Page 92 of Past the Broken Bridges

To figure out what to do next.

Hopefully you two smarten up and actually do something about it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sawyer

I give myself one last look in the mirror as my mother rambles from outside the bathroom door. Something about dust bunnies, I think. She’s been here for less than twenty minutes and already did the dishes and told me I needed a vacuum because the one Dad bought me didn’t have enough power for the thick carpet in the bedroom. I tuned her out a while ago when she told Bentley to try finding the duster in the closet I keep all my odds and ends in.

Running my hands along the sides of my throat, I feel the lumps that make it hard to swallow. They’ve gotten bigger. Harder to ignore. Sighing, I take my hair out of the messy bun I’d thrown it into before they arrived and let it fall over my shoulders, hiding the swelling that I’m sure Mom would notice if she gave me another look.

Scanning the makeup lining the sink, I think about covering the dark bags under my eyes or adding color to the sharp cheekbones that make my face look hollower than normal, but I decide against it.

My family are the only ones I don’t have to pretend with.

I can tell from the look on my mother’s face that I’m about to be scolded as she pulls back from the millionth hug she’s given me since arriving. As much as I want to be annoyed by the clingy affection, I’m not at all. Even though her strong hold hurts my thin frame, which isn’t padded nearly as much as it usually is.

“By the way, Dr. Ortiz’s secretary called and said that you missed your last two appointments,” she informs me, disapproval in her blue eyes.

My shoulders droop. It wasn’t intentional, if that’s what she thinks. At least, not the first one. “I’m sorry. Something came up and I got distracted. I didn’t see the reminder email for the makeup appointment until the day after.”

Mom’s hand brushes my cheek before dropping to the ends of my hair. I left it down the way she loves it. “I knew I should have called and reminded you. Your memory isn’t as strong as it was before your last round of chemo.”

Cheeks burning, I stare at the floor.

Bentley, who’s been messing around on his phone for the past hour, snorts. “Busted.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “Shut up, twerp. Go back to texting yourgirlfriend.”

His whole face turns red. “She’s not my girlfriend!”

I laugh, and even Mom looks like she’s trying to fight a smile. “Whatever you say. I’m sure your love for skiing has nothing to do with her being on the team.”

He mumbles under his breath before going back to his phone, probably texting the cute brunette who I’ve seen tag him in photos on social media at least five different times. I’m no expert, but I’d say that means something.

Mom focuses on me again. “I know you’re busy, and I want to respect your space. But it’s still important to talk to the doctor. That’s why they’re willing to do virtual appointments for you while you’re here.”

I’m not trying to take advantage of my health-care team, who have been nothing but great to me since I said I was coming to Louisiana for college, so I feel a little bad. I told Mom I didn’t want to fill my schedule with appointments and having to hear the same lectures and spiels I have on and off for half a decade, but I never said I refused. I know it means something to her that I’m trying to give her peace of mind when we’re apart.

So I say, “It won’t happen again.”

My appeasement puts her smile back, although the worry in her gaze doesn’t go away completely. “Is everything okay? It wasn’t something serious that made you forget, was it?”

I’m not telling her the real reason my mind has been scattered because that involves explaining why there was a boy in my bed Sunday morning. And while I’m sure she’d still lecture me on safe sex practices, she definitely wouldn’t brush over the fact I fainted the day before and needed somebody to check on me to begin with. I can picture her now, telling me it wasn’t smart to let a boy increase my blood pressure when I already had one fainting spell.

“Like you said, I’ve been busy with school,” I say.

And the boy across the hall.

Mom watches me for a second, her hands going down my arms before taking my own hands and squeezing them and then pulling me in for hug number God knows what.

I can’t help but laugh softly as I wrap my arms around her back and squeeze her as tightly as she is squeezing me. “I love you,” I tell her, resting my cheek on her shoulder.

Her arms tighten even more. “Oh, baby girl. I love you to the moon and back. I’ll make sure to schedule another appointment soon.”

I don’t fight her as much as I want to.

Because I’m here.

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