18. Rory
Rory
Today’s date can’t possibly go any worse than the last one. And that’s if it happens at all.
Nate and I have texted over the last several days, planning the details of today’s date, but when I bring up the incident, as he’s started calling it, all he’ll tell me is that he’s “fine.”
I’m not sure whether to believe him, or if he’s putting on a brave face over text messaging.
Because from the sounds he made while curled in the fetal position on the bowling alley floor, it seemed like I might have done some damage.
I chew on my lower lip as I drive home from the barn, thinking it over.
It’s not like I can ask specifically about how his penis is feeling, right?
Even the thought of bringing it up again has my cheeks heating.
Anyway, I don’t want to think about Nate’s dick anymore.
I think about it enough as it is.
Not the mutilation I must have caused, although that still makes me wince.
But all of Nate’s body. Every night, I imagine it pressed up against me. Remember how it felt to have him touch me.
To have his fingers exploring the peaks and valleys of my body.
His tongue tracing my most sensitive areas.
His cock plunging deep inside me, over and over.
And God, how terrible is that of me? I’m sitting in my room, stressing about whether to go on this date and about how much I miss having sex with Nate, while my mom is sick.
I mean, the sex was mind-blowing. There’s no two ways about it.
Life-altering, world-changing sex. It’s made every other guy I’ve been with feel like a pale imitation.
But that’s not the point right now. The point is that I need to focus on Mom.
I agreed to go out with Nate, and I will, but I won’t let my priorities shift.
Besides, I’m still not sure whether I trust him, or if I’m ready to listen to his explanation for why he messed with my life. The only reason I agreed to these dates is that for some reason, everyone in my life seems to be firmly on Team Nate.
I’m barely getting by as it is without trying to argue with all of them.
And Mom is included in the Team Nate cohort, too. Of everyone in my life, she’s been perhaps the most vocal about me giving him a chance, listening to him, going out with him again.
I’m not sure how he’s managed to get her on his side. It’s suspicious, if you ask me.
I push all thoughts of Nate and his cock out of my head as I hoist the tray of crackers and broth and carry it through the kitchen, headed for my parents’ bedroom. Or at least, the room where they’ve been sleeping for the past week.
Their bedroom, the one I’ll always think of that way, is upstairs, down the hall from my childhood bedroom and Dylan’s.
But Mom has gotten weaker–slowly at first, then more noticeably. Now, she can’t even make it up the stairs without help.
Some days are better than others, and she’ll come sit in the living room, or even out on the porch for a little bit at a time.
It’s getting colder, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to see snow soon. But she loves the mountains, and as she says, she doesn’t have much longer to take in the views.
The thought clenches my heart in my chest.
Mom probably won’t be here next winter.
Will she be here to see the end of this winter, the grass starting to grow again and the buds peeking hesitantly out of the soil?
Will she even be here for Christmas?
After reviewing all of the options—chemotherapy and radiation and some newer drugs—she declined to try any of them.
I want whatever time I have left to be surrounded by family. Not in a hospital, and not trying things that could make me sicker than I already am.
I turn into the living room, her words still rolling through my mind, and stop short. “Mom. I didn’t think you’d be out here.”
When I last checked on her, she hadn’t gotten out of bed. I’d been on my way to bring her some broth and crackers in her room.
She gives me a smile. It lights up her face, even with her lips dry and cracked. “I’m feeling okay right now. Put that down on the coffee table and sit with me a while.”
I set the tray in front of us and take a seat on the couch.
Was it really that long ago that I sat here next to Mom, with Spam running around my legs, and told her about breaking up with the guy I’d been dating back in Denver?
It seems like it was a lifetime ago.
As I study Mom, it seems even longer. She’s different, her body changing way too fast.
First it was some weight loss, barely noticeable, but in the last two weeks, she’s gotten even thinner, to the point that most of her clothes hang from her limbs.
Her cheekbones have gotten more prominent and sharper, highlighting the dark circles beneath her eyes.
Her cheeks are sunken, hollow.
She looks like a shadow of my mother.
This isn’t the woman I grew up with, whose eyes would sparkle while she helped me roll out dough for Christmas cookies, or who would jump up and down at my field hockey games, cheering every time my stick touched the ball.
I reach over and take her hand.
She gives my hand a squeeze in return.
I do my best to ignore how weak her grip is and how fragile she seems.
“How are you feeling, Mom?” I ask. “Really.”
She gives me a smile then turns back to gaze out the window. “I’m okay. I really am. The medicine helps with the pain.”
The morphine, the only medicine she’s willing to accept.
I hate the thought of her in pain.
When Dylan and I were kids, Mom was the one who soothed our pain, always offering an ice pack or a Band-Aid or a popsicle to make things better.
I want to be able to do that for her, but it’s not like a frozen treat can fix cancer.
I shift closer to her on the couch. “It feels wrong to go out and leave you here. I feel like I should be spending time with you. Not going out on dates and stuff with my free time.”
Mandy has insisted that I take some time off from working at the barn. She told me I was welcome to come over if I needed to cry on a horse, or if I needed to get my mind off things, but other than that, she didn’t want to see me.
