Page 33 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

“I promise that I’ll try,” I admitted, not willing to promise something that I wasn’t sure that I could give. “But let me be clear, I’m not going to try that hard. If the Lord wants to take me, I’ll willingly go. Because I want to be with you. Wherever you are.”

She cupped my cheek. “I’m going to fight this, Dix.”

I knew she would.

But I knew in my heart she wasn’t going to win.

The doctor’s face had said it all the moment he’d seen the scans.

This wasn’t something that she was going to be walking away from.

Sure, she may fight it off long enough to keep her here a bit longer, but she wasn’t going to win it.

Six months or ten, she’d be dying and leaving me behind.

“Go for a ride, Dix,” she suggested. “Go explore the streets. Find us the best place to ride, and we’ll go as soon as I have dinner cooked and we’ve eaten.”

I knew she needed the time to process, and I wasn’t going to argue.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go explore. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

She blew me a kiss, which I caught.

I drove around for a couple hours, exploring the city.

It was about ten minutes before I’d intended to head back home that Silas caught up with me.

He waved, and we pulled over at the first gas station we got to.

His eyes studied mine when he said, “Everything okay?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure how the hell I’m supposed to act like the woman that keeps me breathing isn’t leaving me.”

“You’re not,” he said softly. “You’re not supposed to act at all.”

I scrubbed my face with my hands. “I’m fucking terrified. I don’t know how to live without her anymore.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that.

And honestly, there was nothing he could say.

When it was time for me to leave, he followed me home, then waited until I was walking inside before he turned around.

Just because it was a new house, though, didn’t mean that I didn’t know the smell the moment that I opened the door.

I couldn’t help the small smile that curved my lips when I found her in the kitchen, doing what she loved the most—cooking.

There’d been so many memories of her in this exact position over the years.

Sometimes with a pregnant belly. Sometimes with a baby on her hip. Sometimes with both.

Then there were the times when the kids decided to help and our house was a fucking mess because of it.

I rubbed at my chest right over my heart.

“What are you doing, honey?” I questioned when I came into the kitchen to find almost the entire counter lined with jars.

She looked at the jars, then at me. “What does it look like I’m doing, Dix?”

---