by Leia Stone
“Tell me.”
"The cancer has spread to my bones, Autumn. The chemo isn’t working." Her matter-of-fact tone tells me she is resigned.
Well, I'm not.
Something inside me stirs. A heat, a hope, a wave of anger. The first flickers of a fight. I can do this. Where chemo has failed her, I can make her better. I'll research until my eyes are crossed, call in every favor.
Pulling a chair from a nearby table, I sink down into it, still holding my mom's hand.
"Listen," I tell her, my tone intense. "We're not giving up. There are alternative treatments. Countries without the restrictions we have here. I have money saved, Mom, and if it’s not enough I’ll get a loan. We'll exhaust every option." I glance down at the table, at the chocolate croissant in front of her. "No more sugar. No more dairy or gluten. I'm going to read more about eating meat." I look at her paper coffee cup. "And about caffeine. Environmental toxins too. We should probably get a whole house water filter—"
Owen interrupts: "Autumn, she only has a few months left. Six months at the most.” And all of the wind is knocked out of me. He sits back, two hands wrapped around his own coffee, pity softening the corners of his eyes.
“No.” I shake my head, rubbing at my temples. “No, because we haven’t even finished this round of chemo, and there is—”
"Sweetheart," Mom begins, her voice cautious. Her gaze searches mine, and before she speaks, I know what she's going to say. My head shakes, but she presses on. "I don't want to do all those things. I want to have my last few months with you and Owen and my friends. Not vomiting, or chained to a hospital bed."
My voice is a growl. "You have to fight, Mom, even when it's hard."
The world sits between us, my world and hers, wishes and desires colliding. The longer she looks at me, the more I understand what she isn't saying.
“I’m done fighting, honey. I just want to live with what time I have left.”
"No." It's a whisper, strangled by anguish, but a refusal nonetheless. My gaze flits between them, between two people who've had time to sit in this information, who've settled into a choice. They watch me now, both with a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty. It strikes me that they have the matching expressions of two people who've been in battle together. This is their third fight, and their first loss.
I am not where they are.
I've never felt so alone.
"I need to go," I mumble, ripping my gaze from them.
They don't stop me.
"Thought I might find you here."
Her voice, smooth and kind, swirls around me. She steps into my vision. The tree I'd been looking at now looms above her.
My mom gestures to the open space on the bench beside me. "May I join you?"
"Of course," I say, moving my purse. I'd set it there on purpose. Tlaquepaque is a busy place, and I didn't want anybody sitting beside me. An uncharitable move on my part, but making small talk with a stranger seemed too much for me right now.
My mom sits down, setting her own purse on her lap. She looks up at the tree. "You always did like it here." She glances around. "It's beautiful, certainly, but for you it has a magical quality."
"Yeah," I nod, looking down at the uneven floor, the places where the tree's roots have pushed up. "Did Owen tell you where to find me?"
She gives me an admonishing look. "I knew exactly where you'd go."
The glowing feeling of being known spreads through my limbs. My mom angles her body toward me, and I follow suit, propping one bent knee on the wooden bench between us.
“You may not believe this,” she starts, her speech halting, “but I was thinking of you when I made the choice to discontinue chemo.”
I open my mouth to protest but stop when she shakes her head.
“This is my third fight, Autumn. It’s probably hard for you to imagine how tiring that is, but believe me when I tell you it’s the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done. Physically, mentally, emotionally. All of it. Having cancer isn’t a choice. I have no control over it. The one thing I do have control over is how the end of my life goes.”
A sob escapes my throat, but I swallow it down as she reaches for my hand.
“Baby girl, I don't want to spend my precious time chasing a maybe. Owen sent my scans to be looked at by colleagues at three of the top cancer hospitals in the country. They all said the same thing. Terminal.”
The sob I swallowed earlier is back up now and I can’t speak.
Terminal. That one word strikes fear into my heart like no other.
