazines that have probably been in this room since the 90s.\r\n\r\nI just want her to be okay. I want to be beside her right now and holding her instead of sitting in this depressing fucking room, surrounded by strangers who don\u2019t care that Maeve is suffering. Oh god. She can\u2019t die.\r\n\r\n\u201cAmelie Thorne? Come with me please.\u201d\r\n\r\n \r\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\r\nI can barely open my eyes. I hear voices, but they sound kind of far away. Amelie? Footsteps get closer to me and something warm and soft envelops my hand, and then grazes the side of my face. The scent of her washes over me and I fight the sleep that\u2019s trying to overtake me again. My eyelids are so heavy I can\u2019t even open them. But I need to see her.\r\n\r\n\u201cM?\u201d\r\n\r\nAmelie. I love you. I love you so much. But I still can\u2019t open my eyes and when I try to speak, only a small hum comes out. I hear her take in a quick breath and the nurse I didn\u2019t realize was here begins talking.\r\n\r\n\u201cShe\u2019s been asleep for a while. Seizures tend to be fairly exhausting, especially the major ones Maeve appears to be having. The doctors have given her some medication to help relieve the stress put on her brain.\u201d\r\n\r\nMedication? Maybe that\u2019s why I can\u2019t talk or open my eyes.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh. Okay,\u201d I hear Amelie murmur.\r\n\r\n\u201cOnce she\u2019s more responsive, we\u2019ll take her for an MRI scan. You can come back in and see her after that when she\u2019s a little more alert.\u201d\r\n\r\nI\u2019m scared. I hear Amelie walk out and many other pairs of feet walk in. Some rattling happens beside me and I feel the foggy sensation in my brain begin to fade.\r\n\r\n\u201cOkay Maeve,\u201d a soothing voice says, \u201cIt\u2019s time to wake up. We have to go do a brain scan, honey. I\u2019ve disconnected the medication so you should start feeling a little less fuzzy soon.\u201d\r\n\r\nOnce my eyes finally open, I\u2019m able to focus on the fluorescent lights overhead. They begin to wheel me down the hallway into Radiology.\r\n\r\nI\u2019m scared.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\r\n\u201cName of patient, please?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cMaeve Levy.\u201d\r\n\r\nI look down at my watch. 7:04pm. So that means the accident was around 9-ish hours ago. My baby must be sleeping by now but that doesn\u2019t matter. I just want to see her.\r\n\r\n\u201cRelation?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m her mother.\u201d\r\n\r\nHospitals are always so depressing. White and sterilized and falsely optimistic. At least it\u2019s quiet.\r\n\r\n\u201cMaeve Levy appears to be having some tests done, but they should be finished within a half-hour. Try back around 7:30pm and I\u2019ll get you signed in to go see her.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, okay. I\u2019ll come back then. Thank you.\u201d\r\n\r\nI guess I have 20 minutes to kill. I look around the hospital lobby and spot a small gift shop on the opposite wall. I wonder if they have daisies. When she was little she would always stop and pick them from the side of the road on her walk home from school, then present them to me with a proud smile on her face. Look at them, mama, look how pretty they are. Like little baby sunshines and their clouds<\/em>. Never any other flowers, not even sunflowers. Only daisies. She always loved daisies.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\nI look up from the tattered magazine that I succumbed to reading out of pure boredom, an effort to distract myself from the current circumstances, to see Maeve being wheeled back into her room. Thank God. I put the magazine back on the rack and walk over.\r\n\r\nThe nurse is helping adjust her pillows. The top of her right hand is covered with an array of colours and tubes, binding her to the pole behind her head. My poor Maeve. Why her? I walk into the room as two nurses leave, the original one staying behind. She smiles at me softly as I go to the side of the bed and stand beside Maeve. I kiss her on the forehead as she looks up into my eyes. I bring her hand to my cheek and hold it there for a second, fighting back tears. I turn to the nurse, who is busy reviewing Maeve\u2019s chart, reading glasses perched on her small nose.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d\r\n\r\nThe nurse slowly puts down her folder and looks up, a warm, comforting look in her eyes that she probably gives everyone. A look that says \u201cWhat I\u2019m about to say is bad but I want you to know that I wish I could do something about it.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThe diagnosis is a bit complicated, and the doctor will be here shortly to explain everything, but here are the basics. Maeve seems to have developed adult-onset epilepsy. She\u2019s suffered a string of minor seizures that followed the major one, which is called a tonic-clonic seizure. Often, patients who develop epilepsy later in life don\u2019t have such severe episodes, but Maeve appears to be different. The doctor and radiologist are discussing her scan to see if she may have any other brain trauma from previous incidents, or anything that might have caused seizures in rapid succession. She is going to have to stay here for a few days so that we can monitor in case she has any more serious episodes like the one you witnessed.\u201d\r\n\r\nI can\u2019t breathe. I can\u2019t\u2014no. This can\u2019t be real. Everything was so peaceful, so perfect, just this morning. What happened? I look down at Maeve and see her eyes are still looking up into mine, deep in terror.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\r\nThey didn\u2019t have daisies. I hope she\u2019s okay with chrysanthemums. God knows the flowers don\u2019t even matter that much. My heels click loudly against the tiled floor, even amongst the bustle of patients and nurses around me. I pace down the hallway until I get to her room. The mint green door is ajar and I can just see the end of a small hospital bed with two pairs of legs positioned on it. Confused, I open the door further and take a sharp breath. Why is there another girl beside my daughter on the bed? Her arm is situated behind Maeve\u2019s shoulders, her fingers gently stroking the side of her face. She\u2019s turned away from me, so I can\u2019t see her, but I can see that they\u2019re speaking softly to each other.\r\n\r\nMaybe that girl is just Maeve\u2019s roommate. Maybe I\u2019m in the wrong room. Or maybe this is some other patient who looks like my daughter.\r\n\r\n\u201cMum?\u201d\r\n\r\nI snap back to see my daughter looking up at me, a look of guilt crossing her face before she gives me a small smile. The other girl turns and the look on her face breaks my heart. It\u2019s the look George gave me every night. I can\u2019t take this.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\r\n\u201cMum? Mum! Where is she going? Fuck!\u201d\r\n\r\nWhy now? Why did she have to show up now? I sit up too fast and get so dizzy that Amelie catches my head before it crashes onto the backboard of my hospital bed. She gingerly lays it back down on the flaccid white pillow and smooths her hand over my forehead.\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s okay, M. I\u2019ll go talk to her.\u201d\r\n\r\nI nod my head. I can\u2019t go to her myself. I can\u2019t go back in time and tell her properly. I can\u2019t fix the huge sinkhole that\u2019s forming in my mother\u2019s frail body. Why did she have to find out this way? I can\u2019t do anything.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\n\u201cMrs. Levy! Mrs. Levy. Please, she needs to see you. She needs to tell you herself.\u201d\r\n\r\nShe turns and looks at me blankly, but I can tell she\u2019s holding a flood of emotions behind her dark eyes. Maeve\u2019s mum is a lot shorter than I expected her to be. I guess M got her height from her father. She never talked much about her parents. Her mum has the same box-braided hair, only it hangs loosely down her back rather than piled on top of her head. She looks tired, exhausted really, but I probably don\u2019t look that much better.\r\n\r\n\u201cPlease Mrs. Levy. You have to at least go and see her. She\u2019s terrified. The doctors just told us that she\u2014\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou can tell Maeve that if she doesn\u2019t feel the need to share her life with me, that I might as well stay out of it altogether.\u201d\r\n\r\nI\u2019m speechless. Maeve almost died this morning and she won\u2019t even go and make sure her daughter is okay?\r\n\r\n\u201cPlease just come and see her. She needs her mum.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cGive her these,\u201d she hands me the small bouquet of white chrysanthemums that she had been hugging to her chest and gives me a sad smile. \u201cShe obviously needs you more than she needs me. Go back to her.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe heavy ICU door slowly shuts behind her. I look down at the flowers. They\u2019re wrapped with yellow tissue paper and tied with a small yellow and white ribbon. I look closer and see it\u2019s covered with little daisies, Maeve\u2019s favourite.\r\n\r\n \r\n

