Mickey had finally been allowed through to see his grandmother after a few minutes of waiting. The nurse guided him all the way through the hospital’s hall before finally ushering him into his grandmother’s room. All the while, Mickey had been distracted by thoughts of the game.

“Oh, Mickey? You look happy. Did something good happen?”

The bright voice pulled Mickey out of his thoughts. Sitting up on her bed was his grandmother, Mirabelle Belcot, looking frail, but exuding energy, with a small book in hand.

“I thought I would be seeing your cousins first today, not you,” Mirabelle said, placing her book down.

“H-Hey, Gran. You look good.”

Mickey took a seat on the stool next to her and examined her. She was paler than usual and looked like she had lost some pounds, with her bones showing well. Her hair, gray, short and curly looked like it had been taken care of—the nurses were treating her well it seemed.

She laughed. “Yes! I keep telling them I’m well. It’s been days since I felt unwell, you know.”

“Do they know what’s wrong with you?”

“No, they have no idea, unfortunately. It’s a mystery.”

“Oh… I hope they figure it out soon.”

“Nevermind that,” Mirabelle said. “Did something good happen? You didn’t look like such a sorry sack when you came in. Is it Michelle? That girl? Did something good happen?”

“Michelle? Oh, no. I talked to her today, but it wasn’t that big a deal.”

“Oh. You saw her at school?”

“Yeah, we had a class together.”

“How is school? Isn’t it still going? What are you doing here?” Her eyes went wide, recalling something Mickey had suggested long ago. “You haven’t dropped courses have you?”

Mickey looked away, focusing on the yellow flowers on the nightstand next to the bed. “No of course not.”

She squinted at him. “Boy, are you lying to me?”

“D-Don’t get worked up! I just dropped a few, I’ve still got two.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked, shaking her head. “Get them back. No grandson of mine is going to slow himself down so much on account of me. You’ve already compromised on the school you attend—I refuse to accept any further compromises.”

“But Gran, what if something happens to you—”

She interrupted with a hearty laugh. “I have no plans of leaving my only grandson without close family. The day I pass will be a day long after I’ve seen my great-grandkids.”

“If that’s the case, I’d rather not have kids.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t be so stupid and don’t make me have to fight so much. I’m tired.”

“Well, don’t say you’re okay dying ever.”

“Mickey… fine…” Mirabelle quickly changed the subject. “It breaks my heart to know how much you’ve sacrificed for me and how much you would sacrifice for me.”

“And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you and I wasn’t around.”

“…We’re at an impasse I see…”

“We are… I love you, Grandma.”

“I do too.”

She grabbed his hand and smiled. Her grip seemed strong—was she really so sick? Mickey couldn’t help but wonder—hope—that maybe every scare before this was all part of some collective hallucination.

“So truly…” she said. “Did nothing good happen today?”

Mickey pondered everything about the game he found. “Hey Gran,” he said. “I think something good might have happened… But how it happened was really out of the blue. And it seems weird… so weird. Like I’m dreaming.”

“Yeah? Can you tell me what it is?”

“…I don’t really know how to describe it, and I really don’t want to get my hopes up. I feel like if I say it out loud, I’ll just realize how stupid it seems…”

“Hmm…” Mirabelle sounded, looking to the ceiling. “Sounds sketchy. Stop that. Don’t do drugs, Mickey. The things they make you see aren’t real.”

Mickey went straight-faced. “I didn’t do drugs.”

“Yes, okay. Sure.” Mirabelle said, chuckling. Her expression softened and she looked to the window across the way from Mickey. “If something strange has landed in your lap… All I can say is use your discernment as well as you can. Sometimes, something can be just that and nothing more. But sometimes, it can be providence lending you a hand…” Mirabelle focused on Mickey again. “Keep your mind open, I suppose. God works in mysterious ways—oops! I’m sorry, I forgot how you feel about that.”

“Gran, if it makes you feel better, you can talk about whatever you want.”

“Oh, sweet child! I’ll need to make you cookies, just the way you like them! Go tell those doctors to discharge me!”

“Gran, I can’t do that,” Mickey said through a laugh.

“Oh, and bring Michelle over. She’ll love them.”

“Okay, you’ve got to give up on Michelle.”

“Never!”

Mickey had spent three hours with his grandmother when two more visitors had arrived.

“Oh, Mickey’s here—”

“Cousin!”

Mickey and his grandmother turned their attention to the two young ladies that came through the door, Mickey greeting them with a nod.

“Hey, Gloria. Rosie. Good to see you.”

Gloria, always haughty, strode in. A young lady Mickey’s age, always made up and with an air of oblivious arrogance, her arrival to any room was always preceded by the scents she wore. Hair dyed blond, with false eye-lashes, fake nails, and an expensive-looking black bag—she was a woman that lived the high-life.

