“What is it?” I ask, unable to wait.
My mom’s gaze is so somber, my chest squeezes tight. “Sit down, Isaac. Please.”
I curse as my legs carry me toward the sofa. I sit on the cushion beside her, my foot bouncing.
“I’ve been to a few doctors,” she starts, her voice even. “They’ve done some tests. It wasn’t nothing.”
I pull in a shaky breath. “Just tell me, please. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“I have Non-Hodgkin lymphoma.”
My breath puffs out of me.
“It’s not as bad as you think,” she says immediately.
“It doesn’t sound good,” I manage, the words wobbling.
My mom squeezes my hand atop the sofa cushion. “It’s an extremely slow-spreading form of cancer in my blood. So even if treatments don’t manage it—”
“They have to.”
“Even if they don’t,” she says again, “I’m not going anywhere for a very long time.”
I try to regulate my breathing, but from the worry on my mother’s face, I don’t think I manage it very well. My throat is tight, my chest burning, and no matter how hard I blink, I can’t clear the tears threatening to fall.
My mom doesn’t rush me to say anything. She rubs my hand, her skin warm and her presence calming. When I finally givea nod, she explains in measured detail what the doctors have told her so far.
I lose the battle against my tears before long, despite her assurances the diagnosis isn’t as dire as it could be. It’s still cancer.
It feels like days later when she stops talking, yet I know it likely hasn’t even been an hour.
I clear my throat several times, struggling to speak. “Mom…”
“I know,” she says around a shaky smile. “Life can be a real bitch, huh?”
She doesn’t stop me when I wrap my arms around her. She hugs me back, her palm rubbing up and down my spine, soft words murmured in an attempt to comfort me.
Why did Todd have to be right?
Why?
What if he’d missed it?
“Would you tell me what’s new with you?” my mom asks when we finally pull apart. She brushes an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “I could use some good news if you have any.”
I nod, my voice faint as I update her on Trevor, my friends, school. I leave out the product launch and Dad’s disapproval at my boyfriend showing up. It’s not worth mentioning. My mom smiles when I tell her Trevor tricked me into picking up my own birthday cake. She knows the date is a difficult one for me.
It’s late when my mom gently urges me to return home. I don’t want to leave, afraid if I do that something terrible is going to happen.
“I’ll be fine,” my mom insists.
“If you’re having hard days—”
“Then I’ll tell you,” she fills in.
“I want to help.”
Her response is endlessly patient, her eyes warm as we stand near the door. “I hear you, Isaac. I do. I won’t hide the worst of it from you, all right?”
