Authors: Amber Garza
ELEVEN
PAIGE
I
drive home in a daze. In fact, when I pull up in front of my house I momentarily wonder how I got here.
Pretty freaky.
I better not share this information with Mom. It’ll just worry her. My driving skills, or lack thereof, are already enough source of worry in our family. No need to add to it. While I get out of my car, Colt’s words play through my mind.
Is he right? Am I really just afraid of my feelings for him?
The look in his dark eyes cut through my heart. He looked so sincere, and I know what he said is true. He’s not the one who robbed me. I know it deep down in my heart. So why do I keep suspecting him? What is it about him that bugs me? I can’t pinpoint it, so perhaps it doesn’t have anything to do with him. Maybe it has more to do with me.
My cell buzzes in my pocket and I yank it out. For one split second I hope that it’s Colt. Then I realize how foolish my thinking is. He doesn’t have my number. I’ve never seen him with a phone either. I’ve kind of assumed he doesn’t have one.
Hadley: Wanna hang out tonight?
Me: What? No Tripp tonight?
Hadley: I want to c my best friend.
I smile, thinking that a girl
s’ night is just what I need.
Me: Me 2.
When I get inside everything is quiet. “Mom?” I call out. Normally she greets me when I get home from work. I head into the kitchen, but it’s empty, and she’s nowhere to be found. My mom doesn’t work, but her hobby is baking so usually our kitchen is covered in pans and flour. Not today. The counters are bare, scrubbed clean. A familiar fear descends in the pit of my stomach as a sense of déjà vu washes over me.
I climb the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Mom?” I call again.
Still nothing.
My stomach twists. Her car was parked in the driveway, so I know she’s home. The front door pops open below me. I lean over the railing just in time to see Dad walk inside, briefcase in hand. Dad never gets off work this early. The minute he looks up at me and I take in his pinched face, I remember that Mom had an appointment today. It takes only a second to put two and two together.
Backing up, I take a deep breath.
No, not again.
The room sways, the walls bending and closing around me. My knees buckle, and I have trouble standing up.
“Paige.” Dad rushes up the stairs, grabbing me. “Calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.”
My parents’ door opens to the right of me. Mom stands in the doorway, her face streaked in tears. I bite down on my lips to keep them from trembling and blink back the tears that threaten to penetrate. I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“The cancer’
s back.” Mom’s tone is resigned.
I hold my breath as Dad tightens his hold on me. Shoving off of him, I nod as if to say I’m okay. He leaves me and sweeps Mom into his arms. Her shoulders shake as she drops her head on his shoulder. I fight the sobs that want to leap from my throat. Swallowing back unwanted emotions, I hold my head high.
It’s time to be strong again.
Unable to look at my parents
any longer, I slip into my bedroom and close the door gently behind me. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I shoot off a text.
Me: I can’t come over. Mom’s cancer’s back.
Hadley: I’m on my way.
Grateful, I slump against the wall. I would never admit that I need her, but I do.
Badly.
I can’t fall apart in front of Mom and Dad. It wouldn’t be fair. But Hadley’s another story. She can handle it.
I call in to work the two days following my mom’s diagnosis. The first time she got cancer was my eighth grade year. That was my last year going to private school. Mom's medical bills mounted and my parents couldn't keep up with the tuition, so I started Gold Rush High as a freshman. And that was when I met Hadley. By the time Hadley and I got close, Mom was in remission. I remember thinking that it would have been nice to have a friend like Hadley when we first found out about Mom’s cancer. At that time I didn’t have any friends, and my sister was of no help at all. She fell apart, became suicidal and started cutting. Honestly I was so angry with my sister for that. Mom didn’t need to deal with anything other than her illness. That’s why I vowed to stay strong and not give Mom anything extra to worry about.
My sister finally got it together
, and now she’s away at college. I really hope this news doesn’t send her spiraling downward again. But I can’t worry about her. She’s an adult. I’m the one left - the one who’s going to have to deal with this.
Hadley’s been so supportive the last two days. She calls numerous times a day to check on me and she keeps popping by. I’m so appreciative, I really am. But the truth is that I feel myself becoming a little resentful of her. I mean, she has no idea what this feels like. No one in her family has ever been sick. Sure, her family has their own issues. When her parents split up she confided in me that she was jealous of the great relationship my parents have. I know there were times she had a hard time being around them
because of that.
I guess that’s how I feel right now. It’s hard to try to explain to Hadley just how awful it is to have a sick parent. She has no frame of reference. She has no idea what it feels like to wonder if your mom will survive, if she’ll live. Hadley doesn’t know what it’s like to imagine a life without the woman who gave me life, who’s wiped my tears and bandaged my wounds, the woman who’s read me bedtime stories and tucked me in. A life without my mom just seems like a dreary one. It rips my heart out to even picture it. But I know it’s a possibility
, and that tears me apart.
This morning Dad took Mom to the doctor to discuss treatment options. I couldn’t bring myself to go. I already know what they’ll say. I remember all too well what it was like when Mom was on chemo. There were days where all I heard was retching in the toilet. Days upon days of Mom sleeping or complaining of stomach cramps and headaches. And then
came the loss of hair. I double over, clutching my stomach remembering my mom’s sobs as she held clumps of hair in her hands. I steel myself for it, wondering how I’ll survive a second time. How we’ll all survive.
A knock on the door startles me. I sniff
le, running a hand down my face. As I head to the front door, I pull my fingers through my tangled hair, working out some kinks and knots. When I fling it open, I gasp at the sight of my unexpected visitor.
“Colt?”
He stands in front of me, hands in the pocket of his ripped jeans. He wears a light t-shirt, his hair is tousled, and sweat covers his forehead.
“I hope you don’t mind. I
kinda got your address from work.”
