The Nanny

Chapter 22

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Yay, new update!

I officially have only 21 school days left of high school. Honestly, that's pretty scary. I'm not sure what to think about that other than I am frightened to go out into the real world.

Also, I turn 18 on the thirteenth of April (two days from now) and that is scary too. Whew, growing up sucks! :/

Anyway, enjoy this chapter! It's a little lengthy but I think y'all can deal. Happy reading! :D

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Chapter 22

There it was—the ugly truth.

I have cancer.

The bitter moments following my mother's confession passed in a number of ways. My first reaction was to deny her words and tell her to stop playing games. Once I came to my senses and realized she wasn't joking. I couldn't speak—all efforts to say "I'm sorry" or "I love you" failed spectacularly. After she noticed my inadvertent silence, she cupped my hands in hers. That one gesture should have given me the strength to say something; the only thing I was capable of now was crying. And that's exactly what I did in the middle of a coffee shop at ten in the morning.

"It's stage two pancreas cancer," she whispered, stroking my hand with her thumb.

I shook my head. "That's why you're here, isn't it? You're telling me goodbye before you're...gone." I avoided her eyes. "When were you planning on telling me this? Were you...going to call me late at night from a hospital when you're on your deathbed?"

"Natalie, calm down," she hummed. "I'm telling you now."

The tears dried in my cheeks and I could see her clearly now. "How long?"

"A couple of months. Five at the most."

Jesus Christ.

"At the most? Mom, this is..." My bottom lip quivered uncontrollably. "We have to leave. I can't stay here. Are you still leaving after today or were you just planning on telling me you have fucking cancer and leave again?"

She stood from the booth and gingerly ushered me out of the bakery. "Are you composed enough to drive or should I?"

I ripped the keys from her hands. We drove home without saying a word, silent tears streaming down my face. She attempted to comfort me by holding my hand, but that only made it worse.

Even back at the apartment I refused to talk to her. I gave her a cup of water, still wanting to be hospitable, but retreated to my bedroom shortly afterwards. I had gotten most of the tears out of my system so I didn't cry very much. I sat there, curled under the sheets, and let my mind carry me away from reality.

In a few short months, possibly even shorter than that, my mother would be gone. Not gone as in she would be traveling and I wouldn't be seeing her much, but gone as in dead. There was a significant difference in being alive and not around than being completely removed from my life. Who was I supposed to call when I needed advice on parenting? Who else was going to listen and calm me down when I was upset from an argument? She may not have shown compassion, but she never failed to give me advice.

Yes, I had Andrew and Angie who could always make me feel loved and hold me when I was scared or upset, but it could never feel the same not coming from the woman who raised me. The woman who taught me everything—how to walk, how to read, how to never let anyone tell me I couldn't do anything.

This, unfortunately, was a brutal sign of growing up. I had a steady job, boyfriend and even a child. Haley may not have been my blood, but I thought of her as my child. I had found these things all on my own, without a mother telling me to accept the job or date my boss. Still, I wasn't ready to lose her entirely. I wanted my children to know her and grow up with a grandparent in their lives.