November<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\n\u201cHey M, we should probably leave soon if we want to make it for the sunset. Maeve?\u201d\r\n\r\nThe door to our room is opened a bit and I push it open a little more. She\u2019s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the painting on the wall. It\u2019s of a little robin sitting on the branch of a cherry blossom tree. The colour palette of it never matched our bedroom, but she insisted that it stay anyway. I think her dad painted it a long time ago.\r\n\r\n\u201cIs everything okay?\u201d\r\n\r\nMaeve turns around to face me, then gives me a weak smile. Her face has a greyish tinge to it, her presumably colourless lips masked by the dark red stain she\u2019s put on.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m fine. Just felt a little dizzy again.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDo you still want to go out to see the sunset? It might be better if we stayed here. We can watch it from the window instead.\u201d\r\n\r\nShe looks down at her lap and shakes her head. Oh, Maeve. I know how much this is breaking her spirit. We can\u2019t even walk down to the lake anymore, like we used to, without being terrified of the inevitable. I hate this. I miss my girl being happy.\r\n\r\n\u201cNo. I still want to go.\u201d\r\n\r\nI place my hand on the side of her face and she leans in, presses her forehead against mine. I gaze into her dark eyes and smile.\r\n\r\n\u201cOkay. Whenever you\u2019re ready, we can go.\u201d\r\n\r\nI pull back and softly kiss where my forehead had been touching hers, then stand and walk out of the bedroom. Just as I\u2019m pulling on my jacket I hear a loud thud and a sickening crack.\r\n\r\nNo. Please no.\r\n\r\nI see her arm laying on the floor through the doorway, her small fist just visible in the hall.\r\n\r\nIt\u2019s not moving.\r\n\r\nI run down the hall, screams echoing off the dim walls, and sink to my knees at the sight of her.\r\n\r\nShe\u2019s gone.\r\n\r\n \r\n

