Page 83 of The Kiss Countdown

Once the waitress leaves, I strive to maintain an even tone. “Is this a new development?”

Mom fusses with her hands, looking resigned. “Not exactly. I spoke with my doctor before your dad and I began our RV trip, and she insisted I use the wheelchair to get around.”

I suck in a breath. “Wait. You mean to tell me you’ve had it since you and Daddy left? Why didn’t y’all tell me?” And what else have they been keeping from me about her health?

Each time we spoke on the phone, my mom insisted she was fine. Now I realize any pictures I received were usually selfies of my dad or the two of them sitting in a restaurant. No joint activities or pictures of my mom standing up. I’ve been so caught up hiding my own life that I missed the signs I should have picked up on.

Dad unwraps Mom’s utensils and places the cloth napkinin her lap. Suddenly I’m back at the hospital. Gone are the inviting aromas of cornbread and fried okra filling the air, replaced with cold antiseptic. I’m back on that small, lumpy couch with a low back while Dad fixes a blanket over Mom as she lies curled in pain.

“We were traveling all around the country,” Mom says, bringing me back to the present. “What would telling you about the wheelchair have done but make you worry? It’s not like we were going to cancel the trip. And, if I’m honest, it’s not that bad. I haven’t had a crisis since we’ve been gone, and I’m able to get around without using too much energy.”

And there is the crux of it—that sheneedsthe wheelchair to conserve energy. It’s a sign of how her health is degrading, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t when I was a kid, and as an adult, nothing has changed. I’m paralyzed with the familiar fear that I’m going to lose my mom.

She reaches out and takes my hand. “Truly, Mimi, I feel good. Touring the states and seeing the beauty of this country has been such a blessing. I’m feeling like a brand-new woman.”

I can’t deny that the joy brimming from her face is as real as the warmth of her hand, but I’m not all right with this and I can’t find it in me to muster a smile. I feel my mind spiraling, throwing everything in my world off-balance, and I need to get out of here before my parents and everyone in this restaurant can see how not okay I am. I don’t care that it proves them right, that I can’t handle it. All I know is I have to go.

I squeeze her fingers back and grimace. “You know what? I forgot I have a meeting with a client today. We’re going over the final details of the celebration, and I still have a few things to tie up on my end.”

As far as excuses go, it’s weak and more transparent than an open window. Still, after exchanging glances with each other, my parents nod in understanding.

I stand up. “Call me before y’all head back out on the road, and I’ll try to come by the house.”

I bend down to hug my mom, holding the air tightly in my lungs so I don’t cry. My dad stands up and wraps his arms around me. For just a second, I let myself find comfort in his warmth like I’m once again his little girl and he’s assuring me everything will be fine. Like then, I want to have the same faith he does, but I can’t. After inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave, I pull away.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I say, and walk out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I didn’t exactly lie to my parents this time. I do have an appointment with Mrs. Rogers and Camille to go over the details of the vow renewal ceremony; however, it’s not for another two hours. Rather than drive around aimlessly, I pull into the first home-goods store I come across.

How could Mom keep this from me? Her and Dad. They know how much I worry about her and would want to know about any changes.

I know it’s a long shot, but I send Vincent a text message, asking him to call me when he gets the chance. I just need something to help drown out the noise in my head.

An associate walks by to ask if I need help with anything. I realize that I’ve been staring at the same nightstand for who knows how long and walk away with a muttered “No thanks.”

My phone buzzes in my purse, and I pull it out, only to see my mom’s picture. That same one where she looks so cute holding a ball of yarn. I took that picture when she first took up crocheting two years ago, long before the hospitalization and before we all started keeping secrets from one another.

I let the call roll over into voice mail, then power off my phone. I can’t face her now, while the revelation of herdiminishing health is still so fresh, though I know everything will have to come out in the open at some point.

When the same sales associate asks if I have questions about the small candleholder that’s been in my hand as I’ve stood here, I realize that once again I look suspicious and should just buy the damn thing and get out of here. It’s time to head to Camille’s house anyway.

Camille welcomes me with a bright smile as soon as she opens the front door. “It’s so good to see you. Welcome to my casa.” She ushers me in. “Let’s go to the sitting room. Mom told me she’s running a little behind, so it’s just us for now. Dad likes to joke about Auntie Shelly always being late, but it actually runs in the family. You didn’t hear that from me though.”

I force out a laugh. As much as I like Camille, being around anyone is the last thing I want at this moment. I suspect if I told her I wasn’t in the planning spirit and asked for a rain check, she would eagerly oblige. But, for the sake of my business, I have to see this through. Clients first.

“I’m going to get some refreshments,” Camille says. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”

When she leaves the room, I use the time to get my thoughts in order, falling into the familiar routine of pulling out my organizer filled with hard copies of plans and mock-ups. I turn to the section for the Rogerses’ ceremony, then close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I look around the house. The ceilings are so tall it feels like I’m at Carnegie Hall. The walls are a white that gleams from the natural sunlight filtering in through large open windows. There’s a curved staircase with a black railing, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see Lance strolling down the steps in a red robe while smoking a cigar.

This is the exact kind of house I dreamed aboutpurchasing someday. Though as I’m sitting on her spotless cream couch, that dream feels like it was part of a different lifetime. I can’t see myself settling anywhere but Vincent’s three-bedroom fixer-upper in a charming neighborhood.

I wish I were there now, wrapped in Vincent’s arms.

Camille returns with a plate of croissants and a cold pitcher of water infused with berries. “Since seeing the pictures you’ve been texting, Mom has been so excited. She keeps bringing all these bridal magazines to work and shoving them in my face between patients. You’d think we were planning for a five-hundred-person affair and not an intimate party on a boat. Speaking of...” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

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