Owen stands at the sound of my voice, using the heels of his hands to wipe at his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but my mom beats him to it.
"I want to die at home." Her hands are folded in her lap, her face almost serene.
It hits me that she has thought about this, has planned for the end of her life. I should've known that she would, because it makes sense, but the realization is painful. All of this is excruciating. For my mom, it must be almost beyond belief. I hadn’t really accepted it until now. We were in Vegas, laughing, then smoking weed. It didn't seem real, not in any tangible way. Sure, Owen would say the wordterminal, but I conveniently thought of an airport terminal, not the termination of my mother’s life. This is it, I have to deal with it fully now.
"How?" I ask, my own voice taking me by surprise. It's the first time I've spoken since Owen walked in. "How do we arrange for … that?"
"There's something called hospice home care. A nurse will visit your house daily. Their job is to provide pain and symptom management. This will allow you to spend as much time with your mom as possible by removing some of the burden of caring for her."
His explanation is clinical, but his expression is soft. He's doing his job right now, being Owen the oncologist.
She’s not a burden, I want to say, but I know what he means. I can’t watch over her every second of the day and still get all the cooking and grocery shopping done.
"Mom?" I look to her, promising myself I will be okay with whatever she chooses.
"This is what I want, Autumn."
"Then you'll have it." It feels as though the lump in my throat might choke me.
Owen arranges my mom's discharge. I take her to the cafeteria for coffee while we wait for Owen's shift to be over. He has offered to drive us home. In the chaos and grief of this trip to the emergency room, I'd forgotten we didn't drive here. And until I looked at my phone and saw two missed calls and a text message from Jeanne, I'd completely forgotten about her too.
Chapter 25
Owen
I tiptoefrom the room and close the door quietly. It's the second time I've checked on Faith since I brought her and Autumn home from the hospital.
"She's asleep, pulse is steady," I announce as I walk into the kitchen.
Autumn has poured herself a glass of white wine. A very big glass.
"Got any more of that for me?" I take a deep breath and wrap my arms around Autumn from behind. She feels like a soft place to lay my worries down. "Fuck…" I sigh the word into her hair.
"Fuck," she agrees.
I let her go so she can pour a second glass. We cheers out of habit, but even that sound is melancholy. More of a dull thud than a clink.
My lower back presses into the edge of the counter and I reach for Autumn, my free hand curling around her hip as she steps into the triangle of open space my legs create.
Autumn flicks her hair off her shoulder and fidgets with an earring. "My old boss in the city has been calling.”
“Oh?” I act surprised as relief washes over me. She’s finally going to tell me.
Autumn nods. “She wants me to come back. They have a new role for me. A promotion." She shakes her head slowly as if she can't believe it. She sips her wine and says, "A huge promotion. A few months ago something like this would have made my day. Hell, it would've made my year. It’s my dream job. Vice president of product marketing."
VP? Damn.
I brace myself, waiting for her to tell me she's taking it.
"I said no," Autumn says, her eyes raking over my face. "I told her I'm not moving back."
I look at the fancy stainless steel juicer on the counter—the new high-speed blender Autumn bought a few weeks ago to try to save her mom. The extravagant gadgets look out of place among the outdated kitchen.
"You should take it if you want to." I hate every word as they trip from my lips. My brain nods approvingly at my maturity, my willingness to put someone else's needs before my own. My heart flips off my brain.
"You think I should take it?" There is a quiver in Autumn's voice.
I bring my gaze back to hers. Her lovely eyes. Her lush, thick lashes. That tiny, white scar next to her hairline. "Don’t you want it?" I ask. "If you still lived there, would you take the job?"
