"Mom? Owen?"
They turn to look at me in perfect unison, like they are mirror images of one another. The same surprise in their eyes, the same wetness on their cheeks.
And I know. Somehow, in this moment, I know. The fear lurking in the back of my mind steps out from the shadows. I recognize the fear, because I saw it in Owen's eyes twelve hours ago.
"Last night," I whisper, looking between my mom and Owen, my gaze finally settling on him. "You were so upset. You knew."
My mom grabs my hand. "He couldn't tell you, honey. Legally, and because I asked him not to."
I turn to her and my heart aches at the sight. Her arms that held me when I fell, hands that made thousands of meals for me, fingers that brushed away my tears … my beautiful mother.
“Tell me.”
"The cancer has spread to my bones, Autumn. The chemo isn’t working." Her matter-of-fact tone tells me she is resigned.
Well, I'm not.
Something inside me stirs. A heat, a hope, a wave of anger. The first flickers of a fight. I can do this. Where chemo has failed her, I can make her better. I'll research until my eyes are crossed, call in every favor.
Pulling a chair from a nearby table, I sink down into it, still holding my mom's hand.
"Listen," I tell her, my tone intense. "We're not giving up. There are alternative treatments. Countries without the restrictions we have here. I have money saved, Mom, and if it’s not enough I’ll get a loan. We'll exhaust every option." I glance down at the table, at the chocolate croissant in front of her. "No more sugar. No more dairy or gluten. I'm going to read more about eating meat." I look at her paper coffee cup. "And about caffeine. Environmental toxins too. We should probably get a whole house water filter—"
Owen interrupts: "Autumn, she only has a few months left. Six months at the most.” And all of the wind is knocked out of me. He sits back, two hands wrapped around his own coffee, pity softening the corners of his eyes.
“No.” I shake my head, rubbing at my temples. “No, because we haven’t even finished this round of chemo, and there is—”
"Sweetheart," Mom begins, her voice cautious. Her gaze searches mine, and before she speaks, I know what she's going to say. My head shakes, but she presses on. "I don't want to do all those things. I want to have my last few months with you and Owen and my friends. Not vomiting, or chained to a hospital bed."
My voice is a growl. "You have to fight, Mom, even when it's hard."
The world sits between us, my world and hers, wishes and desires colliding. The longer she looks at me, the more I understand what she isn't saying.
“I’m done fighting, honey. I just want to live with what time I have left.”
"No." It's a whisper, strangled by anguish, but a refusal nonetheless. My gaze flits between them, between two people who've had time to sit in this information, who've settled into a choice. They watch me now, both with a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty. It strikes me that they have the matching expressions of two people who've been in battle together. This is their third fight, and their first loss.
I am not where they are.
I've never felt so alone.
"I need to go," I mumble, ripping my gaze from them.
They don't stop me.
* * *
"Thought I might find you here."
Her voice, smooth and kind, swirls around me. She steps into my vision. The tree I'd been looking at now looms above her.
My mom gestures to the open space on the bench beside me. "May I join you?"
"Of course," I say, moving my purse. I'd set it there on purpose. Tlaquepaque is a busy place, and I didn't want anybody sitting beside me. An uncharitable move on my part, but making small talk with a stranger seemed too much for me right now.
My mom sits down, setting her own purse on her lap. She looks up at the tree. "You always did like it here." She glances around. "It's beautiful, certainly, but for you it has a magical quality."
"Yeah," I nod, looking down at the uneven floor, the places where the tree's roots have pushed up. "Did Owen tell you where to find me?"
