Chapter 11
P ulling into my mom’s driveway, I made a mental note to call a landscape company to take care of her yard when I saw how long her grass had gotten. She would never admit to me that her illness was making her more tired, but I could hear in her voice some days how drained she sounded. I had a spare key so I let myself in, carrying the coffee in the crook of my arm and the bagels in the other.
“Mom?” I called out for her. “I’m here.”
“Hi sweetheart,” she said, rounding the corner of the hallway.
“What did you bring?” she asked, noticing my hands full.
“I stopped at that little café on the corner. They had a great selection. I got you some coffee and bagels.”
“I’ll have to check it out. Thank you.”
“No problem. Let’s eat and head out. I don’t want to be late,” I said, buzzing with nervous energy.
“We have plenty of time,” she said. “Sit down and talk to me for a few minutes and let me enjoy my breakfast.”
I checked my watch and decided we did have a few minutes to spare.
“How are you settling in to the new house?” I swirled my coffee around anxiously.
“It’s been great. I have the friendliest neighbors. There’s a gentleman a few houses down from me. His name’s Carl Howser. He’s been helping me get some things put up around the house. He hung those pictures on the wall over there and even got the TV mounted in the bedroom. He used to be a history professor at Stanford, but he’s retired now. I told him all about you and how you had just gotten a job there. He’s a widower too.”
“Oh yeah? What’s this Carl look like, Mom?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.
“Oh, stop that,” she said. “He was just being neighborly.”
I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between this conversation and the one I’d had yesterday with Lionel and Sarah. My mom and I each having the same response—denying these men had any interest in us.
“Well, what’s so wrong with that anyway? I don’t think I remember ever seeing you go on a single date after Daddy died.”
“I went on dates. Just nothing that ever stuck, that’s why you never knew anything about it. Besides, Daddy was the love of my life. It doesn’t feel right to even try when you’ve experienced a love that big.”
“You still miss him?” I asked.
“Every day,” she said solemnly while sipping her coffee.
“Me, too,” I admitted. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately.”
I wanted to ask her something that had been on my mind but didn’t want to upset her before her appointment.
“What is it?” she asked, picking up on my hesitancy.
I knew she’d know if I was holding back, so I gave in and asked what I’d been wondering. “Does it ever bother you the way he died? I mean, did his addiction ever come between you or did you not know?”
I couldn’t believe we’d never talked about this before. We shared everything about our lives, but we often tiptoed around anything related to my father, especially about his death.
“I knew,” she admitted. “He was pretty good at hiding it. Mostly because he never did drugs around you. He was always straight as an arrow when it came to you. I thought he kicked it completely after you were born.”
“But did it bother you?” I asked because she didn’t fully answer my question.
“Everyone has their demons.” She looked out toward the window like she was getting lost in her memories. “For a while after he died, I would lie awake at night wondering why we weren’t enough, why he didn’t love either of us enough to stop. But then I realized that was foolish. He showed me he loved me in so many ways, and I knew he hated that part of himself that felt pulled to his addiction. That terrible compulsion was a part of him, but it didn’t define him. He was an addict, but he was also all the wonderful things you remember—funny, compassionate, loving, and he had the kindest heart. He would take the shirt off his back for any stranger. He made me want to be a better person, and I loved him for who he was. All of him, good and bad.”
I could feel my emotions bubbling to the surface, lingering in my throat. We hadn’t talked about him in so long.
“That’s mostly what I’ve been thinking about… How the person I remember feels nothing like the kind of person who would abandon his family to get high.”
“It’s only natural to think about these things. You’re about the age he was when he passed. But he didn’t abandon us. He was sick and couldn’t find his way to a cure.”
That reminded me of what Lex had told me—that it was truly an illness of the brain.
“Don’t let it darken your memories of him. He was every bit the wonderful man you remember. And there was no one he loved more than you.”
And it still wasn’t enough , I thought. I didn’t want to say it out loud and upset her, so I did something I rarely ever did—I lied to my mom.
“You’re right. Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which gave me the distinct feeling that she knew I was placating her.
“We better get going,” I said. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Sure. Let me grab all that paperwork you’ve been fussing about.”
When she came back with the thick manila envelope full of all her bloodwork, scans, and doctor’s notes, we headed out the door.
Walking through the glass atrium of the cancer center, I looked around at the building that would be a fixture in our lives for the foreseeable future. It was a busy area, completely surrounded by windows, and had a glass ceiling that let in the sunlight, giving it a warm and inviting appearance. Even so, I didn’t think anyone could forget why they were here, no matter how pleasing the design.
We got into the elevators, pressing the button for the third floor. The doors opened to reveal a large room with individual suites sectioned off along the walls. Each suite contained a large recliner, a second chair for guests, and televisions at each station. There were several people already at various stations receiving their infusions.
