“Because you know, I’ve been having some...” She pauses. “Stomach troubles.”
She says this nervously, an uncomfortable little laugh attached that reminds me, in a sudden hot flash, of Mr. Chambers. I shove the vision of his face aside. My mother does not speak about the things that take place in bathrooms.
Setting the phone down on my desk, I poise my fingers above my laptop keyboard, ready to type the diagnosis into Google.
I swallow down the nerves. “So you went to the doctor and...?” My voice sounds as tight as my chest feels.
“It’s cancer.”
She says this so quickly. There’s no preparation. No time to adjust to the idea. It’s justthere. Cancer. No amount of prep or anticipation can prepare me.
Up until this moment, I thought cunt was the worst C-word anyone had ever said to me.
“What kind of cancer?” I am surprised by how level I sound, because I feel like I’ve been knocked over.
Mom says nothing.
“Well, the mass is on her ovary,” Dad explains.
His voice trembles and this pulls tears from my eyes. Big, bold Daddy. Good Midwestern stock. My stalwart, stoic stepfather trying not to cry.
“Dr. Gimble said not to Google anything.”
Mom throws this out there quickly but it’s too late. Early signs, symptoms, detection, treatment, and causes all come up on my screen.
“They still have more tests to run,” she says.
Her voice is quiet but strong. Mom is trying to be brave, for us. I can be brave for her, too. I put the phone on mute and take one large, gasping breath. I fill my lungs with oxygen until they feel like they’re going to burst. I hold it for three, five, ten seconds. Not until I can feel my heartbeat behind my eyes and my lungs are screaming, do I let it all out. I do it once more. Then I unmute.
I feel less like a balloon floating into the atmosphere and more like myself.
“Have you told the boys?” I ask. I am older than my triplet younger brothers, John, James, and Sebastian, by six years. They are all adults with full-time jobs, but they’ll always be “the boys” to me.
“No. Not yet,” Mom says.
I nod even though she can’t see me. My brothers are momma’s boys. She’d be comforting them more than they’d comfort her. I didn’t realize until this moment, though, how much of a momma’s girl I am.
“I can get a flight out on Saturday evening,” I say, scrolling through the flight options.
“No, no. You stay there. I’d rather not turn it into something bigger than it is,” Mom says quietly.
“This is pretty big, Mom,” I say gently. I’m torn between respecting her wishes and just wanting to be with my mom. My brain, heart, and many more of my internal organs already feel like they’re halfway to Minnesota even if the rest of my body is still in this chair.
“I love you, Mommy.”
I haven’t called her Mommy since the boys were born. When I became a big sister I decided that I was too mature to have amommyanymore.
“Oh, Corrine.” Her voice breaks. “I love you, too.”
Chapter 11: Wesley
I’m a house of cards with two coffee cups stacked on top of each other in my hand, my bag slung over my shoulder, files pinned to my chest. My watch says I’m late and I need to start taking the stairs. They’d probably be faster than this elevator—which, let’s face it, has cursed me—that now stops on the eighth floor.
“Ah!” Richard claps his hands as he steps on. “Just the man I was looking for.”
For the past few weeks of my internship, every time I see Richard around the office, he seems happy to see me, excited, even. And it used to feel great. If being Richard’s intern wasn’t possible, I was happy to take being in his good favor.
But now it’s just getting weird.
