Page 10 of One Night in Paris

“Yeah. Cause you need more money.” He shook his head, but then, laughing along with me, he said, “Same.”

6

HARPER

Pulling into my mother’s driveway in the suburbs, I shifted her sedan into park and glanced over at her. Eyes closed, her head leaned back against the headrest. Her lips were pursed.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was just resting from the long drive to the medical center downtown and not trying to hold back the bile rising up her throat from the overwhelming nausea that overcame her every single time she had one of her chemotherapy sessions. Sometimes, it was kind enough to hold off a bit, wait until we got back to her place to rear its ugly head, but today, her face was pale, and her mouth was set in a way that told me that she was feeling the effects already.

Opening her eyes slowly, Mom blinked at me. “Are we home?”

“Yeah.” Squeezing her hand, I didn’t bother to ask the obvious question—how are you feeling? Not good, clearly. “I’ll come around and help you out.”

“Don’t be silly, sweetie. I can get myself out of the car.” With that, Ellie Reynolds pushed the car door open like a stubbornchild, proceeding to show me, her actual child, that she was just fine.

Knowing better, I hustled around the front, catching up to her at the same time that her knees started to give out on her. “Damnit,” she swore under her breath. “I’m not old enough to be helpless!”

Pulling her arm around my neck, I reminded her, “You’re not old, Mom. You’re sick. There’s a huge difference. Besides, you’ve kicked cancer’s ass before. You can do it again.” Moving her out of the way, I pushed the door closed and slowly began to guide her up the driveway toward the front porch, fishing for the keys in my pocket as we went.

The house was a 1930s Craftsman-style bungalow. Two bedrooms, one bath, and in need of a lot of repairs, it had belonged to my grandparents before they passed away. Mom had raised me here, with their help, the two of us sharing the back bedroom. We’d always been close. When she got sick during my freshman year of college, there was no question in my mind I was dropping out to be there for her, swearing I’d go back to school one day.

And I had, too. For about three months. Last year. Then, the cancer had come back. Only this time, it wasn’t just in her cervix. It had spread—quickly. I’d lost count of all the surgeries she’d gone through. My mother was a fighter, and she’d continue to fight. But that fucking disease just kept coming for her. Even after the doctors had taken out just about every organ she could spare. The doctors thought aggressive chemo right off the bat would be enough to keep it at bay without another surgery. I was praying for a miracle. Fifty-five was too young to die, especially when there were so many things my mom still wanted to do with her life.

Making it inside, I helped her down into a chair near the door. Mom let out a loud sigh and closed her eyes. I had theroutine down now after all of these years. I got her some cold water to begin with, as well as a cold washcloth for her forehead. Then, I started doling out her medicine like it was candy at a parade. There was so much of it in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes.

“Toast? Or crackers?” This was really the only time I hesitated about my next step with this dance. Everything else was a set routine.

“Think I’ll have crackers this time.” Mom didn’t even open her eyes.

“You got it.” Stepping into the kitchen, I got some of her favorite crackers and plated them for her, much like I would if I were working at the restaurant. Thoughts of work had me checking the time. I still had two hours before my shift started.

Setting the crackers next to her on the table where everything else was assembled, I pulled Mom’s sneakers from her feet and put them by the door, where she always kept them. Then, even though it was summer and the AC in the house didn’t work worth shit, I got her a blanket because she was always cold after chemo. Finally, I made sure the remote was right next to her hand.

By then, she’d taken enough of her medicine that she felt well enough to open her eyes. Smiling at me, Mom said quietly, “What would I do without you, dear?”

Tears began to fill my eyes, but I sniffed them away, not wanting her to see me cry. Growing up, she did everything for me. My dad left when I was a baby. I never even knew him. My grandparents helped a lot, but for the most part, all we had was one another. The thought of losing her to such a horrible illness always made me tear up. “You’ll never have to find out,” I promised her.

Mom smiled, taking a nibble off a cracker. “Do you have time to chat for a bit?”

“Of course.” While I didn’t have long if I was going to change into my uniform and get on the train in time to make it to my shift without being late, I’d make a few minutes for her. During chemo, she tried to sleep if she could, so we never talked then. She always said she preferred to dream she was somewhere else, rather than the hospital.

Both of us used to spend a lot of time talking about all of the places we were going to visit when I graduated from college and had some important job. When I was younger, I hadn’t been sure what I wanted to be—a lawyer, a doctor, maybe an astronaut. The first time I went to school, I’d majored in marketing, thinking that would be a good way to make money. The second time, I’d gone to nursing school.

Unfortunately, I’d never finished either. Thus, my career as a waitress at two shitty diners—neither of which paid enough for me to maintain my own place without a roommate or afford the transportation to bring me back here every night. Let alone taking Mom all of the places she’d always wanted to see.

“Where will it be next?” Mom asked with a far-off look in her eye. “London? Rio? Maybe Barcelona?” She said each of the cities’ names with a perfect accent from those lands.

“I’m not sure, Mom.” We both knew I hadn’t even been able to afford to go to Paris, but when she’d found out about the trip from Kylee, she’d insisted I go. She’d said, “One of us needs to see the Eiffel Tower before I die!” Mom had laughed, but the statement had broken my heart.

“I think… the Maldives sound beautiful. They’re disappearing, you know? Kind of like me!” Mom’s laughter made me smile, though I never found her jokes about her own mortality as amusing as she did.

“I’ve heard they’re really pretty,” I agreed. “I’ll see where the other girls want to go, but I’ll have to pinch my pennies to be able to go with them.” Sometimes, I felt jealous, thinking about howindependent my friends were. They all had good jobs, college degrees, and plenty of money saved up. None of them were rich or anything, but they didn’t have to stretch a loaf of bread and a container of lunchmeat for a couple of weeks to make sure they had food either. I couldn’t even afford the crappy food I served at the diner.

“One day, you’ll be a jetsetter, taking off in a private plane to places near and far.” Mom’s eyes fell closed. She wasn’t talking to me anymore. No, these were her dreams, flying free from her lips as she drifted off.

I’d had a lot of fun showing her the pictures from my trip to Paris. Her face had lit up seeing the Eiffel Tower, both from the ground and the photos I’d taken from the two landings high up in the air. It had been so cold and windy at the top, I’d been afraid I might drop my phone, but I had gotten a perfect picture of the river all lit up at night. Tears had filled her eyes at the sight.

“Mom, I’ve got to go to work.” My voice was almost a whisper. I wanted her to hear me, but I also didn’t want to disturb her.

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