When Paige and I first met, she was getting over Ian, her boyfriend of two years. We just became really good friends, somuch so that when I knew she was truly over Ian, it terrified me to tell her how I really felt about her. I was worried we might lose the relationship we had built if she didn’t like me the same way. But ever since we found out we’re going to college in the same state, I feel like the chemistry between us has intensified. It crackles whenever we’re around each other, and I can’t help but hope that she might like me back.
Well, that, and Missy has dropped some not-so-subtle hints that my feelings might be reciprocated.
I type “Sand Ridge Beach” next to surfing on our list. Immediately, Paige texts back.
Paige: Where’s Sand Ridge Beach?
Jordan: Patience, grasshopper. That is for me to know and you to find out.
Paige responds with an eye-roll emoji.
Sand Ridge Beach is one of my favorites. It’s beautiful, happy, and vibrant—everything that reminds me of Paige. And I know that as soon as we get to California, I’m going to take her there, and I will finally tell her how I feel.
Another buzz sounds in the car, and I look down to see that it’s coming from my mom’s phone in the cup holder. She must have forgotten it. It buzzes two more times, likely with a text from my aunt Linda, Mom’s sister, who’s deployed in Germany and is a notorious serial texter. I pick up Mom’s phone and begin to silence it when my eyes snag on a word in one of Aunt Linda’s texts.Oncologist.
I don’t know a ton about oncology, but I know it has something to do with cancer.
I have to read Aunt Linda’s message twice before my brain absorbs the meaning. My stomach bottoms out, and I open the full chat, scrolling up to the start of today’s messages.
Linda: I wish you would have told me sooner.
Sandy: I didn’t know for sure it was cancer until a couple weeks ago.
Linda: I thought you said your first appointment was last year?
Sandy: I went to my doctor at the end of last year, then she recommended I get some imaging done.
Sandy: I honestly didn’t think much of it. I was having some abdominal pain, but I didn’t think it was that serious. An imaging appointment was scheduled for March, but something important came up, and I had to reschedule. By then, they were so full, they couldn’t get me an appointment until two weeks ago.
Linda: Have you told Jordan?
Sandy: No. He needs to enjoy this time. He’ll never get these moments back. And he doesn’t need to add this to his plate. Stanford and leaving home is enough of an adjustment.
Sandy: I will find out the stage of the cancer at my appointment tomorrow.
Linda: Will you call me right after you meet with the oncologist?
Linda: I wish I didn’t live so far away.
Linda: I love you, San. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.
My heart is pounding against my ribs.Mom. Has. Cancer. Mom has cancer.I say the words again and again in my brain, but they don’t seem to lock into place. All the while, my stomach roils and the blood drains from my face, leaving me cold and nauseous.
Mom has cancer.
But she’s healthy. She’s been quilting and exercising and helping me get ready for college.How?And why didn’t she tell me months ago? She may have not known it was cancer until recently, but she could have let me know about her imaging appointment in March.
My heart plummets as I remember that conversation from February, the doctor’s appointment she had scheduled for March. The one I guilted her into ditching so she could come to the mascot assembly.
No, no, no, no. Mom.
The door pops open. “Okay, off to the grocery store,” Mom says as if the world is still spinning when, in fact, everything around me feels like it has stopped.
Looking at Mom now, I feel like the rose-colored glasses have fallen off. Sheisthinner. And the pained expression she’s had over these past few months—that’s not just from stomachaches like she’s told me.
Mom has cancer.
“What? What’s wrong?” She stares at me, concerned formywell-being when I’m the one who should have been concerned for hers. When I should have put her health first three months ago.
