Page 134 of Things I Wish I Said
“Then we try another.”
“And if that one fails?” Mom opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it. “More chemo? More immunotherapy? More poison in my body? What about once I’m in the ground?”
“Stop.” A tear slips down her cheek.
“You can’t save me,” I whisper.
I’m resigned, oddly numb instead of emotional like I should be. A part of me knew this day was coming all along, as if I sensed it like a bloodhound tracking the scent of a wounded animal. “I’d rather enjoy what little time I have left. I want to go to these awards with my head held high. I want to finish out the rest of the summer and enjoy the fall. If I’m lucky, the holidays, too. I want to go to LA and remember a time when my body didn’t hurt, when I was alive and at the top of my game. I don’t want to be sick for months on end and barfing up my guts. Or poked and prodded with needles. As stupid as it sounds, I want hair again. To what end do I fight a losing battle, Mom?”
“We don’t stop fighting. Ever.” Mom reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, and it’s the first time I’ve realized how bony and frail and brittle it seems inside of hers. I’m weak; I have been for a long time. I’ve just gotten damn good at pretending. “You’re too young. You were healthy before, and you can behealthy again, I know it. You can go to college or get a job or whatever you choose. You just have to want it.”
I stare down at the table, unable to hold her gaze, because the pleading in her eyes nearly kills me.
“Where’s my fighter?” she asks, her voice firm. “The girl who won the Golden Boot and captured the national title? The girl they called The Missile? That girl never quit!”
“That girl’s already gone,” I croak, my throat tight. “She’s already dead.”
Mom flinches, and I hate myself for hurting her more when she’s already endured enough pain to last a lifetime.
But she needs to let go.
The sooner I’m gone, the sooner she can move on with her life, and the life I imagined for her last night can be hers.
She and John can get married, they’ll have a baby—one who won’t get sick—and Katie will be a good sister. The best.
But as long as I’m here, everyone’s lives are stuck in limbo.
Mom wipes at her damp cheeks, her dark gaze bloodshot and frantic. She reaches a shaking hand to her mouth where she stifles a moan.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper, my heart lurching. I wish I didn’t have to do this to her. I wish there was another way, but I don’t see one that doesn’t further hurt the people around me.
“I’ll let you go,” she says, her voice stronger than it was seconds ago. “You can go.”
My stomach flutters in anticipation, afraid to hope. “I can go?”
She nods. “I’ll let you go to the awards. If Grayson can take you, I’ll find the money. We’ll find a way.”
“I can use what’s in my savings to pay for the trip, Mom. You won’t have to worry about a thing. I won’t burden you with this.” Or anything else any longer.
Grief flickers in her eyes. “That’s supposed to be for college.”
“I won’t be needing it.”
College is a distant dream I won’t be achieving, and though I feel the familiar swell of grief at the prospect of using the money on myself instead of giving it to my mother, I know she’ll never take it.
Standing, I reach across the table and pull her into my arms and whisper, “Thank you.”
Chapter thirty-one
GRAYSON
The second I pullinto the driveway at Ryleigh’s, I can sense something’s off.
The door opens, and her mother fills the entryway, waiting for me as I walk the short distance between my car and the house.
My heart pounds harder the closer I get, afraid of what she might tell me. I jingle my car keys in my hands, in need of something to do as I stop in front of her.
Her gaze darts nervously. “Ryleigh’s in the shower, so I better make this quick.”
