CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LILA
“Sooo… how was last night? What happened after you guys went up?” Aster breaks the silence. I side-eye her as the elevator hums upward. “Bitch. Spill.”
I sigh. “Well, Leon and I… did it.”
She gasps, cutting me off. “Yes! Finally! Took you long enough to get laid. How do you feel? Are you sore?”
The elevator dings. “Like shit, Aster... I did something awful.” The doors slide open, and a middle-aged couple stands there, waiting.
“Oh no! Did you queef?” The couple exchanges a horrified glance as they step inside, whispering to each other like we’re contagious.
“Can you not say things in public that I don’t even know the meaning of?” I whisper, trying not to laugh. “But if you must know… I said Kage’s name when I finished.”
Her eyes go wide. “Damn, Lila! That’s like really bad.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to apologize or act like it never happened?”
I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. We were doing it to do it… so did I actually do something wrong?”
“Not necessarily. But was he doing it to do it?”
I go quiet as we walk down the hospital hallway. “Well, if I remember correctly, he said something like… I may not be him, but you can pretend I am because you’re the one I want. The one I think about.”
Aster stops dead. “You did not! Leon never messes around with women unless he is serious! Do you not know what his last name means? It literally means lover. ”
I don’t answer. Because I’ve zoned out. My mouth goes dry, and my heart starts pounding. Because we have arrived. Right there in front of me is my mom’s hospital door.
Will she still look sick? Worse?
I reach for the handle. Aster notices me slipping into myself and nudges my shoulder gently. “We aren’t done with this conversation,” she says.
I nod, swallowing hard, and take a deep breath through my nose. I wipe my palms on my jeans. Suddenly, I’m twelve again, scared, small, standing outside a hospital room, pretending I’m brave. I’m not ready for what’s on the other side. But I open the door anyway.
There she is sitting in the hospital chair, turned toward the window, staring out at the city skyline.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, trying to steady my voice.
“Hey, sweetie.” She doesn’t turn around. Just keeps staring.
“How are you feeling?”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Then softly, she says, “Have you ever noticed how small we are? Just specs in the city. Specs in the world. Everyone’s moving, rushing, surviving…
while my world is falling apart.” She pauses.
My throat tightens. “And yet, nobody stops. The world doesn’t pause for one person’s tragedy.
Not for cancer. Not for me.” Her voice cracks.
Tears roll down her cheeks, but she still won’t face me.
“Mom…” I whisper. “Please don’t talk like that.”
“No, Lila. I’m serious. My little sickness? It doesn’t matter. Not out there. Not in the grand scheme of things.” Her voice sharpens, raw and rising. “Time doesn’t slow down for pain. The world keeps spinning.”
She’s breaking. And it’s breaking me .
Aster grips my arm, grounding me because she knows. She knows this hurts more than anything, seeing my mom grieving her cancer, slowly accepting that this might really be it… that she might leave us behind.
I walk over and kneel beside her, taking her hands in mine.
“Mom, you do matter. Dad, Aster, me… we’re your world.
The outside chaos doesn’t matter. Please…
what’s really going on?” Tears hit the soft pink robe Aster brought her.
What once felt delicate and pretty now feels heavy beneath the weight of grief.
“I’m trying,” she whispers. “But even with trying… I might not recover. I might not be here next year for Christmas.”
Her voice breaks. And so, do I. My hands tremble around hers.
I’m trying to stay strong, to be what she needs. But how do you hold it together when the strongest person you know is the one falling apart?
Tears spill down my cheeks. My chin quivers. I don’t wipe them away. Aster squats beside me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. She doesn’t say a word, just holds on as my pain bleeds through.
“I don’t want to leave,” Mom says, her voice raw and barely there. “I don’t want to leave you guys behind.”
“Don’t say that,” I whisper, wiping her tears as Aster quietly wipes mine. “Please don’t talk like that. You’re doing amazing. The doctor said the trial’s working. Your lymph nodes are clearing up… that’s huge. You have to hold on. We need you. I need you.”
She gives me a small smile, but it barely reaches her eyes.
Then, softly, like it physically hurts to admit, she says, “I’m also losing my hair.
” Her fingers glide through her blonde strands, and a small clump comes loose in her hand.
She stares at it. It’s like watching her confidence fall apart in slow motion.
Delicate. Weightless. Like a feather drifting on the wind.
Aster gently breaks the silence. “I can get a real human-hair wig that looks just like yours!”
Mom shakes her head. “No, sweetie. You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to, Alice,” Aster says, her voice full of warmth. “You’re family, and I love you. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me, after all the times you stepped in and were a mom when mine was away traveling.”
She reaches out and takes both our hands. “I don’t deserve you girls.” She gives our hands a gentle squeeze.
“How about this week we come back and get you fitted for one?” she says softly. “I can bring my stylist.”
Mom flinches. “No… I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
Aster nods, already adjusting. “Okay. Then, how about just Lila and me? We’ll come back, help you shave it, and bring a few soft caps to try on. I’ll take your measurements then.”
There’s a long pause. Then Mom exhales slowly, and for the first time today, her voice doesn’t crack. “I’m okay with that… It gives me something to look forward to.”
The silence is aching.“Mom we brought you more shakes. This time cookies and creams anddddd our favorite mint chocolate chip!”
I say, trying to cheer her up.
Her voice is heavy with sadness.“Thank you, girls. But I’m really not feeling up for chatting right now… would you be okay if I took a nap?”
My heart breaks. She’s depressed. She wants to shrink away and disappear .
“Of course. How about we get you to the bed and have the nurse bring your pain meds?” She cuts me off. “No, I just want to sit here by the window. Could you recline the chair and grab my blanket?”
Aster grabs the fuzzy pink blanket from the bed and gently tucks her in as I lower the chair back. I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I love you, Momma. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, honey,” she whispers. As we leave, she doesn’t look back.
Her eyes stay fixed on the city, buzzing, busy, alive, everything she no longer feels.
The hope, the light, the fight… all of it drained from her.
What’s left is only the shell of a woman who once lit up every room with just her smile.
This isn’t her. This isn’t Alice Anderson.
Not the mother who built joy out of nothing, who made me feel safe and loved when the fridge was empty and the lights were off.
Not the woman who cradled my head when I came home crying after being humiliated at the dance…
left standing alone while everyone else danced around me.
I close the door behind us. And then I break.
I turn to Aster, sobbing into her shoulder, because I can’t carry this alone anymore.
“Why her?” I choke out. “She’s already been through so much…
It’s not fair.” My voice cracks, and the words unravel like everything else I’m trying to hold together.
Aster holds me tighter, rubbing my back in slow, grounding circles.
But even her arms around me can’t stop the ache.
The kind that settles in your bones when the person who once made everything okay is the one you can’t save.
And the worst part is, I don’t know if I’ll ever see her light come back.