Page 174 of Things I Wish I Said
“Ryleigh.” My mother frowns. “Your life has changed drastically. You were thrown one hell of a roadblock, but you are an amazing person. Maybe you just need some time to find out who you are right now, who you want to be in the future without soccer. That doesn’t happen overnight.”
“But that’s the thing.” I swallow. “I don’t have a future. I’m dying, Mom.”
“It’s not over yet, not if you don’t want it to be. There’s still hope. There’s still the trial, and if that helps, more chemo. You’ve only been fighting for six months. In the grand scheme of things, that’s a blip on the radar, the tiniest of slivers of your life.”
“But in the meantime, I’m putting you through hell and racking up debt you can never repay. To what end, Mom? You’ll never recover. It’s better if I’m just gone.”
Mom studies me. I can see the emotions flickering in her eyes and creasing her brow, but she works to keep her expression neutral. “Is that why you broke up with Grayson, because you think it’s easier for him with you gone?”
“That’s another part of it, yeah. Did you know his father died last year?”
Mom shakes her head slowly.
“It was pancreatic cancer, and Grayson was the one in the room, holding his hand when he passed. I can’t put him through that again,” I say, my voice cracking over the words.
I cough, willing the lump in the back of my throat to subside. More tears might send me into a coughing fit.
“That’s his choice, Ryleigh.”
“Sometimes people choose the things that will hurt the most.”
“Kind of like you not choosing more treatment?” She smirks.
“That’s different.”
Mom arches a brow. “How?”
“Because I already tried treatment, and I didn’t respond. This isn’t me giving up, it’s me accepting my fate.”
“It’s early yet. Myself and a lot of others would disagree, including Grayson.”
I glance away from her, swallowing hard. “And what if you’re wrong?” I whisper in a voice so small, I’m not sureshe hears it. “What if I do this, and I get my hopes up—you get your hopes up, Grayson gets his hopes up—and it doesn’t work? Then what?”
“Then we fight.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Mom silences me with a look. “We cross that bridge when we come to it. You can’t make decisions out of fear, Ryleigh, and I think that’s what you’re doing. You were right about soccer and not knowing who you are without it, but that needs to change. Trust me when I say this won’t be the only season of life you do a little soul searching. Maybe it’s time to stop living in the past and start living for the future, because you’re so much more than soccer or even a girl who’s sick.”
The back of my eyes sting with the threat of tears. My chest aches, begging for a release.
The prospect of a future stretches out in my mind’s eye, and it’s beautiful, more than I could ever hope for. Getting treatment and putting my cancer into remission. Growing my hair back. College and my first real job. Grayson and baseball games. Sunday dinners with my mother, John, and Katie. Walking down the aisle in their wedding. A new hobby or sport. Watching a thousand more sunrises and sunsets. Learning to cook and getting my first apartment.
I want all of it, and six months ago, when my future changed for the worse, I never really thought I could have it. But maybe I can. Maybe it’s possible. All I need to do is let go of the past and the me I think I’m supposed to be, and try.
“Now, I’m going to head back downstairs where John and I are making homemade pizza while we pretend that abomination isn’t in our garage. And then we’re going to eat ice cream and play board games. I really hope you’ll join us.”
I offer her a timid smile and wipe my damp eyes. “Pizza and ice cream? Wow.”
Mom grins. “I’m trying to loosen up a little.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Good.” Mom huffs out a breath and draws me in for one last hug, then releases me and fishes an envelope from her pocket. “I almost forgot. This came for you.”
She hands it over, her expression curious before she rises to her feet and leaves the room. I frown, flipping the envelope over to see a return address from Wishing Well, and freeze.
My pulse pounds in my ears, the rush of blood the only thing I can hear as I tear it open.
I don’t know what I expect, but I know what I’m hoping for as I tear into it. But when I unfold the letter and check the signature at the bottom, I see it’s not a letter from Grayson, but from his mother.
