Chapter 8 – Mindy
CHAPTER EIGHT
When the worst gets worse
Mindy
“So you just took the last condom out of the box and put it in your purse?” Caroline asks incredulously.
We’re headed south on Interstate 45, away from Houston and the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.
“I sure did. Just thinking of him using that on his new bride made me want to puke. I consider it an affair condom, so I tossed it into the trash can outside the hotel before calling you to come get me. I snuck out the back door of the hotel because I couldn’t face doing the walk of shame past the front desk clerk.
” I groan and cover my face with my hands.
“I can’t believe I slept with an almost married man, Caroline.
I’m so fucking stupid for falling for all his pretty words. ”
And the dirty ones.
I’m completely disgusted with myself. This… this is why I don’t have one-night stands. Now I’m down one pair of panties—which I couldn’t find in the dark—and all of my dignity.
“You’re not, stupid,” Caroline says softly, reaching over to grip my hand.
My throat is clogged, so I merely nod and give her a squeeze as twin tears seep down my cheeks. She’s such a damn gem. As soon as I called her, she hopped in her Honda CRV and hightailed it to the Waffle House, where I was waiting for her.
My masochistic ass had chosen the same booth where I sat with Joe—or whatever his name was—last night.
I couldn’t handle eating because the guilt and shame turned my stomach at the very thought of food.
When I saw Caroline’s vehicle pull up to the curb ten minutes later, I tossed some bills down for the orange juice I’d been sipping.
My friend speaks again over the low crooning of Miranda Lambert’s “The House That Built Me.”
“I’ve never seen you cry over a man before. Usually you go all crimson fury on them.”
She’s right. I’ve never let anyone affect me like this. You want to leave me? Fine, there’s the exit. Bye, Felicia. Sayonara. May the doorknob hit ya where the good Lord split ya. But Joe?
“I’m just hurt,” I tell her, releasing her hand and opening the glove box where I know I’ll find a massive number of fast food napkins. And true to form, they explode out like one of those cartoon scenes where someone opens an overstuffed closet and is subsequently buried beneath piles of junk.
Stuffing the majority of them back inside, I snag three of them to wipe my damp face.
“I never want to hear another word from you about my emergency stash of napkins,” she teases, drawing an almost-smile from me before it slowly fades away.
“How could he be right there on top of me, face to face, and lie?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question because I know she doesn’t have the answer. “He looked me directly in my eyeballs and told me he wanted more.”
“I kind of wish you’d woken him up and punched him,” Caroline fumes. “I would have paid good money to see that smackdown.”
“I couldn’t,” I whisper, wiping another fucking tear from my face. “I was so ashamed.”
“I’m sorry, honey. Men suck.”
My head snaps sharply to the left, anger surging. “Did Brayden do something? Because I could punch him if you need me to. I’m not in the mood for any more fuckery today.”
Caroline’s smile is dreamy. “No, he didn’t do anything wrong, but we’ll talk about it later. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I swallow hard. “No, tell me now. I need something to restore my faith in humanity.”
She looks at me uncomfortably before admitting, “Brayden got that job he applied for in Galveston, so he’ll be moving down to the island.”
My heart warms infinitesimally for my friend. “I’m happy for you, Caro. He seems like one of the good ones.”
“I think he is.” Like an amazing friend, she doesn’t elaborate, but I know this guy makes her happy.
Unlike the man I slept with last night. Goddammit! I ache inside. I actually considered pursuing something with “Joe.” Being with him did make me deliriously happy and hopeful, but it was all a lie.
“Do you think I should try to find out who’s he’s marrying and warn her?” I ask.
Caroline switches lanes without using her blinker, and a crease appears between her eyebrows, the same one that always pops up when she’s thinking hard.
“I don’t know, Mindy. I think it’s awesome to be a girl’s girl and all that, but what if she doesn’t believe you? Then you’ve inserted yourself into a sticky situation and come out looking like the bad guy.”