“I just want to be with you. And Owen. I want to grab coffee with Linda. Go to church on Sunday. Eat ice cream, gluten, and sugar. I want to drink wine in my back yard." Her eyes light up mischievously. "I want to take a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon."
My mouth drops open. "Mom, you're terrified of helicopters."
She smiles. "I know. Also, I want to see a show in Vegas."
I laugh, incredulous at the notion of my mom venturing out of her comfort zone and doing things she has refused to do for so long. The laughter dies in my throat when I realize it’s her bucket list. "You hate crowds."
"Right," she nods, the smile still playing on her lips. "Will you do those things with me?"
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. "Of course."
She wraps me in her arms, gathering me to her, and holds me while I cry.
Chapter 21
Owen
I can tell who is at my front door by the soft and hesitant knock. I'd also know who it was if the knock were loud and insistent. After what Autumn learned today, I'm anticipating a wide array of feelings. I’m glad she walked in on her mom and I having coffee and talking about stopping treatment. Now I don’t have to keep this secret from her any longer. It was killing me. I needed someone to share it with, and now that it’s out I can put all my energy toward being strong for her.
"Hi," Autumn says when I open the door. She looks tiny, shrunken by the weight of her mom's choice. I don't say anything. I just pull her over the threshold and into my arms. She presses her face to my chest, and when she draws back for a breath, her eyes shine with unshed tears.
“Come here,” I say softly, leading her over to the couch. We sit down, but Autumn looks uncomfortable. She’s facing me, her legs tucked underneath her, but she’s restless. She taps two fingers against her thigh in a quick beat, and I don’t think she knows she’s doing it.
After a moment, she leans in. “I need you," she whispers, her hand disappearing under my shirt and skimming over my torso.
Her request surprises me, but when I look into her eyes, I understand. The heartache I see there tells me all I need to know. She’s trying her damnedest to run from the pain, and as nice as it would be to sweep her up and run away from it with her, it won’t make a difference. Pain doesn’t disappear because you choose not to acknowledge it. Pain is a patient sonofabitch.
I take her hand out from under my shirt. “Autumn.” My voice and my touch are gentle.
As if her name was the key to the gates holding back her grief, they open and everything she was avoiding spills out. At first it’s her tears, followed closely by an anguished sob. I pull her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her quaking shoulders. She buries her face in my neck, and the saddest sounds I’ve ever heard are cried against my skin.
Autumn’s ache unlocks my own. My eyes burn, and salty tears slip down my cheeks, some spilling onto my lap and others soaking into her hair.
Autumn’s sobbing comes and goes, and I hold her through each wave. Time passes, I can’t tell how much because it feels insignificant in this moment. Eventually Autumn sits up, sniffling, and runs a forearm under her nose. Without a word she climbs off me and walks to the bathroom. The sink turns on and she blows her nose over and over.
While she’s gone, I take my phone from my pocket and order pizza. There isn't anything I can do to fix what is breaking her heart right now, but at least I can feed her.
When she r
eturns a few minutes later, she sits down, letting the cushions support her. Her restlessness has evaporated.
"I ordered pizza," I tell her, tossing my phone on the couch beside me and placing one arm over her shoulders.
"Good," she says, shifting so she’s pressed against my side. "I'm starving."
"Do you want to talk about your mom?" My question is partially muffled by the top of her head.
"No," she answers. "Not yet."
I nod my understanding. We sit quietly, but inside my head it's loud, and I wonder if it's the same in hers.
"Here." I hold out a beer. Autumn takes it from me, eyes grateful.
She twists off the cap and tosses it. It lands on the dining room table and spins twice before it falls over. She takes a deep pull, her throat bobbing when she swallows.
"I needed that," she says, placing the beer on the table and opening the box of pizza that I set down a couple minutes ago. "Oh," she gasps softly, covering her mouth with her hand.
"What?" I ask, concerned. "Did I get the order wrong? Do you hate it?"