December<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\r\nI\u2019m surprised she lived in such a nice area, but she never really invited me to visit. I look up at the clear blue sky, ferocious sadness keeping my feet firmly planted on the cracked blacktop. Maeve must have loved this. She always said how she wanted to live in a big city in a big building and have a big life, bigger than she could\u2019ve ever had with me around.\r\n\r\nI gaze at the massive glass building in front of me, seemingly made of nothing but windows and survey the tenant list. Maeve Levy\u201468B. I press the button and am greeted with a loud buzz as the front door unlocks. As I pull it open, a blast of warm air sends shivers over my body. I guess it\u2019s time to see where my baby girl escaped to.\r\n\r\n \r\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\r\nI really wish people would call before just dropping by. It\u2019s not like I\u2019m a mess already, of course I\u2019m just dying to play hostess. That was always Maeve\u2019s job. Guess that falls to me now.\r\n\r\nI throw on a black sweatshirt over my loose camisole, trying to be somewhat presentable and quickly tidy what I can in the living room. Everything is a mess. I can\u2019t sleep properly, can\u2019t think properly, can\u2019t do anything. It\u2019s like my existence in time has stopped while the world around me continues at high speed, leaving me behind in my own wretched darkness. I miss her so fucking much. My beautiful Maeve.\r\n\r\nI can\u2019t stop hearing that sound.\r\n\r\nI jump when I hear a series of small knocks on the front door. As I creep over, I open the drapes to let some light into the dim room. I haven\u2019t been able to keep them open, it reminds me too much of her. How much she loved the sky, the sun. How we would wake up early every morning to enjoy the sunrise together.\r\n\r\nI unlock the front door and open it, only to be startled again. An older, shorter looking Maeve is standing in the hallway, tears in her eyes, looking just as broken as I feel.\r\n\r\n\u201cMrs. Levy?\u201d\r\n\r\n \r\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\r\nI didn\u2019t realize it would be this hard. This girl standing in front of me looks like she\u2019s gone through hell. She looks exactly how I feel right now. Like my heart has been ripped out and buried in the ground alongside my daughter.\r\n\r\n\u201cHello Amelie. May I come in?\u201d\r\n\r\nAmelie steps to the side as I walk into the apartment. It\u2019s quite beautiful, with massive windows covering a wall and many pieces of simplistic, yet comfortable-looking furniture placed on the dove-gray tiled floor. It\u2019s so Maeve.\r\n\r\n\u201cCan I get you something to drink, Mrs. Levy?\u201d\r\n\r\nI turn back to Amelie and the tears in my eyes start to trail down my cheeks. I can\u2019t talk. I shake my head and reach into my coat pocket, pulling out the piece of paper that I haven\u2019t left the house without since she died. The last piece of my daughter I will ever have. I carefully unfold it and hand it to Amelie. I\u2019ll never be able to fix what happened with my Maeve, but I can do this. Cautiously, Amelie takes the letter and then walks over to the blue couch sitting in front of the windows. I follow and sit beside her, watching her face as she begins to read.\r\n\r\n\u201cDear Mama,<\/em>\r\n\r\nI don\u2019t know what to say. I know what I want to say, but I don\u2019t know if you\u2019ll want to hear it. I\u2019m sorry. I am so so sorry for what happened and how I handled it and how I hurt you. But there is one thing I am not sorry for and never will be, and that is Amelie. She is so incredible, Mama. I can\u2019t even describe how amazing she is. I have never loved someone as much as I love her. And as much as I wanted to, I never felt as though I could tell you that without you getting angry. That was wrong. I was going to tell you before Daddy died, but I was so scared. And then it stayed a secret. I just didn\u2019t want to hurt<\/em> you. I didn\u2019t realize that in doing that, I was hurting you anyway, during a time when you needed me most. That we needed each other. And now I need you, but I don\u2019t know how to ask.<\/em>\r\n\r\nI\u2019m so scared, Mama. You always said that I was your strong little girl, that I could do anything and make it out on the other side with a smile. I don\u2019t think that\u2019s true anymore. I think I\u2019m going to die. And the only thing that scares me more than leaving Amelie behind is leaving you behind without telling you everything. That I love you. That I will always be your baby. And that I will always love Amelie. Please help her. When the inevitable happens, go to her. I think you two will get along and will need each other more than anyone else.<\/em>\r\n\r\nI love you, Mama,<\/em>\r\n\r\nMaeve\"<\/em>\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nAmelie slowly folds the paper, gently places it in her lap, and then looks into my eyes.\r\n\r\nI know that look.\r\n\r\nIt was the one Maeve would give me after scraping her knee when she was a little girl. She needed to be cared for, loved, kept safe. Protected from the world for a little while. I softly place my hand over hers, letting her know I\u2019m here for her. For Maeve. I gaze through the windows. The sun is beginning to set. Amelie gently rests her head on my shoulder and we watch the sky streaked with colour, the clouds turning rich purples, pinks, and oranges in the wake of the sun laying to rest.","rendered":"

