Until now.
“Mom,” I started to say, but she cut me off.
“Baby, I know you’re probably at work, so I’ll let you get back. I just needed to let you know that the doctor wants to do surgery tomorrow evening to see if he can get the mass.”
“You’re having surgerytomorrow?”
“He says we have to move quickly.”
“I’m coming home tonight then, Mom.” Tears pushed against my eyes again, and I put my hand over them, exerting pressure so the tears wouldn’t be able to escape. “I’ll be there for the surgery, and I’ll be there for recovery.”
“Don’t come home tonight,” Mom said. “It’s late, and I’m okay. Come in the morning if you want to come, sweetheart, because I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay. I’ll get the time off and pack some stuff. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.”
“See you tomorrow, baby.”
“Mom,” I said again.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I love you. And I’m here for you.”
“I love you too, Peyton. And I know you are.”
I closed my eyes as the line went dead, a heavy silence so unsettling that I finally dropped to my knees in front of a small trash bin and vomited, losing all of my lunch and most of my sanity. My happiness. My comfort.
Before I could clean myself up and make the walk of shame back to the office to sign out and go home, the door to the utility closet opened, and bright light flooded in.
“Oh, honey,” Remington said, putting a finger to his lips with a soft tsk-tsk-tsk. “Don’t tell me. You’re pregnant.”
Despite my pain, sorrow, and horror, I laughed. Just a little. “If I was, you’d be the first to know.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Remington stepped into the closet and shut the door behind us until I was once again basked in nothing more than a slight orange glow. He got down on the floor next to me, wiping the dust from his hands with disgust, and forced me to look at him.
“What’s going on, sugar?”
I swallowed more impending bile and wiped the back of my hand across my face, shaking my head. My fingers trembled, too.
“It’s my mom,” I said, pushing the waste basket towards the door so I could dispose of it as soon as possible. “It’s cancer.”
“Oh, sugar.”
“Cancer, Rem.”
My best friend took me into his arms then, holding me, and I closed my eyes again, afraid of reality—wishing I could be somewhere else, anywhere else, than right here and right now.
Remington just held me for a few minutes, shushing me like one would an upset baby. I didn’t mind. I needed it. Because as soon as it stopped, I’d have to return to being the girl whose mom had cancer. Whose mom was dying.
“What are you going to do now?” Remington asked, releasing me so he could wipe the moisture from my face.
“I don’t know. I just—don’t know.”
Remington got to his feet and reached his hand to help me. “Listen, let’s talk about it tonight at home,” he said. “I was supposed to have a date with Carl, but I’ll cancel so we can have some wine and talk this out. Go home, and I’ll meet you there in an hour, okay?”
I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do or say.
“I’ll go out first,” Remington said, picking up the waste basket full of vomit with a wrinkled nose. “And I will dispose of this monstrosity for you because I love you and know you can’t deal with the humiliation.”