"You remembered my favorite."
Chicken and mushrooms with garlic and fresh basil. That order has been imprinted on me for over a decade. And not just because it's delicious, but because it's Autumn's order. I'd never heard of such a pizza until our second date, when we'd walked to a nearby place after school and I heard the girl who stole my heart order something that seemed so advanced for our fifteen years. It only made me like her more.
"Onion rings with barbecue sauce. Spaghetti with olive oil and garlic. The word moist makes you shudder, scabs on elbows gross you out, and you absolutely detest olives, which doesn't make much sense because you love pickles and they're not that different." I could go on. And on and on and on…
"Owen … I…"
Whatever it is she's trying to say, the words just won't come out. She gets up from her chair and comes to me, sitting down on my lap.
My hands wind into her long hair, cradling her head. "I haven't forgotten a second of you, Autumn. Not a damn second."
"Me neither, Owen. I remember all of us, every moment, every laugh, every pain."
I swallow down all my fear of losing her a second time. "What do you think about giving us another chance?"
She presses the tip of her nose to mine. I smell beer on her breath, mixed with the sweet smell of Autumn. "What do you think I've been doing these past few weeks?" she giggles.
“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
She nods.
“Autumn Cummings, will you be my girlfriend?” I say in a nerdy voice that resembles my fifteen-year-old self.
Laughter peals out of her and I’m thrown by how insanely beautiful she is.
“Yes,” she answers, and kisses me quickly before pulling away. "So, we're really doing this?" she asks, and I know it's not a direct question but a statement of wonder and disbelief.
"We really are," I confirm. "And this time we're going to do it a hundred times better."
"Yes," she murmurs, her velvety lips on mine. "So much better."
Autumn reaches for a slice of pizza, but she doesn't go back to her seat. She eats pizza on my lap, alternating bites and kisses. I can almost see her high fading as thoughts of her mom creep back in.
"Are you certain she can't fight, Owen?" Autumn wipes her mouth with a napkin and grabs another slice.
I've had more time to process it all, and still the thought is sharp, jabbing at me as I contemplate Autumn's question. As much as I want to sugarcoat it, I know Autumn would prefer a straight answer. "It's too advanced. There is literally nothing modern medicine can do for her now but ease her suffering. No stem cell, no bone marrow transplant or transfusion has ever medically brought someone back from how far along she is. I … I failed her. I failed you."
I keep thinking of how I didn’t catch its progression sooner. I followed every protocol and it still snuck past me.
I hear Autumn’s sharp intake of breath, see it in the rise of her chest. It remains puffed up for five full seconds before she releases it. "You didn’t fail anyone.” She reaches out and runs her fingers through my hair, raking them along my neck. “Do you think I could change her mind?" Rueful hope lives in her question.
"Yes," I nod slowly, my answer as honest as my previous one. "But that doesn't mean you should. She has given tremendous consideration to her choice. Knowing what I know, seeing what I’ve seen, if I were terminal, I’d want my last days to be living life with my family."
Autumn traces lines in the wood grain of my table. "In a way, it reminds me of the abortion. The choice, I mean. It was my body and I made the choice." Her lips twist, and I sense she's not done talking. "Do I regret it? Yes. Do I wish the circumstances had been different? With my whole heart. Did I feel I had to do it? Also yes. I made a choice for my body, using the information I had at the time. She's doing the same."
I nod, pulling her closer into me. "I know it's not easy, Autumn, but I'm going to go through this with you, if you'll let me. Okay?"
Tears line her eyes as she nods. "I want you there through every step. Including flying in a helicopter and seeing a show in Vegas."
I shake my head, confused. "How did we get from your mom to Vegas?"
"She told me some things she wants to do before … before she…" The word sticks in her throat.
"Helicopter, Vegas, what else?" I'm trying to rescue her from saying the word she so clearly cannot express.
"Time with us. Me. And you. Coffee with Linda. Basic stuff."
