Page 103 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“It’s not healthy to hold everything in.”

I nod in agreement.

This room is even more depressing than the waiting room. The beige walls are covered in generic posters you’d see from some decor catalog.

My parents sit facing a backlit screen. Dr. Adams and the oncologist stand on either side of the screen.

“You guys got here just in time,” Dr. Adams informs us. His expression is emotionless.

I gravitate to the open spot next to my mom. Dark circles cloud her normally sunny, sky blue eyes. Her foot taps the ground, a nervous tell that goes back to my youth hockey days.

My dad sits looking at the scans. His facial expressions are harder to read. If he has a tell, I don’t know what it is. He looks awfully stoic for a man who spent the last two hours getting poked and prodded.

I tune out all the medical talk. The doctor points to the hazy scans. My medical knowledge might come from Grey’s Anatomy, but I don’t think the image before us is supposed to look that cloudy.

“I’m sorry Arie.”

My shoulders sink as my mom’s grip on my hand tightens.

“There is nothing we can do.”

A strangled cry fills the silence. Lola rubs her hand up and down my mom’s arm, trying to sooth her as her hand flys to her mouth trying to keep her crying under control.

“We’ll do whatever we can to make you comfortable.”

“How long?” My dad asks. The words lack any emotion.

“I’d say two to six months.”

He takes a deep breath, the first of emotion I’ve seen from him since Lola and I got back to the hospital.

“Let’s make the most of the time we have, okay?” His glance shoots back and forth between my mom and me.

I grip my mom’s hand and give it a squeeze.

“Yeah, we are going to have the time of our lives.”

For the first time in as long as I can remember I pull both my parents into a hug.

“I love you guys.” The words come out naturally without a second thought.

For the first time I hear a muffled cry from my dad.

“I love you too, Byron. I’m sorry it took this long for me to come back into your life. We were supposed to have so much more time.”

“We can’t change the past. No regrets, okay Dad?” I sit up straighter wanting to make it clear that these words are how I truly feel.

“You did what you could. All that matters is the here and now.”

My mom buries her head in my dad’s shoulder, but her sobs give her away. My dad’s eyes grow soft. He mouthsthank youover her head.

39

Lola

I spent the morning at the barn. With everything going on the last couple of weeks I haven’t been to the barn as much as I’d hoped. Today’s ride wasn’t long, about thirty-five minutes, but it felt good to do something by myself. The bright fall sun and brisk air are therapeutic in a way talking to somebody else just isn’t.It’s been a week since we were in Philadelphia. Byron has had daily calls with his parents where they don’t talk about his dad’s diagnosis. Then he goes to practice and he doesn’t talk about his dad’s diagnosis. Then when I try to bring it up he comes up with a way to divert my attention to something else. It could be sex. Or a TikTok. Or a new recipe. He’s avoiding the conversation like the plague and it makes me nervous. If Ilearned one thing from our fall out over the summer it is that communication is the only way that relationships last.

Any free moment Byron has had in the last seven days he’s spent either texting me or on the phone or physically with me. I still don’t know how he’s feeling.

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