Rosie, her sister, was much more subdued and considerate—a stark contrast to her sister. Short, black hair and of an athletic build, Rosie was a high-schooler with a promising future. She and Mickey got along well—so much so she was disappointed when Mickey didn’t return her “Cousin!” with an equally as energetic greeting.

“Yeah, good to see you too,” Gloria responded, barely giving Mickey a look. “Mickey, could you let me take a seat—my feet are killing me.”

“Sure,” Mickey replied, holding back the urge to roll his eyes.

As Mickey stood next to Rosie, Gloria took her spot on the stool and placed her bag down before greeting her grandmother.

“Mickey,” Rosie whispered. “You don’t have to listen to her.”

“Stop. You know how she gets.”

Rosie sighed and greeted her grandmother right after.

“Mickey,” Mirabelle said, “the girls are here now. You don’t have to worry about me. Go spend time with Michelle.”

“Gran, I already told you—”

“Mickey, trotter off now,” Gloria said with a condescending gesture using her favorite word. “We’ll keep Grandma company. I’m sure you have better things to do, right? You’ve got school or something?”

“No, I’m done with school, Gloria,” Mickey responded, a little more ire in his voice.

“Mickey, it’s alright. You have things to do, don’t you? Maybe you can go see if a good thing’s come to you? I don’t want to keep you,” Mirabelle said, fully aware of how abrasive one of her grandkids could be.

Mickey knew she was being considerate of how much he disliked Gloria, but he couldn’t not correct her. “Gran, you never keep me, I’m happy here.”

Mirabelle replied with a feeble smile and eyes that said “thank you,” but Gloria missed the cues.

“Come on, Mickey, shoo, shoo. You’re depressing Grandma.”

Mickey could only groan. Next to him, Rosie patted his back.

“Hey,” Rosie whispered. “I’ll kick her once in the arse for you later.”

“Thanks,” Mickey whispered back. He raised his voice to speak to his grandmother. “Okay, yeah. I’ll take off now. Call me if you need anything.”

“Of course,” Mirabelle replied.

Mickey had no words for Gloria, but gave Rosie a kind farewell and left the room. He went by the nurse’s station and got the attention of his grandmother’s nurse.

“Hey, do the doctors really not know what’s going on with my grandmother?”

The nurse shook her head and frowned. “No, we’re still observing her. Some days she’s just fine, other days her organs seem like they’re about to fail. We’re running all the tests we can, but nothing yet…”

“So, what are we looking for in terms of knowing when she can come back home?”

“I’m not her doctor, but, she hasn’t gone more than two days without an episode. So maybe when she goes a week without complication we can start becoming hopeful? Maybe? I’m sorry we can’t give you a better answer.”

Mickey shook his head. “It’s fine, I understand, thank you.”

As Mickey left down the hallway, someone called for him. He turned around to see Rosie jogging up to him.

"Hey, Mick! I just wanted to tell you I got to Level 40 in War of Roses! So new content has been unlocked for you to help me with!"

"War of Roses... Oh right, that one. Yeah, sure," Mickey said, with a weak smile. "I'll let you know when I find the time."

Right as Mickey was about to turn, Rosie spoke up again. "I-If you're done with War of Roses, I found this other chill game—it's called Ocean Breeze Valley. It's a co-op simulator. It should be really relaxing—"

"Oh, yeah. It sounds nice. I'll check it out, okay?"

"A-Ahh," Rosie said, taking a step backward. "Right. Let me know what you think then."

"Of course."

With one more feeble smile, Mickey turned around and was on his way. He knew he was a little cold to the cousin he used to play video games with, but right now, he didn't have any more mental resources. His thoughts were consumed by his ailing grandmother, their dwindling funds, and now, the mysterious game that could be providence in disguise.

***

Mickey went back home. It was almost three in the afternoon. The bus ride and the walk back were very quiet for Mickey. He wasn’t thinking of much aside from his grandmother. Worry was wracking his mind. He hadn’t spared HWO much thought either. His chat with his grandmother and her uncertain future deflated him so.

Before he knew it, he was approaching his doorstep. Right when he was a few steps from the door, he stumbled over something.

“Huh?!” he yelped in surprise. Mickey looked to his feet. “What the?”

At his feet was a fair-sized, brown shipping box. He picked it up and inspected it. There was no name, no address—he had no idea what was in this cube-ish box. Curious, he took it inside with him—maybe it was something his grandmother had ordered? Or maybe some strange mail?

In the kitchen, he cut through the box with a knife, hoping the recipient’s and sender's information would be inside. At worst, if the box wasn’t intended for his household, he could replace the box and take it to a post office.

“Holy crap, no way. But I just ordered this hours ago.”

Mickey plunged his hand into the box and from within, pulled out a plastic bag containing a headset and wires. The headset was branded; it said “Tralas.”