An elderly woman greeted us as we walked up to the desk.“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Gail Olivier. I’m here for my first treatment.”
“Yes, I’ve got your information right here. You’ll be at station nine, right over there.” She pointed to a suite in the corner of the room. “I’ll need your paperwork from the doctor, and I’ll also need you to fill out a few forms.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I said, giving the envelope to the desk clerk. “Mom, why don’t you go take a seat while I finish this up.”
“Alright,” she agreed, making her way over to suite nine. I finished filling out the forms, knowing my mom would have gotten me to do it anyway. She was way too impatient for that kind of stuff.
When I got to my mom’s suite, I noticed she had already managed to make friends with the people at station ten.
“Hadley, this is Mary and her husband Phil,” she told me as soon as I walked up.
“Nice to meet you.” I smiled at the elderly couple, both with graying hair. They appeared to be in their late 70s with Phil sitting close to Mary’s side, holding her hand.
“Mary has breast cancer just like me, Hadley. This is her thirdweek of treatment. She’s seeing a different doctor than me, though.”
Leave it to my mom to already know this woman’s life story in the five minutes I was gone. It used to embarrass me how forward she was with people, but I eventually embraced it when I realized she was willing to give as much as she took. She’d always been an open book and was surprised when anyone else wasn’t the same way.
“How have your treatments been so far?” I asked Mary.
“Not too bad. It tires me out for a few days after. I’ll start to find my strength again, but then it’s time for another treatment. Small price to pay, I suppose.”
“My Mary’s a fighter. She’s going to be just fine,” her husband Phil said, taking her hands and bringing them to his lips, planting a kiss on her knuckles. The gesture was so sweet and his adoration shined brightly.
The nurse walked up at that moment and introduced herself. “Hi, Ms. Olivier. My name’s Amber. I’ll be your nurse today.”
“Hi, Amber. It’s nice to meet you. This is my daughter, Hadley.” She and I exchanged greetings before she began opening a kit at the bedside table.
“So, I’ll start your IV and go over some information about the treatment you’re receiving,” she said, putting on a pair of gloves. “The infusion will last about two hours, and I’ll be with you through most of it. But some things to look out for will be bleeding around your gums, soreness or ulcers in your mouth, nausea, fever, or trouble breathing. Let me know immediately if you start to experience any of these symptoms. You can expect to be tired afterward and probably won’t have the best appetite. You may also start to have hair loss after a few treatments.”
She explained all of this while starting Mom’s IV. The doctor had already gone over most of this with us at her last visit, so we felt prepared.
“Do you have any questions before we get started?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Mom said, looking to me. I shook my head.
The nurse came back after a few minutes covered with a biohazard gown, face shield, and heavy-looking gloves.
She started the infusion pump, and we looked on, not saying a word. I think it all became a little more real for both of us, watching the bright red medication slowly drip into her veins.
“Where are you from, Nurse Amber?” my mom asked, probably needing a distraction. She loved gathering the details of the lives of everyone she met.
“Minnesota,” she answered, taking down some information in Mom’s chart.
“Wow, that’s a pretty big change. What brought you here to California?”
She paused for a moment before sighing. “A guy.”
The three of us laughed together, appreciating her candor.
“It always is,” my mom said. “In fact, that’s how I ended up in New York. My James was a musician, and he was so passionate about it. I moved to New York so we could be together, and I’ve been there ever since. Well, up until a month ago.”
I’d heard the story of how they met several times over the years. My dad was a folk singer and was in my mom’s hometown for a gig filling in for another band that had cancelled last minute. She followed her sister out to a bar that night and the rest was history. They fell madly in love that same night, and she left with him to go to New York the next week.
“Well, my story doesn’t have as happy an ending. He dumped me less than two months after I moved here,” Nurse Amber said.
“You didn’t think about moving back home?” I asked.
“I thought about it, but I ended up falling in love with California. If I’m being honest, I really hate the snow,” she said, and we laughed at the irony. “I do miss the Swedish meatballs, though.They’re hard to come by here.”
“Everything happens for a reason. I wasn’t even planning to go out the night I met James, but my sister begged me,” my mom told her. “Trust me, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“Thanks, Ms. Olivier,” she said, her shoulders softening.
My mom smiled at her reassuringly. She stayed with us for the first thirty minutes before leaving to check on another patient.
Mom turned her head and gave me the same reassuring smile she’d given Nurse Amber. It was the teacher in her. She had taught sixth grade at Valman Elementary for almost thirty years before she retired a few years ago. I could still spot those nurturing mannerisms she once used on her students now subtly resurfacing in her interactions with everyone else.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t go car shopping with you,” she said. “I hate to think of you going out into the city all alone.”
