I've failed the one person who never turned her back on me.
Chapter 20
Autumn
The night isdark and clear. Owen has pulled his outdoor couch to the middle of his back yard. Turns out, it converts into a bed of sorts, kind of like a futon.
We're on our backs, gazing up at the charcoal sky. We are linked together, the sides of our bodies pressed so close we could be the seam of a piece of clothing. Owen, however close he may be in physical proximity, is a million miles away.
"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, keeping my gaze trained on the sky overhead. He has been like this since he picked me up this evening. I was afraid to ask why, didn't want to pry. A part of me feels like I should ask what's wrong, we've known each other long enough that I don't need to tread lightly. The other part of me feels our newness, the parts of him I don't know as well as I used to, or at all.
Owen pinches the bridge of his nose, and though he doesn't make a sound, I see the deep rise and fall of his chest.
"Tough day at work," he says, his voice immensely sad.
I shift so I'm on my side, bringing my hand up and palming the fabric of his shirt over his heart. "Can you talk about it?"
His gaze flickers over to me, then back up. I watch his eyelashes as he blinks four times in rapid succession. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head.
"Is there anything I can do for you to make you feel better?"
He rolls over onto his side, facing me. He looks at me, his eyes an ocean of anguish. There is apology in his expression, sown into the squint of his eyes and the pleat of his lips. What is he sorry for?
Insecurity snakes in, starting in my heart and slithering out like spokes on a bike tire. Has Owen changed his mind about us? Is this not what he wants?
I should ask him, but I know I won't. When it comes to Owen, there is still a young girl inside me nervously biting her lip, uncertain of her place in the world. I may have grown into a woman, but Owen has a way of stripping me bare and exposing my heart. Will giving it to him again lead me straight into disaster?
* * *
"Mom?"I stick my head in her bedroom door. She's sitting on the end of her bed running her hand over her freshly shaven head.
“Oh.” Seeing her without hair startles me. It’s been slowly thinning, even with the use of the cold cap, but I didn’t want to say anything to make her uncomfortable, and now … it’s gone.
She gives me a small smile. “It’s been falling out in chunks. This is easier. I think it looks kind of punk rock, no?”
I choke back the sob that wants to escape me and nod. “Totally punk rock. We should book your skull tattoo later.”
That causes her to genuinely smile before nodding her head. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”
It's chemo day. I can't tell if the treatment is working, and that bothers me. It's not like a skin rash that we can apply cream to and watch it disappear, or a bruise that changes color and eventually fades away. No visible progression.
Mom nods at my question, yawning as her head bobs up and down.
"How can you be tired? You slept in today. It's like you're a teenager." I smile teasingly as I grab the bracelets she always wears from her nightstand and hand them to her. "Good thing I don't do to you what you used to do to me when I slept in."
She winds her hand through the bangles. "I was tough on you, wasn't I? Probably a little tougher than I should've been." She pushes the hair back from my shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the skin left bare by my tank-top. "I was trying to be both mom and dad. I made mistakes."
Her admittance takes me by surprise. And as nice as it is to hear, it makes me uncomfortable. It's hard hearing your parents are faulty. It humanizes them. And I was only joking so I’m thrown by this serious admission.
"I can't imagine how difficult it was to be a single mother. You did a great job, Mom."
She nods once, acknowledging my words. "Let's go."
As she steps around me, I feel a squeeze of my hand.
On the drive to the hospital, Mom listens to the kind of music you'd hear during a spa treatment. It makes me think of white sheets and heated massage tables, aromatic body scrubs and the padded footfalls of technicians.
Oh, how I miss the spa days in Manhattan with my roommate. Now I was doing my own pedicures to try to make my savings account stretch out until I found a job.
