LightWeight

Step Twenty-Six

TWO WEEKS LATER

I woke up to the birds chirping and the sun trying to blind me through the window. I wiped my eyes, getting the crust from the corners before deciding to just get dressed for the day. So, I walked to the bathroom and did all my hygiene stuff. Noticing the time, I wrapped a robe around my body and went to my Mom's room. She lied in bed, not yet ready to get out of it. Still, I had to wake her up and give her her pills. She did it, not giving me the same problems as when I first came. I sat on the floor by her bed, fighting the tears to not come out my eyes. Two weeks later, and I can't help but cry whenever I see her.

It's been two weeks of nonstop chemotherapy and pills. Doctor visits every other day where I have to sit and hear Doctors telling us they see no improvement. I have to brush her hair and see little pieces coming out. I have to rush to her room when she throws up and see tints of red. Worry about her fading in and out of consciousness because they constantly change her pill dosage and brand. But if I don't do it, who will?

"Happy birthday." I heard her say, voice still having remnants of sleep.

"Thank you." I responded, but what was happy about it? I was finally eighteen, but worrying when would be my Mom's last day.

"What do you want to do today?" She sat up in the bed, swinging her feet off the side. I could tell she felt some strength in her muscles.

"Nothing." I replied, laying my head on her bed. It bent my neck at a weird angle, but for whatever reason it comforted me. I felt her hands combing through my hair.

"Let's at least go to breakfast." Birthdays were never a huge thing in our house, so she wasn't going to make a big deal over me not wanting to do anything.

"Okay. You're getting yourself ready?"

"I do not want you seeing my goods." I laughed at her goofiness, knowing she felt better today than she did yesterday. Yesterday she wouldn't even talk or eat. I had to threaten her by saying I would take her to the Doctor where they would shove a tube down her throat. Still, she took baby bites.

My phone rung an unfamiliar tone and I looked at the Caller ID to see it was Leslie. I pressed ignore without a second guess.

"You know," My Mom was now in her closet, rummaging through piles of clothes. "You can't ignore that boy forever."

Over the last couple weeks, I've managed to slowly tell my Mom everything that's happened over the tour. I rarely kept stuff from my Mom now, so form my first confrontation with Camilla to giving the letter to Calvin-she knew everything. Of course, she gave me an entire lecture, a very tearful one, on letting my past affect my future, but it ended prematurely. Neither of us liked to remember it, so when sobs and boo-hoo's started, the conversation was dropped like an apple with maggots.

"But I can try to." I responded, standing up and walking over to her closet.

She looked at me with a straight face, but even I could see the smile tugging at her lips. "You are my stubborn child."

"I'm your only child!”  I laughed. "Plus, it wasn't even him this time. It was Leslie."

"Her either! God, am I going to have to force you to talk to these people?"

"Technically, I'm eighteen so it wouldn't be force- but a choice. And I'm not ignoring all of them. I just talked to Star last night!"

"You know what I mean."

"Okay...okay, you're right. But how?"

That had been the question left unanswered whenever Calvin called my phone. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to him, but I refused to have the conversation I know we need over the phone. Plus, I'm worried about how he's going to react. Like, will he be mad at me for holding out for so long? Will he be mad at my Mom, like so many people were when they didn't know the full story, for letting it go on for so long? Was I really ready to face him after that? No one else knew about what happened with my Dad outside of family. I mean, we moved to a completely different neighborhood after the fact just to prevent questioning, and I remember my Mom almost going bankrupt to pay off reporters to keep it private since my Dad was a police officer.