Twenty-six
Lily
“Honey, your father and I would’ve met you at your house so you wouldn’t have needed to leave,” Mom reminds me for what must be the hundredth time today.
I lean back in my chair on my parents’ patio with the sweet scent of hibiscus and freshly cut grass surrounding me. It’s a perfect afternoon, bright and vibrant, but everything inside me feels fragile and gray.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I tell her, the lie tasting flat and dry, much like the lukewarm chamomile I’m nursing. It’s the only thing my stomach will tolerate these days. What I wouldn’t do for the sweet, iced latte right now.
She sighs. “How’s the bakery coming along?” she says, changing the subject as if sensing my annoyance at her question.
I turn to face her. She is already watching me, her gray eyes swimming with sadness and fiercely protective love.
“It’s good. I have a great store manager who can hold down the fort until I can go back to work.”
Mom bobs her head slowly, a deep furrow appearing between her brows. “Do you think it’s a good idea to return to work?”
I manage a small, tired smile, turning my gaze back toward the yard. “The doctor says I can still work as long as I don’t push myself too hard.”
Besides, I would go stir crazy if I couldn’t. Baking is my solace. The warmth of the oven reminds me I’m still alive, creating amazing things. And the best part is watching people’s faces light up when they see what I’ve made for their special day.
We fall silent for a long moment, allowing the gentle sounds of the world to wash over us.
Sitting out here in the yard, just like when I was a kid, has always felt like I was surrounded by a temporary shield.
Going to the beach nearby was another one of my favorite things to do.
The endless cycle of the waves always promised peace and a new beginning. I need that promise now more than ever.
“Sweetheart.” Mom’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts.
“Yes?” I turn back, lifting the teacup to my lips again.
“How’s Ethan coming along?”
“Fine, why?”
“Has he been helpful?” she asks, her tone cautious.
I nod. “Yes.”
He’s been great, actually.
“I’m happy he’s there to help you, sweetheart. I can see he still loves you, and how much it pains him knowing what you’re going through now.”
I absorb the words like a sponge, knowing that love and pain won’t magically erase the wreckage of the past.
“How are you doing with that? With him being back, I mean?” she presses.
I drop my head back against the cushion, closing my eyes, shielding them from the relentless sun. “It’s good. He’s there for the kids, for me… it’s like he never left.”
He’s been my anchor, my quiet strength when I have none left.
“I can imagine it’s not easy with him being back,” Mom adds gently.
“None of this is easy,” I say, gazing out into the dense, green foliage of the trees at the edge of the property.
Suddenly, I hear a sharp intake of breath, then a muffled sound. I snap my gaze back to see Mom’s shoulders shaking. Her hand is clamped over her mouth, eyes shut.
“Oh, Mom.” I stand up slowly, pushing myself off the chair, and set my teacup down on the table between us.
“I’m sorry,” she lets out in a shaky whisper, pulling her hand away from her mouth.
I crouch before her, the movement pulling at the weak muscles in my legs. I take both her hands in mine and the raw devastation on her face hits me like an arrow straight to my heart. Her gray eyes are swimming, the tears showing no mercy as they track clean paths down her cheeks.
“I’m going to be okay,” I reassure her, the words feeling thin and fragile even to my own ears.
“It’s not fair,” she whispers, her lips trembling so hard she can barely form the words. “You’re my only baby girl.”
I take a deep, steady breath. “And that will never change. These things happen, and unfortunately, it’s my reality. It sucks, but I have to do what I can to be strong for my kids. And I’m asking you to do the same.”
Her tears come down faster, and I swallow hard, resisting the urge to break down right alongside her. “I know it’s hard and I know it hurts. But I really need you right now, Mom. I need you to be strong for me. For them. Can you please do that?”
“Of course I can. It’s just so hard. With everything you’ve been through.”
“I know, Mom. It’s hard on everyone. But it will be okay. I’m stronger than you think,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
She manages a wet chuckle and pats my cheek.
“I know you are. I love you so, so much, Lily. I could never ask for a better daughter. You are so full of love, sunshine, and strength. This cancer…” Her voice cracks and she sits back, framing her face with her hands, shaking her head side to side.
“You don’t deserve this,” she sobs, the sound raw and broken. This time, I break too.
Suddenly, she surges forward, wrapping her arms tightly around my shoulders. My hands clutch the fabric of her sundress, and we cry.
We cry for the wounds of the past.
We cry for the unrelenting pain of the present.
We cry for our broken, fearful hearts.
And we cry for the strength we desperately need to face the days ahead.