by Emma Quinn
“Chiropractor,” he winced. “Now how the hell are we supposed to pay for that when all you do is work a minimum wage job and spend most your time at college? I mean for Christ's sake, Ethan. Would it hurt you to get a real job? Every other man in this family worked down the mine as soon as they could walk.”
“The mines closed down a long time ago. You know that.”
He said nothing, just looked solemnly out the window and shook his head.
“College,” he said as though it was a dirty word. “I don't know what possessed you to waste your time in that pompous hellhole. And to study acting. You gotta be crazy. And do you know what the worst thing about it is? I have to tell my fucking friends that you've got your heart set on being an actor. An actor for crying out loud! Do you know how embarrassing that is? Do you know what they all say about you?”
“I don't care what anyone says about me,” I replied.
“Well you should. They think you're a good for nothing. Think you're wasting your life away when you should be looking after me and your mother.”
“That's exactly what I do!” I yelled back.
I was shocked at the power in my voice. I'd never raised my voice, especially not to Dad. But I'd been growing increasingly tired of him telling me I wasn't doing enough. That I was wasting my time at college. I may have been the only guy in the family to not work down the mines, but I was also the first to go to college.
Mom was happy for me of course. She told me I could be an actor all I wanted, but Dad? I may as well have told him I wanted to fly to the moon. He thought it was just a pipe dream, and a wimpy one at that.
“Real men work with their hands!” he'd always yell. “They don't act or dance or sing.”
But he was wrong. I was a real man, and I could do all those things. I could also look after my family and put a roof over their head.
“You think I don't look after you and Mom?” I said. “You really think that? Well, how the hell would you know what I do? You spend all day festering in this bed. You've no idea how hard I work, how I do all the cooking and cleaning and shopping. And that's before I even go to work and college. You've no idea how little I sleep or how stressed I am, or how much I worry that we're going to lose Mom!”
“Son, settle down. I didn't mean what I said. It's just the pain talking. I'm in agony here. You know what I get like when the pain hits. I say things I don't mean. Please, just sit and talk a little while.”
“I'm not sitting anywhere. I'm going to see Mom,” I said and stood up.
Looking out the window, I saw it was already a beautiful summer's day with the sun blistering across the sky. Mom would have loved to sit out in the garden and sip on her homemade lemonade as she read one of her favorite books. But I knew she'd never be back in her beloved garden again.
“Fine, runaway to your mother,” moaned Dad. “God knows you were always hanging off her apron strings.”
3
Sophia
“ O
h, my God this pizza. Oh, my God. Sooooo gooood.”
I wiped a strand of melted cheese from my bottom lip and reached for the garlic mayo.
“Christ what is it with you and food once you get tipsy?” laughed Emily. “You turn into Godzilla or something. I wouldn't be surprised if you started chomping down on that nearest lamp post over there.”
“I can't help it. I just get so hungry when I drink.”
We had migrated out of the old Delaney bar into a nearby pizza parlor where I had my heart set on devouring a sixteen inch meat feast all on my own. Emily, always cautious about her weight, had chosen to nibble on the bread sticks while looking at me with pure disgust.
“What?” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I have a healthy appetite.”
“It just doesn't make sense. Where do you put all this food? You're still a size zero.”
“Size four actually,” I corrected her. “I haven't been a zero in forever.”
“Still, do you know how small that is? If I ate like you I'd be the size of a house.”
“Aw, shut up. No you wouldn't. And even if you were I bet you'd be the sexiest house ever.”
“Aw, really. You think so?”
“I know so.”
She smiled and reached for her second bread stick. Behind her, I noticed the clock on the wall reach five o'clock.
“Shit,” I said, nibbling on the crust. “I gotta get back home soon. “My mom's planning this huge celebration dinner to share my news. You're invited too, obviously.”
“Hey, I wouldn't miss your mom's cooking for the world.”
Bread stick number three made its way to her mouth before number four was in quick pursuit.
Looking down at my plate, I realized just how much I'd eaten and in such a short space of time.
“I'm a monster,” I said, picking cheese off the plate.
“You know once you hit thirty it all catches up with you,” said Emily. “That's what my mom always told me. She said she used to eat whatever she wanted then as soon as she turned thirty she turned into a blimp.”
“Don't say that.”
“Hey, thirty's still a long way for us. You've got eight more years of cramming pizza into your mouth before then.”
But out of the blue, the idea of pizza didn't seem too appetizing. If anything, it felt repulsive.
“You okay?” asked Emily. “You suddenly don't look so good.”
“I'm fine,” I lied, feeling a rising sense of nausea.
“Are you sure? Because you've gone really pale.”
“Yeah, I'm just... gonna... go to the bathroom to splash my face with some cold water. Don't think Cosmos and pizza mix that well.”
Standing up, I staggered into the bathroom. I'd not had that much to drink, had I? Just a couple drinks. So why did I feel as though I was about to collapse? And why did it feel as though my stomach was on a spin cycle?
