Chapter 3
what happens when i’m gone?
Hannah
Jelly and Jam bustles like it does every Saturday morning as I settle into Mom and my favorite booth.
The familiar-faced waitress arrives to fill our coffee mugs. Her smile lights up when she spots Mom breezing through the main entrance.
“You ladies want your usual?” she asks.
Mom sits down and we both give her the go ahead before she flits off to the next table.
I sip my coffee. “How are you feeling?”
At five-four, Mom’s always been small next to my five-eight frame. But with a pound lost here and another few pounds there, there’s a frailty to her these days. A little worse every time I see her.
Her hazel eyes—a shade darker than mine—peer at me through hooded lashes. She peels back the lid on two creamers. I rip open a single sugar packet and flip it over into her coffee, flicking it with my finger.
“I’ve told you to stop taking care of me,” she says on a tired breath. “I didn’t need you to show up at my door three nights ago, and I don’t need you to ask how I’m feeling every time you see me. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”
It’s the same revolving door argument we’ve had for years. I bite my tongue.
She changes the subject before I can. “How’s the gala shaping up?”
“Really great. I think it’s gonna be the biggest event yet.”
“That’s incredible, Hannah. I’m proud of you. Gwyn and Maddy would be, too.” I grin over the rim of my mug, pushing down the emotion that always creeps in at the mention of their names.
The annual fundraising gala for Boulder Children’s Hospital is my greatest career accomplishment, but it’s a personal mission too.
My work for BCH began in undergrad. Sure there were some college credits at stake, but more than anything, it was an effort to give back to the selfless people who saw Mom and me through the darkest season of our lives.
Not even Mom’s cancer could one-up the loss we both endured eleven years ago.
The doctors, the staff, the work they do at BCH—it’s the most meaningful privilege of my life to spearhead this event for them every year.
Not allowing myself to dwell too long on the memory of our best friends, I ask, “Do you wanna ride over together?”
“No. I’ve got my own date, thank you very much.”
I choke on my coffee. “You—” Cough. “You what?”
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. Yes, I have a date. Is that so hard to believe?”
My head bobbles in forty-seven directions, eyes wide. “No. It’s just…well…who is it?”
“Richard Adelson.”
Scalding liquid siphons up my nose and I hack into my fist. My lungs are somehow on fire and under water at the same time. “Doctor Adelson?” I croak, palm braced against my chest.
Mom pins me with a proud smirk while I pull myself together.
“Doctor. Adelson.” I repeat the words because my brain hasn’t computed them yet.
“This old engine still has some rubber on her tires.”
I slap a hand over my eyes. “Ew, Mom.”
She laughs, ending on an amused sigh. When I peek at her through the slit of my fingers, she pumps her brows. I’m gone. We cackle, some odd combo of her shamelessness and my secondhand embarrassment swirling between us.
By the time we calm down, I’m swatting tears from my cheeks.
The waitress returns with our meals. French toast and bacon for me, Denver omelette and an English muffin for Mom.
We nod our thanks and the server disappears again, but my mind continues to reel. “How long?”
She throws me a look. “Well, I haven’t measured but if I had to guess—”
My fork drops to the table and I sink into the vinyl booth, both hands back on my face. “Please, God, make it stop!”
Mom chuckles through a bite of her eggs. “Careful, Hannah, people might think I raised a prude.”
I ignore the jab and jolt upright. “Does he know?”
“That I’m dying of cancer?” I glare at her for a beat. She lowers her eyes and collects more eggs onto her fork, adding softly, “Yes, he knows.”
After a few moments of heavy silence, Mom says, “What about you? You bringing a date?”
I snort. “The event is a part of my job. You know I’m gonna be working.”
She rolls her eyes.
I pitch my voice to match her mom-tone. “Lydia Marie James, don’t roll your eyes at me.”
She rips a piece of her muffin and hurls it at my face. “Kristen is bringing a date.”
“Kristen is bringing her husband.”
“Smartass. What about blind date guy?”
“I rescheduled that for next week.” My answer is noncommittal as I return to my French toast.
“Well aware, dear. You spent said evening uninvited on my couch, remember?”
“I told you there was a work emergency.”
“Yes, well, nonetheless, you’ll still have two weeks to see if he might be someone you want to accompany you.”
I shrug and avert my gaze. “Maybe.” But not likely.
She sets her fork aside. “Okay, I need to say something—”
“Mom, please don’t,” I cut in, too tired for this conversation.
She lifts a hand and my neck stiffens. Mom is donning her mom-face—she’s the boss right now so I keep my thoughts to myself.
“After your father left, I thought I was doing the right thing by reorganizing our life to be all about us. I thought it would distract us both, the whole we don’t need him thing.
And don’t misunderstand what I’m saying, I love how it’s been you and me for so long, but I see now how it’s caused you to alter your life too much for me.
You’ll drop anything, Haddy. Relationships.
Friendships. Time for yourself. You’ve given them all up for me and that’s not fair to you. ”
My gut churns. Yes, I’ve canceled dates, adjusted my work schedule to take care of her but…
that’s what I’m supposed to do. The only family I have left in this world—my soulmate—has been dying for the better part of eight years, and she’d prefer I sit back and watch it happen from my place across town?
“I don’t know how to not care. You’re my mom.”
“Oh, Haddy.” She reaches for my hand. “I’m not asking you to stop caring. You are the best thing this life has ever given me. But I’m saying this because I love you: you have my permission to be selfish now.”
I scoff, swiping a tear off my cheek.
“Until my last breath, sweetheart, it’ll be you and me against the world. But what happens when I’m gone?”
I fall into a pit of despair. I cry myself to sleep every night. I won’t know how to get out of bed in the morning.
“My time is limited. But your time is now and take it from me, you don’t know how much of it you have left. Please don’t waste another second of it on my account.”
“Time with you isn’t time wasted.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I could never regret a single moment we spend together, Hannah. And I’m going to cherish every last one we get between now and the end. But…” Her eyes search mine. “Not every one of your moments has to belong to me.”
I manage a weak nod and squeeze her hand, agreeing not because it’s what I want, but because it’s what she wants.
On the way home, I stop for gas. Same station I frequent regularly just outside downtown Boulder. Pump lock in place, I fold my arms and lean against the passenger door to watch the numbers tick by.
Mom’s plea echoes through my brain in relentless waves.
You have my permission to be selfish.
Your time is now. You don’t know how much of it you have left.
Being selfish isn’t in my nature. But I tried it once.
The hiss of gasoline spilling into the tank is a steady hum at my back when I turn toward the station. A parking lot littered with oil stains. Metal trash can by the door. And just inside, blurred behind hazy glass windows, the flashing neon Hot Dogs sign stares back at me like it remembers too.