Maybe my presence will be the difference. During her first two diagnoses, she'd told me to stay in New York and keep working. I'd argued, but my mom is stubborn and firm. I'd have better luck arguing with a brick wall. So, I listened. I also knew she needed my help financially, even though she didn't say it. The best way for me to help was to stay at my job and keep climbing, making sure those paychecks came in and got bigger along the way. I sent her a chunk of money each month and she accepted it gratefully.
But this time, when she called to tell me about the current diagnosis, she asked me to come home. She didn't tell me to stay put like she had before. She just told me she’d pick me up at the airport.
That's how I knew it was bad.
I won't let her see my fear now. I won't make her console me, not when her energy is needed so badly on the inside. I'm here now, and I will add all my strength to this fight.
Walking the last few feet past the TSA employee standing like a sentry, I pass the sign that readsNo re-entry beyond this pointand straight into my mother's open arms.
She is smaller, and it feels like a role reversal. I am, for the very first time, bigger than her.
But she still smells like my mom. Her lemon and lavender scent sinks into me, silently providing me comfort. My throat clenches with emotion but I clear it and keep my shit together.
She pulls back, searching my face. Concern pulls at her eyes, deepening the lines. "Did you get any sleep on the plane?"
"A little."
"How many wines?"
A smile tugs up one corner of my mouth. "It was a two-wine flight."
"No turbulence, then?"
Other than the turbulence of leaving my career behind to go and care for my sick mother?
I shake my head. "Not really." I'd been grateful for the smooth skies during the flight, but I had the second glass of wine because I couldn't shake my thoughts ofhim.
No matter how hard I try, memories of Owen Miller are on a tether, connected to me, and the slightest tug brings them bounding back.
I want to avoid him. It shouldn't be too hard, not in a town like Sedona. There are enough tourists, enough vacationers, and as long as I avoid the places frequented by locals, I won't be likely to run into him.
None of that will work though. He broke my heart, I broke his, and we walked away from the mangled remains of a love that had burned so bright it was blinding.
After what we went through, I should avoid him at all costs.
Too bad he's my mother's fucking oncologist.
That was karma giving me a big old kick in the ass.
Thanks, universe.
My mom knows I'm thinking about him. She can see it in my eyes, and I can see it in the pitying look on her face
Reaching out, she wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me toward the elevator bank. "It'll be okay, sweetheart."
I'm not sure if she's referring to her cancer, or me being forced to have Owen Miller in my life again.
"Sure, Mom," I agree quickly, slipping my arm around her waist and dragging my bag behind me. My palm rests on her hipbone and I swallow the lump in my throat.
"Baggage claim?" she asks when we reach the elevators, even though she has already pressed the button.
I nod, letting my head tip to the side so I can lay it on her shoulder. My mom has different plans though. She lets go of my shoulders and takes a big step away from me. Her eyes light up, mischievous.
"Guess," she says, raising her eyebrows up and down twice.
Despite my anxiety, my fear and my sadness, I grin. Quickly I glance around at the numbers above the elevator doors. "Six," I say.
"One," she counters, her eyes on the small white number.
