Page 24 of Forbidden Obsessions

“Just let me know when you’re ready and we’ll go. If you’re too anxious to eat now, we can eat later, apple.” She nods, wiping her mouth. She stands up and collects her purse,signaling that she’s ready to go.

I grab my keys and lead her to the car, opening her door and buckling her in. She gives me a small peck back as I graze her lips before shutting her door and hopping in the driver’s side.

The drive is silent, both of our minds racing.

I park in the sprawling driveway. Olivia takes another shuddering breath, trying to summon bravery.

“Please know, Olivia, this wasn’t my idea, and I am so fucking sorry, sweetheart. So fucking sorry. I love you,” I tell her, wiping a tear from underneath her eye as one rolls down my cheek.

“You’re scaring me, Tomas,” she croaks. I wish I could comfort her, but there’s nothing I can say, nothing that I can prepare her for what she’s about to see.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” is all I can manage before we walk in the front door and it shuts behind us.

Chapter Ten

Olivia

Breathe in for four, hold, exhale for eight.I repeat this over and over again like a prayer, trying to stave off my impending panic attack. I don’t know what to expect, not a clue what I’m walking into. I hate Tomas for not giving hints, for notrelinquishing the secret he’s harboring when he knows that, due to my anxiety, waiting is destroying me.

What also kills me is that I can tell by the hard lines of his handsome face, it’s destroying him, too. That begs the question: what kind of selfish antics are my parents up to this week?

Gripping my sweaty palm, he leads me through the door. Nothing’s changed in the grand foyer. Family portraits of the three of us in various stages of life line the walls. As dedicated as my dad is to Bennington, I can’t say he ever missed out on being Dad. He’s a dedicated family man, through and through.

Did he have an affair? Did Mom? Are they getting divorced?

We continue deeper into the house. The white-washed walls in the living room, framed with a mix of modern and mid-century decor, look the same. There’s nothing out of place, nothing missing, and nothing new. But being here now, knowing something is about to rattle me to my core, gives me a pang of nostalgia. I can remember being little, dancing with Mom to Tom Petty and The Beatles as she twirled me endlessly. I haven’t visited or called enough.

Something beeps, and it roots me to the spot. I know that sound. Occasionally, it plagues my nightmares—the ones where my stupidity and hesitancy cost Tomas his life.How could I be an aspiring doctor when I didn’t do the one thing I needed to and call 911?

Tomas holds the crook of my elbow. “It’s okay, Olivia. Come on,” he prompts, guiding me gently.

“What have you been keeping from me?” I ask as black spots dance at the edges of my vision. Dad must have been listening nearby because he emerges from around the corner before Tomas can answer.

“Sweetie,” Dad says, trying to engulf me in a hug.

“No, tell me what the fuck is going on,” I spit, pulling back from the pair of them. Dad opens his mouth, but shuts it as I get my answer.

My beautiful mother shuffles into the room, a skeleton of herself. I can’t make a sound, let alone say a word, as my mom wraps her thin arms, as thin and white as a sheet of paper, around me. Our shoulders shake simultaneously as sobs wrack our bodies.

None of us need to say it. Her long, curly auburn hair is gone. Medical tape peeks out of her robe. She’s skin and bones, with hollow cheekbones and sad eyes.

I compose myself, stepping away from Mom, looking at the three people in this world I’ve trusted implicitly. This is what they’ve been hiding. Mom is clearly sick and their lies have cost me precious time with her.

“How long has this been going on?” I yell harshly as they all avert their gazes to the floor.

“I get it, you want to protect me. But you should have let me decide that for myself. Tell me the diagnosis. Is it treatable?” I plead, my chest cracking in two.

“It’s stage four, triple negative breast cancer.” Dad announces somberly.

“They don’t know. A year at best, probably,” Mom follows up with a slight wobble in her voice.

And that does it; that thoroughly delivers the final blow. I’m not an oncology researcher like Tomas, up to date on all the news. But I’m privy enough to know there’s not much of anything that they can do.

Even if chemotherapy and radiation remove it once, it will come back and metastasize.

“Mom, how could you allow them to keep this from me?” I sob.

“Oh, Olivia. I’ve done plenty of hard things in my life. They all pale in comparison to trying to tell your own flesh and blood, theessence of your being for the past twenty years, that you’re dying in spectacular fashion. There’s not much they can do, except try to give me more borrowed time,” she sighs.

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