There’s an extra bounce in my step as I approach the trailer. Maddie’s bedroom is dark through the sheer purple curtains in her window, so she must be asleep. When I walk inside, I close the door softly, careful not to wake her.
I kick off my sneakers and drop my jacket in the entryway. I head to my bedroom, keeping my footfalls light, trying not to let the floorboards croak beneath my weight. Then, of course, one of them groans loudly, and I wince.
“Mason? Is that you?”
My head spins toward the familiar, raspy sound of my mom’s voice, hoarse from decades of smoking cigarettes. I find her sitting at the dining table.
She’s like an indoor-outdoor cat who comes and goes as she pleases. I never know when she might vanish on a week-long bender before showing up again like nothing happened.
She looks… small. Not strung out or drunk. Just tired. Her hair is scraped back in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing a T-shirt that reveals her bony arms. Her hands are wrapped around a chipped mug, and her gaze lifts to mine like she’s been waiting.
“Hey,” she says, her voice strangely gentle. “Can you sit down for a minute?”
My smile instantly fades.
I hesitate. “What’s going on? Where were you?”
She nods toward the chair across from her. “Please. Just sit.”
The seriousness of her tone makes my stomach twist. The room is quiet except for the quiet hum of the refrigerator. She stares down at her mug, twirling a spoon in her coffee.
Then I notice the plastic band wrapped around her wrist—a hospital bracelet.
“I haven’t been feeling well lately, Mason. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but then the other day, I… I found a lump in my breast,” she admits. “I didn’t want you or Maddie to worry before I talked to a doctor.”
The air leaves my lungs. I tense in the chair and grip my thighs, squeezing the fabric of my swim trunks.
“What’d the doctor say?” I ask, my voice surprisingly hoarse.
“Well, I had a mammogram, and they ran some tests,” she says, swallowing hard. “They confirmed it’s breast cancer. Stage four. It’s already spread.”
That dreaded word hangs between us in the air, quickly filling up the room like smoke. I faintly register the movement of my own hand reaching across the table, squeezing hers.
“So, what’s the next step? Chemo? Radiation?” I ask, mind racing.
She lets out a shaky breath. “No,” she says softly. “It’s… far too progressed. The doctors said I should just focus on being comfortable, for however long I have left.”
My throat feels tight. I try to speak, but nothing comes out.
The ecstatic golden feeling I carried home is gone, swept away in an instant. Now, I just feel hollow.
She frowns. “I know I haven’t been the mom you needed me to be. And I know I’ve screwed up a lot, but I didn’t want to hide this from you.”
Any resentment I feel toward her is irrelevant now. As angry as she makes me sometimes, she’s still my mom. The good memories with her far outweigh the bad ones.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
She glances toward Maddie’s bedroom. “Please don’t tell her yet,” she says. “Tomorrow is her last day of school before the summer, and she needs to focus on her finals. I’ll tell her afterwards.”
I feel myself nodding numbly.
“I know I don’t say it enough, but… I’m grateful for you,” she says gently. “For the way you’ve stepped up. I’m so glad Maddie has you. I love you.”
I can’t remember the last time I heard those words from her mouth. Maybe it was in the hospital after her attempt. It shakes me to my core, and I choke down the painful sting in my throat.
“I love you too.”
She releases my hand and sips her coffee. “You should go to bed. It’s late.”