Holding a hand to my belly, I entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
Shit, you do look pale? Or green more like.
Must have been something in the pizza. Maybe it wasn't cooked right or...
The nausea intensified and suddenly I had the strongest urge to run headfirst into the nearest cubicle and dive into the toilet bowl.
I vomited with such force I felt as though I was going to tumble in. Over and over again, the contents of my stomach emptied itself until there were tears streaming down my face and my throat was raw.
That's it. I'm never eating meat feast again!
But at the back of my mind, I wondered if that was really what was wrong. I'd never been sick with such suddenness and ferocity in my life. The Exorcist had nothing on me.
Flushing the toilet, I dabbed at my face with some tissue paper and rested against the cubicle wall. A second later came the creak of the door behind me as someone walked into the ladies room.
“Sophia?”
“In here, Emily,” I replied, my throat burning as I talked.
She appeared in the doorway and saw the tears in my eyes and the look of pure exhaustion on my face.
“Oh, my God Sophia! Are you okay?”
She knelt down beside me and brushed the hair from my face.
“You look really terrible. I think you need to see a doctor.”
“No doctor. I'm sure it was just the pizza.”
“I doubt it. You've eaten here dozens of times.”
“Then it was the cosmos.”
“You had two cocktails,” said Emily. “Not enough to make you look like this. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”
Hooking her arms around my back, she helped me to my feet and walked me over to the sink. Balling up some tissue paper and running it under the water, she dabbed the smudged mascara from my cheeks.
“There you go. You look like a princess again. Kinda...”
“I feel like I'm dying.”
“I really think you should see a doctor.”
“Nah, they'll no doubt just tell me to go to bed. I d
on't have time for that.”
Emily sighed and tossed the tissue in the trash.
“You do too much,” she said. “You work too hard. No wonder you're ill. You need some time off.”
“I'll be fine,” I insisted. “I'm sure it's just a stomach bug. You know, those twenty-four hour things that soon work themselves out.”
“Either that or you're pregnant,” she laughed.
“Yeah, pregnant,” I chuckled.
“Which of course you're not.”
“Obviously. How could I be pregnant?”
“Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much the man puts his-”
“Yes, yes. Very funny. I can't be pregnant. Me and Ethan are really careful.”
“Are you sure?”
“Okay, mostly careful.”
She raised her eyebrows at me.
“Okay, we're careful some of the time.”
“Sophia!”
“What? Don't tell me you forget to take the pill sometimes.”
“Well sure I do but... Oh, God Sophia if you think there's even a slight chance you could be pregnant you'll have to take a test.”
“I'm not pregnant!” I insisted, laughing nervously. “Honestly, it's probably just a stomach bug.”
But the look on Emily's face was telling me otherwise.
4
Ethan
“ M
om? You awake?”
I walked into her room and saw a lump beneath the covers. Approaching gingerly, I poked my head around the bed and saw her face nestled against the pillow. For a second, I was gripped in fear.
Is she not moving?
Has she stopped breathing?
But then I saw the rise and fall of her chest as she took a breath and I felt my body sigh with relief.
Mom had been brought into the hospital two months ago, but I never got used to the sight of her surrounded by wires and beeping machinery. And I could never get used to the sterile smell of her room or how the whole ward was eerily quiet.
It was just one room after the other filled with people desperate to survive. Even though many didn't. It seemed that barely a week passed when I didn't enter the ward to see an empty bed that previously housed someone who was intent on fighting for their life.
I hoped Mom wouldn't lose the fight. She was the toughest old girl I knew and was going to kick the shit out of cancer. That's what I thought anyway, but with each passing day my optimism began to dwindle.
“Hello? Are you Penny's son?”
I had been so lost in thought I hadn't realized there was someone in the doorway. Looking over my shoulder, I saw an unfamiliar doctor in a white coat standing with a clipboard in his hand and a serious expression on his face.
“Yeah... I'm Ethan. You are...”
“Doctor Trent. I don't believe we've met before.”
“We haven't.”
He entered with a brisk stride and shook my hand. His eyes darted down to Mom then back to me.
“We had to sedate her earlier because of the pain,” he explained.
“Oh... I didn't realize it was so bad. She never complains about it.”
“She's a real trooper all right,” said Trent. “A real fighter.”
His eyes moved sadly up and down her shrunken body.
“She talks a lot about you,” he said.
“She does?”
“Says she's real proud of you. Says you're going to be an actor some day.”
“That's the plan. Don't know how likely it is, though.”
“Ah, a good looking boy like you could breeze right into Hollywood,” he smiled.
But there was a sadness behind his smile. Like he was on the cusp of bearing bad news.
“Would you be able to pop into my office for a chat?” he suddenly asked.
I looked into his eyes and saw the sadness had intensified.
“Sure...”
Stepping into a doctor's office?
I'd never done that before.