“I didn’t go alone,” I told her. “Lex came with me. We went to lunch the next day at this really great Mexican place.”
“How wonderful! It’s about time you went on a date since you dumped old stick-in-the-mud Gary.”
“His name’s Garrett,” I said, giving her a dry look. She just smiled, knowing exactly what his name was. “And it wasn’t a date. His roommate came with us. We went to a museum and walked around the city.”
“I thought you said Lex didn’t like you. Has something changed? Did he finally come to his senses?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said with a half-shrug. “I think he might be tolerating me a little better now.”
She was about to say something when a look of slight discomfort came across her face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” she said. But then she closed her eyes and squirmed in her seat a little.
“Mom, tell me,” I pressed.
“I’m just a little queasy is all.”
I shot up out of my seat and walked over to the nurse's station to let her know.
“She’s going to get some medicine for you,” I said, sitting back down next to her, taking her hand, and rubbing my thumb over the back of it.
Nurse Amber came back and hung a bag of medicine, hooking it up to mom’s IV. “This should start working soon,” she said, and I thanked her.
My mom kept her eyes closed, probably trying to stave off the nausea.
“What can I do?” I asked helplessly.
“Sing one of my favorites,” she said in a quiet voice without opening her eyes.
I used to do that all the time for her when I was a kid when she was feeling sad or ill. She always said it made her feel better. I thought about it for a second and decided on“Moon River”from Breakfast at Tiffany’s .
I started to sing softly, pulling my chair closer to hers and stroking her hand. She kept her eyes closed, but the tension around them seemed to slowly dissolve after a few minutes. When I finished“Moon River,” I went straight into“Let It Be” by the Beatles. She opened her eyes midway through and watched me finish out the song.
“Better?” I asked.
“I should say no so you keep going, but yes. It’s much better.”
“Good,” I told her, smiling.
“That was lovely, dear,” I heard Mary say next to us.
“You have a beautiful voice,” her husband added. “Next time a little louder, please. We’re not spring chickens over here.” He winked and I smiled at them, nodding in agreement, even though I was hoping there wouldn’t be a next time.
I continued to watch her closely for the rest of the infusion, looking for any other side effects, but nothing else happened as she chatted happily with our neighbors. When it was finished, we said goodbye to Mary and Phil and walked down to the lobby.
I didn’t know what I was expecting to find as I looked her over. She didn’t appear any different as far as I could tell, maybe a little tired, but nothing that seemed overtly worrisome. She didn’t say much as I drove back to her house, and I kept glancing over at her.
“Stop doing that,” she said a few minutes into the drive.
“What?”
“You keep staring at me,” she complained. “You look like that kid that was always popping up behind Helga Pataki.”
“Maybe I’m waiting for you to hand over your chewing gum so I can finish my closet shrine.”
“Is that why you won’t let me go anywhere near your closet?”
“No, it’s because you steal all my shit.”
“What have I stolen?” she said, putting on an air of offense.
“How about that pink Banana Republic sweater?” I accused. “Not only was it stolen, but it was also damaged. Forensics concluded that it was pizza sauce. I should have you charged with theft and vandalism.”
“I would get off on a technicality because you didn’t get your facts straight. It was actually spaghetti sauce,” she said as we pulled into the driveway.
I chuckled lightly. “What about the confession you just made?”
“Coerced. No jury would convict. Especially not after seeing how pitiful I look after my first round of chemo.”
“You’d play the cancer card?”
She shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”
I walked her inside, and the fatigue was now plainly evident on her face. “Go rest, I’ll have something for you to eat when you wake up. I’m thinking spaghetti as a form of retribution.” I heard her laugh softly as she headed to the bedroom.
I tidied up the house and made a few meals for her that were easy to reheat so she didn’t have to cook. She was still sleeping when I was finished, so I went and sat with her while she slept.
When she finally woke a few hours later, I closed the book I was reading and sat on the side of the bed to look her over.
“You’re getting dangerously close to Forrest-Gump-level obsessed with your mom,” she said, yawning.
“But you’re my best good friend,” I said, trying out my best Gump impression and patting her arm.
“Hadley, while I appreciate your concern, they told us it would be normal for me to feel tired afterward. You can’t stay and watch me sleep after every single treatment. Besides, you need to get going, you have classes in the morning.”
I could tell by the look on her face that she was resolute, so I didn’t argue. “Okay, I have some food in the refrigerator for you if you get hungry.”
“Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
I kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll call you later to check on you.”
I got in my car, and the tears started to fall before I made it out the driveway. My mom was always so vibrant and stoic. It was hard for me to see her suffering. I allowed myself a few more minutes of sadness before I resolved to do better. I vowed to never let her see me this way. I would be a source of strength for her as she had always been for me.