October<\/span><\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

Maeve\u2019s looking down, concentrating on the battered paperback in her lap. It\u2019s early, too early for me, but somehow she always seems content waking up with the sun. It begins to rise, peeking through the window beside her and bouncing off of her dark complexion. A thin gold chain with a small daisy rests above her jutting collarbone, glinting in the gentle light. Suddenly she shivers a bit, and I watch her reach in behind the chair and pull out a thick knit sweater, put it on, then settle back into her book. I glance at the microwave clock across the room. 6:02am. Goddamn, how does she do this every day?<\/p>\n

When I first moved in, I thought her early rising would be an occasional thing. I guess not. The coffee maker beeps and Maeve slowly folds over the corner of her page, stands, and walks over to the kitchen island, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her. Her bare feet pad past my chair on the cold tile and I see that she\u2019s painted her nails a new colour. Dark blue, almost black, and I wonder if she knows how nicely it compliments her skin. She probably does. She\u2019s clever like that.<\/p>\n

I hear a soft clink behind me as she places two mugs on the counter and begins pouring cream and sugar into mine. She drinks hers black, claiming it makes her feel awake faster. I don\u2019t know if that\u2019s true, but regardless, it\u2019s too bitter for me. She walks back and sets my mug on the small wooden table beside me, affectionately smoothing back the hair that\u2019s fallen in my face and lightly placing a kiss on my forehead. Just as Maeve is about to return to her novel, the phone rings. She answers, and the atmosphere dampens as she takes the phone into our small bedroom and closes the door.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cMum, why are you calling so early?\u201d<\/p>\n

I glance at the small clock on my bedside table. 6:13am. Why does she always do this? I thought the whole point of moving four provinces away was to escape this and be able to find my own rhythm and have my own life. My mother had different plans.<\/p>\n

\u201cI missed you last night, so I thought I\u2019d call again this morning before you left for work. Don\u2019t sound so disappointed to hear from the person who gave you life.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Sunday. I\u2019m not working today. And you just called last Wednesday. You don\u2019t have to keep checking in.\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know what she expects to happen in the span of four days, but I humour her and answer the rapid-fire questions she throws at me. All the same answers as last time. I\u2019m twenty-five, and how I spend my Saturday night is between me and the girl currently sitting on my couch.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry Mum, but I should go. I have some company over right now, so I\u2019ll talk to you tonight, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat company had better be female, Maeve. I don\u2019t need you making those kinds of mistakes.\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s too early for this.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m gonna go, Mum. And yes, she\u2019s female. And no, I will not embark on motherhood without your blessing, don\u2019t worry. Bye, Mum.\u201d<\/p>\n

I end the call and sit on my bed for a second. She has no clue. And I don\u2019t really want to have to explain it all. I look at the clock again. 6:27am. My coffee is going to be cold.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

I watch the bedroom door open again and Maeve walks out a little less stormy than she was when she went in. But still not right.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything okay, M?\u201d<\/p>\n

