Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Helen
I wake disoriented, unsettled by the silence.
No crash of waves outside the window. Then the smell hits me.
Cinnamon rolls and burnt coffee, my mother’s signature scent.
Home. Of course. Teddy and I arrived at my parents’ place late last night, too tired to do more than drop our bags on the floor and fall into bed.
Now morning light filters through the blinds, laying pale stripes across the quilt.
Beside me, Teddy breathes softly, one arm draped around my waist like he’s afraid I might vanish if he lets go.
I turn my head and study him. His hair’s a snarled mess. His mouth is slightly open. There’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillowcase.
He’s beautiful, and he’s all mine. At least, I hope he’ll still want to be mine after today, Christmas with my family.
Teddy doesn’t stir when I slip out from under his arm. I pull on my robe, the fluffy purple one I practically had to arm wrestle away from him, and head upstairs in search of Mom.
She’s in the kitchen, the romance novel I lent her lying face down on the table, its spine bent. She’s not reading though, too busy staring out the window and sipping coffee from a lopsided mug I made in second grade.
I grab my own cup and join her. “I never get tired of that view,” I say, gesturing toward the ocean far below us, with its shimmering waves of navy and green. “It was one of the things I missed most when I lived in New York. That and you and Dad, of course.”
She gives me a soft smile, then turns back to the window. “It really is breathtaking, isn’t it?”
I blow on the surface of my coffee, which is hot enough to steam.
“I appreciate it even more now that Teddy and Jamie taught me how to surf. It’s funny how simple it looks from up here—waves in, waves out—but when you’re actually in it, there are all these microcurrents, little eddies that pull you in every direction. ”
Mom laughs gently. “Kind of like life, right?”
That’s when I notice the way her shoulders slump, how pale her skin looks. When Teddy and I arrived late last night, I chalked it up to holiday exhaustion. Too much hustle and bustle. Now, a sick feeling stirs in my gut.
“Are you okay, Mom? Did something happen?”
She takes her time, sipping her coffee before setting the mug on the table with a soft clink. “My latest scans and tumor markers came back yesterday.”
Outside, a seagull dives into the surf, and my stomach drops right with it. “Were they bad?”
She sighs. “I wasn’t going to tell you until tomorrow. I didn’t want to ruin Christmas. But I also don’t want to lie to you, Helen.”
Her bloodshot eyes meet mine, and panic tightens around my throat. I force myself to stay still, to be her daughter, not her doctor.
“The metastasis in my bones and my lungs has gotten worse. Bigger. More of them. My tumor markers are climbing.”
She watches me carefully, as if she’s more worried about me than herself.
“So…you’ll change meds? Start a new treatment?” We’ve been down this road before. Every time the cancer spreads, they swap her pills for new ones, usually hormone blockers meant to starve the tumors. “There’s something that can help, right?”
“There’s always something,” she says. “It’s just that the options keep narrowing. The side effects get worse. It’s like trying to squeeze through a hallway that keeps shrinking.”
I swallow hard against the knot in my throat and insist, “It’s not over. You’ll fight.”
Her voice stays steady, kind. “Of course I’ll fight. But I need you to understand, Helen…sometimes fighting means choosing how you want to live. Not just how long.”
I look away, out the window, so she won’t see the despair in my eyes.
The waves keep rolling in, steady and uncaring.
“Please don’t give up,” I whisper, staring at the ocean like I’m asking it, not her.
“I’m not. Not yet. I’ll do the treatment, I promise.” I turn back to her just as her chin trembles once, then settles in her palm. “It’s actual chemo this time.”
Dread coils in my gut. I remember the first time, how she lost her hair, how she vomited for days, the headaches so brutal she couldn’t even read or watch TV. She’d just lie there in bed, eyes closed, hurting while my dad and I watched, helpless.
“You mean the infusions?” I ask, my voice small. “The ones that made you so sick?”
“Unfortunately.” She’s looking out the window again, her expression distant, like she wishes she could fly away with the birds.
“Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough, not even close, but…” I trail off, lost.
How do you put something like this into words? How do you name a pain this big? Grief doesn’t translate. Language is too blunt, too dull. I need a scalpel to describe what I feel, but all I have are butter knives.
The tears come fast, filling my eyes before I can stop them. I sniff quietly, blinking hard. I don’t want her to see, don’t want to make her feel like she has to comfort me, not when she’s the one who’s suffering the most.
