Keep it together for your mom.
“Uh huh,” she says, and the doubtful look she gives me then makes me stiffen. She pushes the computer away and turns her attention on my mom once again, though the only thing I hear her saying is something about turning her pain meds up.
A feeling of dread and defensiveness swells within me that I’m struggling to control. Who the hell does she think she is judging me? She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know the pressure I’ve been under or what I’ve gone through.
I bite my tongue to keep from going off. And when the nurse eventually exits, all the numbness I’d been clinging to seems to have evaporated.
“She’s been really nice,” my mom says.
“What did you tell her?” I ask.
Beep.
Beep.
I’m no longer swaying, no longer tolerant of being here. It feels like every person in the building is suddenly looking at me, judging me for things I don’t know I’ve done.
What did you tell her? What did you tell them? Why are they looking at me? They don’t know me.
Mom’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
My dad stands. “Bonnie, she was just asking about the tour,” he says like he’s trying to keep me calm.
“She said that like she thinks I should have been able to drop everything,” I say, patience suddenly going awry. “Did you tell them I was working?”
“Of course, we did. Bonnie, no one is saying you should have been here,” Mom says, wincing as she sits up. “We told them our girl was busy.”
“Busy doing what? Do they all think I’m some groupie?” I ask.
“Bonnie, let’s have a seat—”
I shove my dad’s hands off of me. “Why are they all looking at me like that?” I step up to the window, swearing the nurses are all staring my way.
I know they’re looking at me.
“What did you tell them?” I ask.
I’m panicked. Paranoid.
Why am I so fucking paranoid right now?
“Maybe they’re looking at you like that because your mother has been in and out of this hospital for months, and every time she tells them that you’re coming,” Dad says.
“Phil, leave it,” Mom manages.
“Oh, so, what? You tell them I’m a deadbeat? A no-good daughter?”
I’m ignoring everything my dad is trying to say beside me. My entire focus is on my mom.
Because I’m so fucking angry with her right now.
“Did you tell them that you started dying the month after my dreams came true? Did you tell them that the day I called to tell you we’d signed a record deal, you told me the results from your biopsy came back as positive? That you didn’t care to hear how excited I was?”
“Bonnie, I’m sorry,” my mom manages, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wanted to be there—”
“But you weren’t,” I argue as my emotions begin to spill over. “You weren’t there. You weresupposedto be there.”
“Bonnie, you can’t be selfish—”