She gives me a soft smile, walks over to where she left her coffee and takes a sip. It has to be cold by now. Her scrunched face tells me I\u2019m right and I laugh to myself as she walks back to the island in defeat, pours out her abandoned coffee, and makes a fresh cup. When she returns to the living room, she sets her mug back on the table and sits herself in my lap, legs extended beside me, her ear against my shoulder. She looks down, then back up at me, her eyes dark.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I\u2019m gonna wait a little longer. I\u2019m sorry. If I told her, she just wouldn\u2019t get it.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looks so small, so worried she\u2019s letting me down. As if that were possible.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, M. I understand. Whenever you\u2019re ready to tell her, I\u2019ll be here.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reach over beside the couch for Maeve\u2019s novel and begin reading it to her as she turns her head towards the window, watching the last of the sunrise.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\n

I stare at the small display screen on the handheld phone. 14 minutes and 47 seconds. I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve had a phone call with her last longer than fifteen minutes since she moved out. My baby girl.<\/p>\n

I put the phone down and close my eyes. After a moment, I open them again and stare out the window at the golden leaves dangling off tree branches, gleaming under the early morning sunrays. I turn to the lamp beside me and flick it off, then stand, careful not to look at the empty plaid armchair across the room.<\/p>\n

I take my time as I sleepily pad back to the bedroom. With the curtains drawn, it\u2019s so dark that I can pretend George is still here lying peacefully on the right side of our bed, wrapped in the green quilt I\u2019d made years ago.<\/p>\n

Asleep. Alive.<\/p>\n

Or my little girl, her face completely serene and lost in a dream, sleeping on his chest. I let the darkness drown out the heaviness as I pull the quilt more tightly around my shoulders and close my eyes.<\/p>\n

No. I jerk awake and sit up in the darkness. Something\u2019s wrong. The small alarm clock beside me reads 9:36am. I can\u2019t shake the feeling. Something is wrong.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cMaeve? Maeve. It\u2019s me. Wake up. You\u2019re okay, you\u2019re okay, look at me. Does anything hurt? Is your head okay? Sweetie, it\u2019s okay. Just breathe. Breathe.\u201d<\/p>\n

I take a shaky breath. I\u2019m on the floor. My mug is in several pieces beside me, the handle still gripped in my fingers. The floor is cold. My face is cold. I taste pennies in my mouth. Wait\u2026 I think that\u2019s blood. I must have bit my tongue.<\/p>\n

\u201cM, what happened? Is your head okay? Should I call 911?\u201d<\/p>\n

I try to shake my head, but the room is sprinting laps around me. I place a hand beneath me and attempt to push my heavy body up off the floor. Suddenly, everything feels lighter. Then little black dots appear, pixelating the world until I feel nothing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cOh my god! Maeve. Shit! Maeve! Stay awake. Maeve, wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n

I place my hand on her cheek. It\u2019s so cold. Her body is rigid on the floor, her elbows and knees occasionally jerking and knocking against the hard tile. Her skin looks grey, even under the sun rays still falling through the window. I reach up, grab my phone from the granite counter, and dial the worst number in the world, silently willing her eyes to open again as the call goes through.<\/p>\n

\u201c911, what\u2019s your emergency?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\n

Why is everything so loud? I brace against the harsh wail of sirens as something is placed over my mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cDeep breaths, look at me, Maeve. We\u2019re taking you to the hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know what\u2019s going on. I want Amelie. Where\u2019s Amelie? I need her. I can\u2019t breathe. Everything is so bright. Something is beeping beside me. It\u2019s so loud. I just want quiet. The beeps start to get slower and slower. That\u2019s better.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re losing her. Come on Maeve, we\u2019re almost there. You can do it. Keep breathing.\u201d<\/p>\n

My body feels so heavy again. I just want to go to sleep. I close my eyes, and let the nothingness wash over me again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

White walls with little leaf accents in the most sickly sweet mint-green that they could find. White linoleum floors. No windows. The worn, cushioned waiting chair is uncomfortable, scratching against the underside of my thighs. My light blue sleeping shorts look grey under the blinding fluorescent lighting, and my normally tanned skin looks pale. Expressionless people sit on either side of me, sifting through the faded fashion magazines that have probably been in this room since the 90s.<\/p>\n

I just want her to be okay. I want to be beside her right now and holding her instead of sitting in this depressing fucking room, surrounded by strangers who don\u2019t care that Maeve is suffering. Oh god. She can\u2019t die.<\/p>\n

\u201cAmelie Thorne? Come with me please.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\n