"We'll do it all," I assure her, brushing a kiss over the back of her neck. I don't tell her how soon we'll need to do it. Making sure it happens in a timely manner will be my job.
Autumn takes a bite of her pizza, eyebrows raising like she has just realized something.
"What?" I ask, taking a bite too.
"My period is due any day now … so I guess we’ll see…"
The broken condom. It’s not that I forgot it, only that it was pushed to the back of my mind when Theresa showed up in my office with Faith’s scans.
Autumn mistakes my lack of response for worry. Her eyes crease in concern. “Do you regret that I didn't take the Plan B?”
How do I tell her that I don't really care if we use protection again anytime soon? I should tread lightly, go slow, but fuck I don't want to. I want to snatch her up and make her mine, and if I’ve learned anything through all this with Faith, it’s that life isn't guaranteed.
Tracing the lines on the inside of her palm, I ask, “What do you think about forgetting birth control altogether?”
She blinks in surprise. She doesn't look like she hates my question. In fact, she looks intrigued, giving me the courage I need to push on. "I'm not looking to spend years dating you,” I tell her. “I don't need to get married tomorrow, but I know you're who I'm meant to be with." I run my hand up and down her arm. "So, my love, you just say the word. You tell me how all this is going to go. Because you have me. All of me. Forever."
Autumn tosses the rest of her pizza in the open box and wraps her arms around me. "How is this the saddest and happiest day of my life at the same time? Owen Miller, you are the person all the rest of my days belong to, and I don't care that our past is muddy because all the days ahead of us are bright.” Leaning forward, she kisses me before pulling back and staring at me with her big brown-eyed gaze. “I love you, Owen.”
My stomach warms at her declaration.
"Are you sure?" I ask, teasing her, trying to ease some of the seriousness. "You loved teenage me, but what if you don't like adult me? What if I've developed some terrible habits?"
"Too." Kiss. "Late." Kiss.
"Well, good, because I love you too, Autumn Cummings. And I never stopped."
She pulls back and eyes me. "Are you trying to one-up me?"
My nose presses against the hollow of her throat. “How about I take you back to my bedroom and show you?"
I cup her backside and lift as she wra
ps her legs around my waist. Carrying her to my bedroom, our lips are locked the entire time. Her hands are in my hair, dragging strokes that shoot straight down to the center of my body, the effect of them immediate.
We undress in a hurry, needing so badly to be skin-to-skin. She lies back on my bed, watching me as I crawl up her body.
I line myself up with her, easing in, my gaze steady on hers, watching her face. I need to see her, need to capture every moment.
This is heaven on Earth. All of Autumn. Nothing held back.
Breath hisses between my teeth as I fill her completely. She wraps her hands around my neck, pulling me down, kissing me. We go slowly, relishing the closeness, reveling in the feeling of being bare. The closeness makes it difficult to hold back, but I focus my willpower and wait until I feel her muscles clench around me. The middle of her back lifts off the bed and I hold her, kissing her neck, letting go with her.
After a moment, I roll off her, trying to take her with me so I can pull her into my chest, but she resists.
"I need to clean up," she reminds me, kissing the tip of my nose and getting off the bed. I smile at her naked backside as she walks into the bathroom.
Being bare with Autumn not only felt amazing, it felt defiant. Sticking it to the man, so to speak. Fuck you, cancer. You can't stop us from living. You can’t stop us from creating a new life.
Perhaps it was an attempt to gain control when we feel we have none in the matter. Maybe it was redemption for the choice we made so long ago. Whatever it is, I know we both feel it. We are throwing a middle finger to the powers that be, the ones who saddled Faith with something strong enough to finally take her down.
Autumn comes back to bed, snuggling into me, and we ride on a euphoric high. It remains in place alongside our reluctant acceptance of Faith's choice. This is our mood for the next few days, until Autumn gets her period.
Chapter 22
Autumn