I nod, unsure of what I feel.
He jiggles his leg nervously, and something about it is so endearing. “Jon said you were having some personal issues, but he wouldn’t say what, so I just wanted to check on you.”
The statement pierces my heart
, and I worry for a moment that I might cry. I breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale through my mouth, warding off the tears. “I’m fine,” I finally say.
“If this has anything to do with me, I’ll quit. It was your job first,
McAllistor.”
I freeze, honing in on his last word.
McAllistor.
“So, we’re friends again?”
“If you want to be,” he says, deadpan.
My bottom lip trembles. I remember that Colt lives with his aunt. He’s clearly had a rough life. Not that he’s told me anything about it, but it’s pretty obvious. It makes me wonder if there is a reason he came into my life at this time. Like maybe life isn’t just random occurrences. Maybe it’s something more. “I could use a friend right now,” I tell him, transparently.
“
Wanna talk about it?” He asks.
I snort. “You may regret asking that.”
“I doubt it.”
Nodding, I sweep my arm out. “Enter at your own risk.”
Winking, Colt steps around me. “I’ll take my chances.” His gaze sweeps the entry way, his eyes traveling up the staircase. He whistles. “Nice place.”
I follow his gaze, trying to imagine what he sees when he looks at the mahogany banister, hardwood floors and designer paintings mounted to the wall. My dad’s a financial planner and he makes good money. There was a time when I felt lucky because of this. But when Mom got sick I remember wishing we could trade in all our money for Mom’s health. Silly I know. Clearly life doesn’t work that way.
“It’s a home,” I say, walking past him and entering the family room. His nearness causes my pulse to spike as he follows behind me. Mom decorated our family room in all antiques. Every time I step into it, I feel like I’ve traveled back in time. I plop down on the couch, tracing the dull colored pattern with my fingers. Colt takes the seat next to me, propping his elbow up on the arm rest with its gold etching.
“What’s going on,
McAllistor?” Colt shifts so his face is angled toward mine.
I swallow hard. Am I really going to discuss this with Colt? He’s practically a stranger. My mom’s illness is not something I readily share with people. In fact, I didn’t even tell Jon or Bud. I just told them my family was dealing with a personal crisis. So, when Colt said that Jon wouldn’t tell him, it’s because Jon doesn’t know. Something about the boy sitting next to me covered in piercings and tattoos makes me want to open up. Maybe it’s the sadness that always lingers in his eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that he keeps seeking me out even though I keep pushing him away. But I suspect it has more to do with the connection I feel to him, th
e magnetic pull I feel toward him no matter how hard I try not to. It’s like we’re bound together, tied by some invisible string.
I wring my hands in my lap, studying the lines in my palms intently. “My mom’s sick,” I blurt out, still not looking up from my hands. “She has cancer.”
Colt lets out a tiny gasp, as if my news has caught him off guard. It probably has. Most likely he thought I was going to say I was having woman issues or something. I still can’t bring myself to look at him, and I half expect him to stand up and high tail it out of here. But instead, I feel the slop of the couch as he scoots closer. By the time I dare to lift my head, his face is so close to mine our lips almost touch. Our knees bump together, the bare skin charged.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“She had it once before, several years ago. But she’s been in remission. We thought she’d beaten it, you know?” I let out a sad laugh, in an effort to stop myself from crying. “I just don’t know what to do. I can’t even imagine a life without my mom. And I feel like no one else gets it.”
“I get it.”
I stare into his eyes, at the genuineness inside. “You do?” My nose sounds stuffy, my voice strained. “Is your mom sick too? Is that why you live with your aunt?” Panic washes over me and I slap a hand over my mouth, sickened by my own words. “Oh no, please don’t tell me that your mom passed away.”
He shakes his head, despair evident on his face. “No. My mom has a different kind of disease. It’s called
the disease of not wanting to be a mom. She left us voluntarily.”
I can’t even imagine my mom abandoning me. At least I know my mom is fighting to stay with me. And when she does leave
us, it won’t be because she wants to. As I stare at Colt’s sad face I wonder which one is worse. Is it worse to have a mom who loves you more than life itself ripped away by a stupid disease? Or is it worse to have your mom discard you like trash? I suspect they’re both difficult in their own way.
“Oh, Colt.”
“Hey.” He puts up a hand. “I didn’t come here to talk about my problems. I came for you.”
“Thank you,” I breathe out the words.
Colt’s forehead scrunches into a mess of squiggly lines.
“Um…Paige. I want to…you know.” He shifts in his seat and holds out his arms. “Hug you.”
I’m caught off guard. “Okay.” I draw the word out slowly, unsure of why he’s being so weird about it.
“Okay,” he repeats in a serious tone. Then he moves slowly forward, his arms hovering around my body before closing hesitantly around my waist. When they tighten around me, I lower my head onto his shoulder and nestle into him, sighing.
“I’m not very good at this,” he says into my hair.
“Hugging?” I press my head into his shoulders, inhaling his spicy scent.
“Just affection in general, I guess. My mom and dad weren’t exactly affectionate people.”
“Well, it doesn’t show. You’re doing great.” My fingers find the edge of his shirt and I grip the fabric in my hand. His arms feel good around me, and I savor the feeling of being comforted. I tell myself I will remain strong, that I won’t cry.
“It
’s okay to be scared,” Colt says as if reading my mind.
One lone tear slips down my cheek. I want to wipe it off, but I don’t want to let go of Colt, so I just let it fall. It lands on my chest and pretty soon another one follows. Colt’s hand rakes up my back, massaging it the same way my mom used to do when I was little. Now the tears are streaming down and I don’t bother fighting it anymore. I just let them come. I let them fall until I feel that I must not have any more liquid left in my body. My throat hurts and my stomach feels empty when I pull back from Colt.