Page 34 of Trial and Error

She shakes her head, “No, it’ll look weird, not to mention rude, if I leave when your mom just asked me to stay.” She’s right. “But there is something you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

Her gaze drops down to the blanket that’s wrapped haphazardly around her waist. “Some sweats would be amazing.” I laugh and the sound has her gaze snapping up to my face, and a look of wonder flashes in her eyes. “I don’t really want to be half-naked in front of my future in-laws.”

“I think you look good,” I whisper as I place my hands on my hips and pull her forward, aware of my mom’s gaze on us. “Sorry, my mom’s watching. If I’m making you feel uncomfortable, tell me.”

Bridget’s gaze softens and she reaches up and places both of her hands on my forearms. “If it makes me uncomfortable, I’d push you away. I have no issue with you touching me, Elias.”

I have no issue with you touching me.

The words are on repeat in my head and the look she sends me has me wanting to see if she would be happy with a little more than touching.

Reaching down, I take her hand in mine and excuse us as we head to my bedroom. I grab a pair of sweats and hand them to her, watching as she pulls them over her round ass that’s now obstructed from my view. I let out a little groan at the sight of her and choose not to say anything as she leads us back out into the living room.

Mom’s in the kitchen pouring four mugs of coffee when we head back out, and Bridget walks over to help her.

Patrick puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You’ve got a good one there, son.”

Yeah, tell me about it.

“She’s something special, that’s for sure,” I reply, watching as she brings two mugs and places them on the coffee table.

I watch as she leans down and moves the footstool away. Patrick and I take a seat and wait for the ladies to join us. Bridget perches on the edge of the couch and her hand immediately finds refuge on my thigh, and my muscles flex intuitively under her touch.

Mom sits beside Patrick and takes a deep breath as she looks up at him, searching for encouragement. He nods at her, and Bridget and I wait for one of them to talk.

“I went to the doctor a few weeks ago for a checkup because I’d been feeling really tired and had some bloodwork done,” she starts. “I received a phone call a few days later to let me know they found some abnormalities.”

Abnormalities? What kind of abnormalities?

Patrick places a hand on her leg and I know it’s a touch of reassurance, but the gesture alone has my stomach churning. I glance at Bridget from the corner of my eye and I see her eyebrows are pulled together in a frown as she watches my mom. I’m not sure she realizes the way her fingers start to draw small circles on the top of my thigh, but I don’t want her to stop.

“Something wasn’t right with the blood tests, so they scheduled a biopsy.” Her voice cracks as she looks up at me and my breathing stops at the tears that well in her eyes. “I have pancreatic cancer, Elias.”

Bridget stiffens beside me, and everything just…stops.

The only thing I can hear is my blood pumping, so loudly that my eardrums feel like they might explode. My chest tightens, and I find myself struggling to take a breath. Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches out and grabs onto Bridget’s leg. She lifts my hand and interlocks our fingers, bringing them up to her lips and presses a soft kiss against my knuckles.

An overwhelming feeling of sadness and anger hits me at full force and I can’t think straight. She must see it in my eyes because her other hand is at the back of my head and she’s resting her forehead against mine.

“Breathe,” she whispers. I hate how far away she sounds. “Breathe for me, Eli.”

I swallow and focus on her voice as I take in a deep breath. After a few attempts, I feel my lungs begin to loosen. Her eyes meet mine and I can’t look away. The light pools of blue ground me, pulling me into their current and hold me there. Gentle fingers play with the tufts of hair at the nape of my neck and her touch is soothing and I don’t fight myself as I lean into it.

Pulling my head back, I give her one last look before turning my attention to my parents who are watching me warily. “What’s the treatment plan?”

Patrick looks over at Mom and then to me. “Well, as it’s not curable, there aren’t many options.” Bridget keeps playing with my hair and I find myself getting distracted. “But we’re trying to get a plan together so we can make sure your mom is as comfortable as possible,”

“How bad is it?” I ask.

Mom rubs her chapped lips together. “It’s Stage Three.”

I watch as she runs her hands over her legs, and I see it then—how different she looks. Her usually shiny hair is now dull and looks as though it’s thinning. Her dark eyes have lost their sparkle and she has large and prominent bags under them. My eyes drift over her face and I realize now how gaunt she looks—her cheekbones are harsh in comparison to her hollow cheeks, and it doesn’t look right.

My eyes flit down to her body, and I see how deep her clavicles are and how thin she’s become. Her posture has changed and she no longer sits upright, but slouches as though the mere thought of sitting upright hurts her.

“So, what are the next steps?”