A long sigh makes its way up my throat and out of my mouth. “You’re right. I’m so dang confused. One second I want to bust in like an avenging angel and tell the entire wedding how the groom spent his last night. But on the other hand, I just want to forget it ever happened.”
Though I know deep down inside, forgetting will be nearly impossible. The stupid man imprinted himself on my body.
I grip the cloth seat when Caroline merges into the left lane, flipping off the car she just cut off and making a very derogatory remark about his mother.
Swear to god, I take my life into my hands every time I ride with her.
She’s a maniac, but somehow, she’s never been in so much as a fender bender.
My friend reaches over and pats my thigh. “I think we should spend the rest of the weekend on the couch with wine and Rice Krispies treats. You can cry and get it all out of your system.”
“The baker in me should be appalled that you want to eat Rice Krispies treats instead of a properly baked dessert.”
“If baking would make you feel better, we can bake,” she replies easily. God, I love her.
“You’re a terrible baker,” I point out.
“Good thing I’m cute,” she retorts, tossing her brown ponytail over her shoulder with all the sass.
“You’re the best,” I reply earnestly. “I need something to get over these stupid feelings I’m having. Last night was officially the worst.”
I wriggle on the seat of the very uncomfortable waiting room chair. It’s Wednesday, four days after I left room 418 in the wee hours of Saturday morning, and my damn vag is still sore.
And if I’m being honest with myself, she misses…
him. Stupid pussy. This is why vaginas aren’t allowed to vote or drive cars.
They are completely unreasonable and have very few survival instincts.
At least I don’t have a penis, because that would make me both unreasonable and a total jerk.
I’m feeling very anti-man right now. Understandably.
I just don’t understand the disconnect. Is Joe simply a skilled liar who wanted one last hookup before he tied himself down to the stunning woman on his phone screen? Or had there really been something there behind his soft brown eyes when he looked down at me and asked for more?
The thoughts have been torturing me for days on an endless loop through my brain.
On Sunday afternoon, Caroline caught me standing in the open refrigerator door eating shredded cheese directly from the bag while I contemplated Joe’s motives.
Then she snatched the cheese away, called me a sad raccoon, and ordered me back to the couch for more Golden Girls reruns.
While I’m apparently now Blanche with an open-legged invitation for any man passing by, Caroline is my Dorothy, always there to call me a sad raccoon and put me in my place. I adore that bossy wench.
Deciding I need to put an end to my pointless ruminations, I try to clear my mind. But goddammit, I can still imagine the feel of his hips moving between my legs. The way he literally buried his face in me like I was the only oxygen left on earth.
I squirm again, and Mama leans over and asks, “Do you have a hemorrhoid, honey?” My mother… I love her to pieces, but the woman whispers like a freight train. A man across from us lifts his head from his phone, as if waiting for the answer.
“No,” I hiss. “I’m just sore from… working out.” Not a complete lie, I guess. There had been a lot of cardio going on in that hotel room.
The nosy fucker across from us, now satisfied he knows the health status of my rectum, goes back to scrolling his phone when the nurse calls my mom’s name.
“Ciara Espinoza.”
We stand and follow her down the hallway lined with diplomas and certificates from all the doctors in this gastrointestinal specialty practice.
“Does Dr. Nguyen treat hemorrhoids?” my mother asks casually, and I barely refrain from covering her mouth with my hand.
“Mama, I do not have a hemorrhoid,” I hiss.
The nurse smiles placidly and opens the door to the exam room, gesturing us inside. “Dr. Nguyen is brilliant. She can do anything GI-related.”
Turns out that was a damn lie. Because the one thing Dr. Nguyen can’t do is save someone with stage 4 pancreatic cancer.
My face is blotchy and wet from tears, and the poor waitress keeps shooting me suspicious looks each time she checks on our table.
Mama’s face, on the other hand, is oddly serene.
Sure, she shed quiet tears when the doctor gave us the diagnosis and explained the prognosis, which was… not good. At all.