I can barely open my eyes. I hear voices, but they sound kind of far away. Amelie? Footsteps get closer to me and something warm and soft envelops my hand, and then grazes the side of my face. The scent of her washes over me and I fight the sleep that\u2019s trying to overtake me again. My eyelids are so heavy I can\u2019t even open them. But I need to see her.<\/p>\n

\u201cM?\u201d<\/p>\n

Amelie. I love you. I love you so much. But I still can\u2019t open my eyes and when I try to speak, only a small hum comes out. I hear her take in a quick breath and the nurse I didn\u2019t realize was here begins talking.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s been asleep for a while. Seizures tend to be fairly exhausting, especially the major ones Maeve appears to be having. The doctors have given her some medication to help relieve the stress put on her brain.\u201d<\/p>\n

Medication? Maybe that\u2019s why I can\u2019t talk or open my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Okay,\u201d I hear Amelie murmur.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnce she\u2019s more responsive, we\u2019ll take her for an MRI scan. You can come back in and see her after that when she\u2019s a little more alert.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m scared. I hear Amelie walk out and many other pairs of feet walk in. Some rattling happens beside me and I feel the foggy sensation in my brain begin to fade.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay Maeve,\u201d a soothing voice says, \u201cIt\u2019s time to wake up. We have to go do a brain scan, honey. I\u2019ve disconnected the medication so you should start feeling a little less fuzzy soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

Once my eyes finally open, I\u2019m able to focus on the fluorescent lights overhead. They begin to wheel me down the hallway into Radiology.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m scared.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cName of patient, please?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaeve Levy.\u201d<\/p>\n

I look down at my watch. 7:04pm. So that means the accident was around 9-ish hours ago. My baby must be sleeping by now but that doesn\u2019t matter. I just want to see her.<\/p>\n

\u201cRelation?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m her mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hospitals are always so depressing. White and sterilized and falsely optimistic. At least it\u2019s quiet.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaeve Levy appears to be having some tests done, but they should be finished within a half-hour. Try back around 7:30pm and I\u2019ll get you signed in to go see her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, okay. I\u2019ll come back then. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I guess I have 20 minutes to kill. I look around the hospital lobby and spot a small gift shop on the opposite wall. I wonder if they have daisies. When she was little she would always stop and pick them from the side of the road on her walk home from school, then present them to me with a proud smile on her face. Look at them, mama, look how pretty they are. Like little baby sunshines and their clouds<\/em>. Never any other flowers, not even sunflowers. Only daisies. She always loved daisies.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

I look up from the tattered magazine that I succumbed to reading out of pure boredom, an effort to distract myself from the current circumstances, to see Maeve being wheeled back into her room. Thank God. I put the magazine back on the rack and walk over.<\/p>\n

The nurse is helping adjust her pillows. The top of her right hand is covered with an array of colours and tubes, binding her to the pole behind her head. My poor Maeve. Why her? I walk into the room as two nurses leave, the original one staying behind. She smiles at me softly as I go to the side of the bed and stand beside Maeve. I kiss her on the forehead as she looks up into my eyes. I bring her hand to my cheek and hold it there for a second, fighting back tears. I turn to the nurse, who is busy reviewing Maeve\u2019s chart, reading glasses perched on her small nose.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

The nurse slowly puts down her folder and looks up, a warm, comforting look in her eyes that she probably gives everyone. A look that says \u201cWhat I\u2019m about to say is bad but I want you to know that I wish I could do something about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe diagnosis is a bit complicated, and the doctor will be here shortly to explain everything, but here are the basics. Maeve seems to have developed adult-onset epilepsy. She\u2019s suffered a string of minor seizures that followed the major one, which is called a tonic-clonic seizure. Often, patients who develop epilepsy later in life don\u2019t have such severe episodes, but Maeve appears to be different. The doctor and radiologist are discussing her scan to see if she may have any other brain trauma from previous incidents, or anything that might have caused seizures in rapid succession. She is going to have to stay here for a few days so that we can monitor in case she has any more serious episodes like the one you witnessed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t breathe. I can\u2019t\u2014no. This can\u2019t be real. Everything was so peaceful, so perfect, just this morning. What happened? I look down at Maeve and see her eyes are still looking up into mine, deep in terror.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t have daisies. I hope she\u2019s okay with chrysanthemums. God knows the flowers don\u2019t even matter that much. My heels click loudly against the tiled floor, even amongst the bustle of patients and nurses around me. I pace down the hallway until I get to her room. The mint green door is ajar and I can just see the end of a small hospital bed with two pairs of legs positioned on it. Confused, I open the door further and take a sharp breath. Why is there another girl beside my daughter on the bed? Her arm is situated behind Maeve\u2019s shoulders, her fingers gently stroking the side of her face. She\u2019s turned away from me, so I can\u2019t see her, but I can see that they\u2019re speaking softly to each other.<\/p>\n

