Page 50 of Things I Wish I Said
The look she shoots my way makes me think otherwise.
“They’ve only been dating a little over six months,” I say as if that’s enough explanation.
Mom met John exactly one week before I was diagnosed. Their relationship was a whirlwind. No one expected John to last through my surgery and the rounds of chemo. It was like being thrown into a pressure cooker, but he surprised us all.
“I suppose we’ll have to share,” Katie says with a sigh, like she’s resigned herself to it.
I shake my head, unwilling to accept what she’s saying. “Even if they did get hitched,” I start, “which they won’t, I’m sure they’d find a new place.”
John runs his own accounting firm. He makes good money. I have little doubt he’d want to stay in this shoebox when his own home is twice the size and in a better school district.
“No. Dad says this place is mortgaged to the hilt, so there’s no getting out. At least not for a while.”
Her words cut. Not only because they’re true, but because I’m to blame.
And the fact Katie knows about it . . .
I shake my head, unwilling to consider the implications, but my thoughts drift.
If my mother and John did get married, she’d no longer be alone. She’d have financial support. Someone to keep her company when I can’t, to face life’s challenges with.
I should want that for her.
And I do.
So why does it feel like I swallowed a lemon?
“Do you like my mom?” I blurt, wondering if I’m the only one with a sour stomach at the direction this conversation has taken.
Katie’s eyes brighten. “Yeah. I love Jill.”
“Do you want our parents to, you know”—I swallow—“end up together?” I say, unable to use the words get married.
Katie chews on her lip for a moment as if contemplating my question. From what little I know about her situation, her mother split shortly after she was born, same as my dad. Well, in truth, my dad was never around to split. This, we have in common.
One slim shoulder lifts. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind it. It would be kind of nice to have a mom.”
I can hear the longing in her voice, and it hits me like an arrow, flying through flesh and bone because that’s my mother she’s pining for, and I’m not sure I want to share.
You may not even be here.
The thought clings to me like a spiderweb.
I can picture it now. Mom and John marrying once I’m gone. Katie will take my room, and Mom will paint over the soccer mural with something fresh and new, something Katie’sinto. No more doctor’s appointments and treatments. No more worrying and fretting. Money will no longer be so tight. Life will be easier, so much easier than it is now.
Bile rises to the back of my throat, but I swallow it down.
I need to get out of here.
Grayson can’t get here soon enough.
Hurrying to the mirror on my desk, I bend over and quickly dab a little concealer under my eyes, then swipe on some mascara. Pink lip gloss tops off my simple look.
Guys like natural, right?
Natural, not sickly.
I exhale and swipe a bit of blush over my pale cheeks, pissed at my inner critic, before snatching my wig off the form inside my closet. I carefully put it on, then grab my ball cap and cross my room to the floor-length mirror on my door, carefully adjusting my hair before sliding it on. Air Force 1's top off the look.