Following him out the room, I trailed behind him as he led me down a long, pale blue. Our shoes squeaked on the freshly polished floor and the sounds of beeping machinery slowly faded into the distance behind us.
“Right this way,” said Trent, pointing to a nearby door.
I didn't know what I expected from his office, but I was surprised to see how plain and dull it was. As though he'd just moved in and hadn't time to make it his own. The only personal touch was a framed photograph on his desk of who I assumed to be his wife. A willowy blonde with piercing blue eyes.
“Please, take a seat,” he said.
I sat across his desk from him and nervously glanced around the room.
It all felt so wrong. Like I was sitting in the principal's office waiting to get my ear blasted off.
“I appreciate you're going through a hard time,” he began, clasping his fingers together on his desk. “I'm aware of the situation with your father too. It seems like you've got quite the burden on your young shoulders.”
“Taking care of my parents isn't a burden,” I told him.
“Yes. My apologies. Bad choice of words.”
He fell silent and I stared at him, willing him to spit out whatever he had to say. But his eyes were darting everywhere around the room but me.
“So... What can I help you with?” I said, trying to get to the point. “If there's anything else I can do for my mom then please let me know and...”
My words trailed off when he raised his eyes and looked into my face.
“I'm sorry but there's nothing you can do for your mother anymore. There's nothing I can do either.”
I sat, stunned, letting the words dance around my head.
What exactly did he mean?
“I'm afraid I don't really understand,” I said, leaning forward in my seat. “What do you mean there's nothing we can do for her.”
He pinched his lips into a tight line and frowned.
“There's no easy way to say this,” he began, shuffling in his seat. “But she's not responding to the chemotherapy.”
“So... You can operate, right? There are other options aren't there?”
“I'm afraid not. We've done all we can but... I'm sorry. This must be terrible for you to hear, but the truth is that she's been very fortunate to have made it this far.”
“Fortunate? It doesn't feel fucking fortunate!”
He flinched as I yelled, but then caught his breath and nodded in acknowledgment.
“I understand your frustration.”
“I'm not frustrated!”
What was I? In that moment it felt as though there were no words to explain how I felt. Devastated? Destroyed? Heartbroken? Terrified? They only touched the surface of the fear and sadness that dug its way down deep into my core.
“So that's it,” I said, more to myself than to him. “There's nothing you can do for her.”
“I'm afraid so. I'm truly sorry. The cancer. It spread to her lymph nodes. It won't be long until...”
“Until....”
He averted my gaze and looked down at his desk.
“Doctor just tell it to me straight. How long has she got?”
He looked down into his hands in deep thought as though he was trying to choose his words carefully.
“Three months,” he eventually said. “If everything goes well. It could be six to eight weeks if she grows weaker.”
“Six to eight weeks!”
Weeks....
How long did it feel like for a week to pass?
How long would it feel to watch my mother and know each passing moment I had with her was fast approaching the last?
“Are you sure?” I asked, but I knew it was a stupid question.
“I'm terribly sorry, but yes I'm sure,” said Trent. “It's never easy news to hear. I suggest you go home and begin getting her affairs in order.”
It felt as though my throat was closing up, as though all my limbs were ready to snap with the weight of my heavy, grief-stricken bo
dy.
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said as I slowly dragged myself up from my seat, but I didn't know what I was thanking him for.
Staggering out the office, I walked down into Mom's room on legs that were now numb. Pushing open the door, I saw she was still sleeping deeply beneath the covers. I approached her quietly and lay a hand on her shoulder. She felt so frail and bony beneath my hand like a baby bird.
“Mom... I'm so sorry,” I whispered. “I should have done more for you.”
Then I pulled my hand away and swallowed down the urge to cry. I never cried in front of my mom even if she wasn't awake to see it. She had to think I had it all together. That I was coping just fine and putting on a brave face like I always did. She didn't have to know that I was crumbling right in front of her.
Bending down, I kissed her cheek and took a second to breathe in her scent. She was starting to smell less and less like she used to and more like hospital chemicals.
“I'll be back soon,” I said, and clenched my eyes shut. “I promise.”
Then I walked away from her. As I reached the door, I looked over my shoulder one last time to see her, then I drifted down the hall feeling as though the world was passing me by in a haze. I didn't remember how I got out the hospital, or how I reached my car. All I remembered was suddenly collapsing into the driver's seat and burying my head in my hands.
Only now did I let the tears fall.
I drove for what felt like hours. Up and down and round and round until all the streets became a blur. I drove until my head began to hurt and my throat was raw. All the while the tears fell freely.
“Get your shit together,” I told myself, wiping the tears from my face. “You're a grown man. Not a kid. Stop your fucking sniveling.”
But I couldn't stop because all I kept thinking was, I'm going to lose my mom. In just a matter of weeks it's going to just be me and Dad. Dad... How was I supposed to tell him the news?
Knowing him he'd most likely blame me for Mom's prognosis.
“You should have taken better care of her!” he'd probably yell. “You should have worked harder.”