Maybe that girl is just Maeve\u2019s roommate. Maybe I\u2019m in the wrong room. Or maybe this is some other patient who looks like my daughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cMum?\u201d<\/p>\n

I snap back to see my daughter looking up at me, a look of guilt crossing her face before she gives me a small smile. The other girl turns and the look on her face breaks my heart. It\u2019s the look George gave me every night. I can\u2019t take this.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maeve<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cMum? Mum! Where is she going? Fuck!\u201d<\/p>\n

Why now? Why did she have to show up now? I sit up too fast and get so dizzy that Amelie catches my head before it crashes onto the backboard of my hospital bed. She gingerly lays it back down on the flaccid white pillow and smooths her hand over my forehead.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, M. I\u2019ll go talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod my head. I can\u2019t go to her myself. I can\u2019t go back in time and tell her properly. I can\u2019t fix the huge sinkhole that\u2019s forming in my mother\u2019s frail body. Why did she have to find out this way? I can\u2019t do anything.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Levy! Mrs. Levy. Please, she needs to see you. She needs to tell you herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turns and looks at me blankly, but I can tell she\u2019s holding a flood of emotions behind her dark eyes. Maeve\u2019s mum is a lot shorter than I expected her to be. I guess M got her height from her father. She never talked much about her parents. Her mum has the same box-braided hair, only it hangs loosely down her back rather than piled on top of her head. She looks tired, exhausted really, but I probably don\u2019t look that much better.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease Mrs. Levy. You have to at least go and see her. She\u2019s terrified. The doctors just told us that she\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can tell Maeve that if she doesn\u2019t feel the need to share her life with me, that I might as well stay out of it altogether.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m speechless. Maeve almost died this morning and she won\u2019t even go and make sure her daughter is okay?<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease just come and see her. She needs her mum.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGive her these,\u201d she hands me the small bouquet of white chrysanthemums that she had been hugging to her chest and gives me a sad smile. \u201cShe obviously needs you more than she needs me. Go back to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

The heavy ICU door slowly shuts behind her. I look down at the flowers. They\u2019re wrapped with yellow tissue paper and tied with a small yellow and white ribbon. I look closer and see it\u2019s covered with little daisies, Maeve\u2019s favourite.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

November<\/span><\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cHey M, we should probably leave soon if we want to make it for the sunset. Maeve?\u201d<\/p>\n

The door to our room is opened a bit and I push it open a little more. She\u2019s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the painting on the wall. It\u2019s of a little robin sitting on the branch of a cherry blossom tree. The colour palette of it never matched our bedroom, but she insisted that it stay anyway. I think her dad painted it a long time ago.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs everything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Maeve turns around to face me, then gives me a weak smile. Her face has a greyish tinge to it, her presumably colourless lips masked by the dark red stain she\u2019s put on.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m fine. Just felt a little dizzy again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you still want to go out to see the sunset? It might be better if we stayed here. We can watch it from the window instead.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looks down at her lap and shakes her head. Oh, Maeve. I know how much this is breaking her spirit. We can\u2019t even walk down to the lake anymore, like we used to, without being terrified of the inevitable. I hate this. I miss my girl being happy.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I still want to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

I place my hand on the side of her face and she leans in, presses her forehead against mine. I gaze into her dark eyes and smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. Whenever you\u2019re ready, we can go.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pull back and softly kiss where my forehead had been touching hers, then stand and walk out of the bedroom. Just as I\u2019m pulling on my jacket I hear a loud thud and a sickening crack.<\/p>\n

No. Please no.<\/p>\n

I see her arm laying on the floor through the doorway, her small fist just visible in the hall.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not moving.<\/p>\n

I run down the hall, screams echoing off the dim walls, and sink to my knees at the sight of her.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s gone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

December<\/span><\/p>\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019m surprised she lived in such a nice area, but she never really invited me to visit. I look up at the clear blue sky, ferocious sadness keeping my feet firmly planted on the cracked blacktop. Maeve must have loved this. She always said how she wanted to live in a big city in a big building and have a big life, bigger than she could\u2019ve ever had with me around.<\/p>\n

