Page 129 of When Worlds Collide
Without warning, I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, making me jump. I spared a brief glance up to see Jihoon standing behind me, silent, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into my shoulders. I saw my parents glance up, but he was out of frame from the chest up. They knew I lived with him, though they’d never met him. They didn’t know he was famous. Now was not the time for them to find out.
“Ky, I have breast cancer.”
My hand flew up to my mouth at the same time I leaned forward, like I’d been punched in the gut. Jihoon’s hands tightened on my shoulders, grounding me.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she said, as if it was somehow her fault. “But I don’t want you to worry. The doctor we’ve seen is great, and I have…” she faltered, visibly swallowing. “I have surgery booked next week.”
“Surgery?” I said weakly, and it was as if I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs.
My shoulders heaved, and if Jihoon hadn’t held his hands around my shoulders, I might have fallen. His warm, comforting presence behind me gave me the strength to take breath after breath.
My mum looked to my dad, the expression on her face one I hadn’t seen before. I was so used to her being the rock, the foundation that we'd built our family on. I watched now as her chin trembled, and it felt like an earthquake that shook the very roots of my being.
My dad brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of it, holding it so fiercely, but also with such care. You’d have to be blind to not see the plain adoration in the way they looked at each other.
I watched as they took strength in each other, seeming to breathe each other in, before she turned back to me.
“Everything is going to go fast from here, Kaiya. The surgery, and then chemo. It’s all being arranged. The oncologist reckons this bloody virus, corona-thingy,” she waved a hand dismissively, as though the emerging virus were more inconvenience than actual threat, “is going to send things south. Gum up the whole health care system."
“You need to be prepared, baby, because you’re an adult now, and I can’t shield you from this.”
“Prepared?” That one word fell off the edge of the cliff I was trying so hard to hold onto, and through Jihoon’s firm but gentle hold of me, I knew my shoulders were shaking with barely suppressed sobs.
My mum sighed. “The doctor thinks a lockdown is inevitable. The health lot are looking to see what the other countries are doing, and I know Boris reckons we’ll be fine, but that’s not what the NHS thinks.”
She may not think highly of the prime minister, but my mum had a lot of respect for the National Health Service, as we all did.
“I’m classed as ‘high risk’.” She scoffed dismissively, but it was a brittle sound. “I need to isolate, because when I do the chemo, my immune system is going to be buggered, and we can’t take the chance I might get this new virus. It’ll probably all blow over, but the oncologist isn’t taking any chances. So…” She cleared her throat. “Once I start the chemo, you can’t come home.”
I was going to be sick.
“What does that mean?” My lips felt numb, my tongue clumsy in my dry mouth.
My mum opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her shoulders heaved as she turned to my dad.
“How can I tell my baby she can’t come home?” She held a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sharp inhalation, trying so hard to keep the lid she had on her emotions, but it was clear to see they were starting to spill over.
I felt myself beginning to sway. Jihoon pressed up against my back, lending me his strength, even as I felt hot tears pouring down my cheeks.
“Mama?” My voice cracked like I’d thrown it against the wall.
I watched as she leaned forward, pressing her face into my dad’s shoulder. He rubbed her arm, and even though I knew their love as well as I knew my own face in the mirror, it felt like an intrusion. This moment, this love between them, had nothing to do with me, and yet it was the only thing I’d ever really wanted for myself – to have even a fraction of what I knew they had.
I watched my mum’s shoulders heave, great big, gulping breaths evident over the laptop’s speakers.
“I need a moment,” I heard her say, before watching her tear herself out of my dad’s arms and go out of view of the camera, and I knew she was retreating to the porch.
The porch my dad had built her so she could watch the sun as it rose in the mornings, and set in the evenings.
“Papa?” I so rarely called him that anymore, but it fell out of my mouth without any conscious thought.
I watched him collect himself for a few heartbeats, only meeting my eyes when his breaths were even, though he couldn’t so easily moderate the way his eyes shone in the midday sun.
“Your mum is going to go through an aggressive course of chemo, baby,” he said. “Her immune system is going to be compromised for a while, and the doctor said that what with everything that’s going on, once she starts, we can’t take the risk of her catching this new virus. He thinks it really is as bad as they’re all saying. It’s already been fatal for people like your mum.” His breath hitched, and I saw what it cost him to keep going.
“Because of that, Kaiya… Love, you won’t be able to come home. Not… not until it’s all over. The chemo, the virus… we can’t take the risk.”
It was like suddenly my whole world had narrowed down to that screen. All I saw was my dad’s face, and the lines in his skin that had only ever been the barest of suggestions before, but now suddenly seemed so deep. My breath was coming too fast, and I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly.