I managed fine on my own for six months after Kelsey left town before you started helping me out, Mandy had said. You take care of your mama, and the barn will be here when you’re ready.
And in some ways, it’s helpful to have that responsibility lifted off my shoulders.
I can stay up late watching TV or playing a game with Mom, or just reading a book by her side, because I don’t have to be up early to go turn out horses. It gives me the freedom to spend time with Mom on her schedule.
But it does narrow my existence right now to just this: sitting with Mom, wondering how much longer she has.
Wondering if it’s selfish to wish for her to live longer. If she wants more time, too, or if she’s ready for it to be over, for the pain to be gone.
Mom lets out a contented sigh as she pats my hand. “I just want you and Dylan happy, Rory. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. For you to have the kind of life you’ve dreamed of.”
I blink back tears. For a while, I thought I did have the life of my dreams.
Me and Nate, together, living in High Lonesome while I worked at the barn.
That was the vision I’d had as a teenager.
But with a rift between me and Nate, we’re not exactly living our happily ever after.
“What am I going to do?” I whisper, more to myself than to her, but Mom’s hearing is as sharp as ever.
“You’re going to be okay, Rory.” Her thumb strokes a soft pattern over the back of my hand as she speaks. “You’re going to be happy. Maybe you’ll get married one day. Have kids. Whatever you want to do with your life, it’s yours to take.”
One of the tears that’s pricking at my eyes spills over and runs down my cheek. “But you won’t be there.”
“Of course I’ll be there, baby,” she says.
A fresh wash of guilt has my stomach sinking lower as my chest constricts.
I should be the one offering her comfort, not the other way around. She’s the one who’s sick. I shouldn’t be making it all about me.
But she keeps talking and lifts one hand to brush my hair off my forehead, the way she did when I was younger. “I’ll always be with you, even after I’m gone. I promise.”
More tears stream down my cheeks.
“Now,” Mom says, her voice strengthening when she shifts to her Mama Bear mode. “Don’t you have a date to get ready for?”
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t go. I don’t want to leave you alone. I’ll just cancel.”
“No.” Mom shakes her head with force. “If I’m dying, then I get my dying wishes, right?”
It takes me a minute to recover from her use of the word dying. We all know the situation, of course, but so often we tiptoe around that one word, like if we mention Death it’ll come for her quicker.
But having the word hang between us doesn’t seem to change things, and I wonder if it’s because Mom is no longer scared of the idea.
It’s a powerful thought.
She waits, letting me process, until I offer a slow nod.
“Now, my dying wish is to see you happy. And I’ve never seen you so lit up inside as when you’re spending time with Nate.”
“But—”
She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “No buts. You need to hear him out, Rory. Please. For me.”
The way she says it makes me wonder if there’s something more she knows.
What hasn’t Nate told me? Is it something that would change everything?
But then, if there’s anything he’s hiding, it goes right back to that issue of trust. The entire reason we’re not together right now.
“Please, Rory. If you seemed unhappy with Nate, I wouldn’t push this.
You know I just want the best for you. And I don’t want to tell you what to do, but…
” Mom pulls in a breath and releases a heavy sigh.
“All I know is that when you and Nate are apart, you seem like a light has gone out. Like part of you is missing. And every time you spend time with him, it’s like that flame is rekindled.
Your life is yours to live, Bumblebee. But just give him a chance to make you happy. ”
The childhood nickname hits hard. Mom called me Bumblebee while I was growing up—because, she said, When you see the bees around, you know the flowers are blooming, that things are happy in the world.
I swallow back the pain that rises every time I think about the fact that her time here is limited. “Okay. I’ll go out with him. If that’s what you want.”
Mom pats my hand. “I’ll be just fine, Bee. And Dad will be back from the market soon. I can manage alone for a good hour or so. I’ll find some trashy show to watch.”
Mom has always been addicted to reality shows—Real Housewives, The Bachelor, Love Island. The more ridiculous the better.
I reach for the remote on the side table and hand it over. “All right, then. You watch the crazy kids on TV while I go get ready.”
She clicks the TV on without another word. I stand, and Spam jumps onto the couch, cuddling up to Mom in the space I just vacated.
Nate didn’t give me much information on our date today—just told me to dress comfortably. So I’ll start with a shower and go from there.
As I turn toward the stairs, a knock at the door makes me pause. Who could that be?
I sneak a glance at the clock on the wall. It’s 12:40—there’s over an hour until our date.
Maybe Mom or Dad ordered a package. It takes so long for things to get delivered up here, especially in the winter, that I sometimes forget I ordered something by the time it arrives.
I pull open the door and then stop short.
Nate stands there, jeans and a fleece jacket somehow looking sexy as fuck wrapped around his muscular body.
When he pulls off his ski cap to reveal perfectly tousled hair, my heart skips a beat. The scruff on his chin has grown long enough to truly be called a beard, adding to the Mountain Man appeal.
I never thought I’d be into guys with facial hair, but the vision in front of me is changing that opinion.
Excitement and nerves and arousal rush through me so fast I can’t sort out which emotion is taking the lead. I swallow twice before I figure out how to make my voice work.
“You’re, um.” I swallow again. “You’re early.”
He places a hand on the doorframe and leans in, and I practically swoon.
“Mind if I come in?”