I gaze at the massive glass building in front of me, seemingly made of nothing but windows and survey the tenant list. Maeve Levy\u201468B. I press the button and am greeted with a loud buzz as the front door unlocks. As I pull it open, a blast of warm air sends shivers over my body. I guess it\u2019s time to see where my baby girl escaped to.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amelie<\/em><\/p>\n

I really wish people would call before just dropping by. It\u2019s not like I\u2019m a mess already, of course I\u2019m just dying to play hostess. That was always Maeve\u2019s job. Guess that falls to me now.<\/p>\n

I throw on a black sweatshirt over my loose camisole, trying to be somewhat presentable and quickly tidy what I can in the living room. Everything is a mess. I can\u2019t sleep properly, can\u2019t think properly, can\u2019t do anything. It\u2019s like my existence in time has stopped while the world around me continues at high speed, leaving me behind in my own wretched darkness. I miss her so fucking much. My beautiful Maeve.<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t stop hearing that sound.<\/p>\n

I jump when I hear a series of small knocks on the front door. As I creep over, I open the drapes to let some light into the dim room. I haven\u2019t been able to keep them open, it reminds me too much of her. How much she loved the sky, the sun. How we would wake up early every morning to enjoy the sunrise together.<\/p>\n

I unlock the front door and open it, only to be startled again. An older, shorter looking Maeve is standing in the hallway, tears in her eyes, looking just as broken as I feel.<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Levy?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Camilla<\/em><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t realize it would be this hard. This girl standing in front of me looks like she\u2019s gone through hell. She looks exactly how I feel right now. Like my heart has been ripped out and buried in the ground alongside my daughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello Amelie. May I come in?\u201d<\/p>\n

Amelie steps to the side as I walk into the apartment. It\u2019s quite beautiful, with massive windows covering a wall and many pieces of simplistic, yet comfortable-looking furniture placed on the dove-gray tiled floor. It\u2019s so Maeve.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I get you something to drink, Mrs. Levy?\u201d<\/p>\n

I turn back to Amelie and the tears in my eyes start to trail down my cheeks. I can\u2019t talk. I shake my head and reach into my coat pocket, pulling out the piece of paper that I haven\u2019t left the house without since she died. The last piece of my daughter I will ever have. I carefully unfold it and hand it to Amelie. I\u2019ll never be able to fix what happened with my Maeve, but I can do this. Cautiously, Amelie takes the letter and then walks over to the blue couch sitting in front of the windows. I follow and sit beside her, watching her face as she begins to read.<\/p>\n

\u201cDear Mama,<\/em><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know what to say. I know what I want to say, but I don\u2019t know if you\u2019ll want to hear it. I\u2019m sorry. I am so so sorry for what happened and how I handled it and how I hurt you. But there is one thing I am not sorry for and never will be, and that is Amelie. She is so incredible, Mama. I can\u2019t even describe how amazing she is. I have never loved someone as much as I love her. And as much as I wanted to, I never felt as though I could tell you that without you getting angry. That was wrong. I was going to tell you before Daddy died, but I was so scared. And then it stayed a secret. I just didn\u2019t want to hurt<\/em> you. I didn\u2019t realize that in doing that, I was hurting you anyway, during a time when you needed me most. That we needed each other. And now I need you, but I don\u2019t know how to ask.<\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019m so scared, Mama. You always said that I was your strong little girl, that I could do anything and make it out on the other side with a smile. I don\u2019t think that\u2019s true anymore. I think I\u2019m going to die. And the only thing that scares me more than leaving Amelie behind is leaving you behind without telling you everything. That I love you. That I will always be your baby. And that I will always love Amelie. Please help her. When the inevitable happens, go to her. I think you two will get along and will need each other more than anyone else.<\/em><\/p>\n

I love you, Mama,<\/em><\/p>\n

Maeve”<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Amelie slowly folds the paper, gently places it in her lap, and then looks into my eyes.<\/p>\n

I know that look.<\/p>\n

It was the one Maeve would give me after scraping her knee when she was a little girl. She needed to be cared for, loved, kept safe. Protected from the world for a little while. I softly place my hand over hers, letting her know I\u2019m here for her. For Maeve. I gaze through the windows. The sun is beginning to set. Amelie gently rests her head on my shoulder and we watch the sky streaked with colour, the clouds turning rich purples, pinks, and oranges in the wake of the sun laying to rest.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":78,"menu_order":8,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":["meghan-dewar"],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[74],"license":[],"class_list":["post-151","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","contributor-meghan-dewar"],"part":21,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/151","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/78"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/151\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":220,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/151\/revisions\/220"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/21"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/151\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=151"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=151"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=151"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=151"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}