But by the time we reached the parking lot, her eyes were dry and her spine was straight. Me? I’m not nearly so brave. I’m a goddamn mess, if we’re being totally honest.
“Mama, are you sure you don’t want to try the treatments?” I ask gently through a sniffle. “MD Anderson is one of the best cancer hospitals in the world, and it’s so close to where we live.”
Her smile is patient and kind as she reaches across the table to clasp my hand between both of hers.
“Honey, you heard the doctor. Without treatment, I have six months at best, and with treatment, I still won’t live more than a year.
” She tilts her head, and a tiny tendril of red hair a shade lighter than mine slips from the bun at the nape of her neck.
“Why would I want to waste time and money doing all that when it won’t do any good anyway? ”
“Dad left us money when he died, so don’t worry about paying for it,” I argue. “If you want to fight this, I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
Her lips tighten into a hard line, but her eyes shine with sympathy. “Mindy, I know this is hard for you, but the fact is, I won’t be here by this time next year. I don’t want to spend my last months in and out of hospitals when there’s no hope.”
No. Hope.
Those words strike me like a cannonball to the chest, but I do my best to keep a brave face on. But it’s hard—so fucking hard—and a single tear breaches the margin of my eyelid. Mom brushes it away, and I feel so damn guilty. She’s the one dying, and I’m over here making it about me.
So I square my shoulders and eke out a smile. For her. “How would you like to spend your last months?”
Mama sits back and adjusts her napkin in her lap before picking up her knife and fork to cut into her chicken breast.
“First of all, I want to talk about your future.”
My future. Without my mother. Without the person who has loved me since before I was even born.
Swallowing down my emotions, I ask, “Okay, what about my future?”
She leans forward. “I want you to promise to follow your dreams. I want you to take the money your dad left us and add it to your savings so you can open your own bakery. Once you’ve completed all your training, of course.
It’s all you’ve talked about since you were eight years old.
” Pride shines in her green eyes. “A woman needs to be able to take care of herself and her family. Owning your own business won’t be easy, but you are so strong, my sweet Mindy.
You can do anything you put your mind to. ”
Something melts inside me. She’s sick, but all she wants to talk about is me. The woman can be stubborn as a mule, but god… she can also be so selfless. How can I deny her anything at this point?
“I promise, Mama. But…” I take a sip of my coffee, preparing myself for the argument I know is about to come. “I want to take some time off from my apprenticeship and spend these next months with you.”
To my utter shock, Mama doesn’t argue. She smiles that brilliant smile that could light up a room.
“I would love that, honey.”
“Y-you would?” I stammer.
She nods. “This is going to be one of the hardest things you’ll ever do, and if hanging around with an sick old lady is what you need, then that’s what you should do.”
“You’re not old. You’re only fifty,” I scoff.
Her smile falters. “I know.”
It hits me hard then. This is fucking bullshit. My mother is too young to be dying. She should be living her best life right now. She should be traveling and bugging me about giving her grandchildren and…
“Mama, what’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” I ask, excitement in my voice as an idea comes to me.
She seems taken aback by the question and shakes her head. “Oh. Well, I don’t know.”
“Is there anything you wish you would have done?” I prod. “Anything at all?”
Mama purses her lips, and I see the second her mind registers.
“I’ve always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon.
In fact, I’ve never even traveled west of Texas.
” Her face softens with memories. “I used to fly to Florida sometimes when your father was playing there. Until you came along, and then it was just so difficult flying with a baby.”
This woman has given up so much for me, and all I want is to make her dreams come true. To make her last months memorable. I pull out my phone and tap on my notes app.
“You and I are going on a trip, Mama. First stop, the Grand Canyon.” My fingers fly across the keyboard, starting a list. “Now, what else should I add to Ciara and Mindy’s great adventure?”
When I look up expectantly, a tear slides down Mama’s cheek, but she’s smiling.
And for the next hour, we plan how we will spend her last days on earth.