She reaches over and pats my hand. “I know, honey.” She does a double take, noticing I’m crying. Mom scoots her chair closer and wraps her arms around me. The second I feel her hug, I break. The sobs come hard and fast, shaking my shoulders.
“It’s not fair,” I cry into her sweater.
“No, it’s not.” She rests her cheek on my head.
“I’m so scared,” I whisper between sobs. “I worry all the time. What if this is our last Christmas together? What if you’re not here next year?” I pull back just enough to look at her face. “I’m so sorry. I hate thinking like that. I hate it.”
She lets out a soft, bittersweet laugh. “Why do you think I went so overboard this year? All those decorations I sent you. That giant tree.” Her lips twitch.
“I know it’s not your style. But I kept thinking, what if this is my last one?
I felt this pressure to make it perfect.
I just wanted to give you a memory that would last. Something you could keep long after I’m gone. ”
I’m crying so hard now, I can barely breathe. “Please don’t talk about that. I can’t handle it.”
“We need to talk about it, Helen.” She pulls me closer again, presses a kiss to my temple. “It’s real. It’s happening.”
“I know,” I choke out. “But I want to pretend. I keep thinking if we never acknowledge how sick you are, then…then you’ll never die.”
The word scrapes out of my throat, burning as it echoes between us. It’s the first time I’ve ever said it aloud. The first time I’ve attached it to her.
She runs a hand gently over my hair, smoothing it down like she did when I was little.
“Everyone dies, sweetheart. I just know the name of what will take me.” She exhales slowly. “I hate it too. I’m angry, I’m scared, but more than anything, I want us to be honest. I don’t want to go with regrets. I don’t want any words left unspoken.”
That makes me think, what have I not said to my mother that I’ll regret if I don’t get the chance?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For all the ways I let you down.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. “What do you mean? You’ve never failed me.”
“I have,” I insist. “When I stopped dancing, you were sad, and then there’s how you’re so outgoing and social, and I’m.
..not. You love girlie things like getting your nails done, shopping, doing makeup together, but that never really interested me.
I’m so different from you, and I’ve always felt guilty about that.
Like I wasn’t the daughter you pictured. ”
“Oh, honey,” she says, shaking her head. “None of that ever bothered me. Different doesn’t mean bad. You think I wanted a little clone of myself? That would’ve been so boring.”
I let out a tearful laugh, but she keeps going, her voice thick but sure.
“One of the greatest joys of being a parent has been me learning from you. You’ve shown me how to see the world through your eyes, through science and medicine.
You’ve taught me things I never would’ve understood otherwise.
Like how to slow down and really think things through.
Please, never believe you disappointed me.
I’ve always been proud of you. Honestly? I’m inspired by you.”
I should be happy to hear this praise from my mom, but guilt twists in my gut, sharp and sour because I’m not as wonderful as she thinks. I’ve been lying to her for months now. Another thing I’ll regret if I don’t come clean.
Staring at my hands, I murmur, “I’m not as successful as I led you to believe.”
Mom’s brow furrows. “What? Why would you say that?”
I drop my gaze to the floor. “I got in trouble at work. Actually…I got suspended.”
Her mouth opens in shock, but I lift a hand before the questions can tumble out.
“Don’t worry,” I say quickly. “I’ve been reinstated. Everything’s fine now, but I lied to you and Dad. I didn’t work for almost all of November and December.”
Her silence urges me to keep going, so I do.
“Teddy drowned. I hadn’t seen him since Gwen’s wedding, but he ended up in my ER. He was dying. Flatlined and I…” My voice falters. “I broke protocol. I wasn’t supposed to treat him, but I did. I couldn’t risk losing him.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She’s just watching me, waiting.
“When he was coding,” I whisper, “I thought about you. I imagined it was you lying there, dying. I asked myself, what would I want the doctor treating you to do? The answer was simple. I’d want them to keep going. To try everything.”
I swallow hard, my voice trembling.
“So that’s what I did. I kept coding him.
I didn’t stop. You know I believe in science, in grit and hard work, not miracles, but when he came back, when he started breathing again…
” I wipe at my eyes, shaking my head. “I started to believe in something else, too…in love because it was my love for you that kept me trying with him. I needed someone to live.”
She covers her mouth with her hand, eyes shining. “Oh, Helen,” she whispers. “Thank God you didn’t give up on him. Can you imagine if he’d died?”