Page 53 of The Wallflower

There's some static, and then my mom's voice cuts through, reedy and thin. "Oh baby, I won't keep you. I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay.”

There's a long pause where I guess neither of us knows what to say. The results are...the results. It feels like there's nothing I can do, and my mother just won't accept we need to be doing everything we can to treat her. It’s like she’s made up her mind. Every time I bring it up, she tells me the money should go toward my education, not her medical bills. Medical bills that keep growing with every test and every prescription to keep things at bay.

It’s why I give her the answer she wants, so I can get off the phone faster. If only so she doesn’t have to listen to me break down again. "I'm fine, really. I’m more concerned about you. How are you handling the results?”

What I don't say is how much I don't want to think about it for five minutes. I want things to be normal, and every second that ticks closer to her death feels further and further from normal. In a world where everything is at your fingertips andyou can have whatever you want when you want it, the only thing that I want or need is for my mother to survive this. She’s all I have, the only thing that matters. Yet the diagnosis on that paper is final. The chances of beating this are slim to none. We can elongate her length of time on earth, but she will succumb to the cancer eventually.

"I’m fine, honey. It’s not like we didn’t know this is where it was headed, right?”

I bite my lip to keep from spilling out my true thoughts. I'm not in any mental position for a fight right now. "No, but I didn’t anticipate this. Do you have a timeframe on when you want to start the recommended treatments?” I’ve thought about it for a couple of days now, and I have an idea. Getting my mother to agree to it will take some convincing. “I can postpone school for a year and get a full-time job. They’ll allow me to come back."

"No!" Her sharp tone is more full of life than I've heard in months. "I won’t have you giving up on your education for me. Promise me that you will stay in school and not make any irrational decisions because of this.”

“That’s not a promise I can make to you. You’re all I have. If I lose you…” I can’t stop my voice from cracking. Tears fill my eyes, and I blink them back as much as I can. I really do not want to start crying again.

“Oh sweetheart, we will get through this together. I promise you will never be alone.”

It’s a promise she can’t keep and one I ignore altogether. Eventually, I will be alone, and if I can’t get her the medication and treatment she needs, that time will be sooner. She lapses into a coughing fit that makes me squeeze my phone. I want to take her pain away, take her illness from her.

"We can finish discussing this when I come see you tonight. I have to get into the library and get ready for my next client, but I love you. If you need anything, please text me."

"Just a minute… I...there's something else I need to talk to you about. Something very important, honey.”

Immediately, I panic, afraid there is more news she hasn’t shared with me. What if she needs my help? Or she can’t make it to the bathroom again. The possible what-ifs are endless. "Okay, what’s up? Do you need me now? I can cancel if you do. It’s really okay.”

She sniffles into the phone and whispers my name. "Maybel. Just...get to your appointment, and we can discuss it later. I need to go lie down for a bit."

I nod, then shake my head. "It’s really not a big deal. I can be there in ten minutes or less.”

“No! Stay there and do your work. Even if I’m sick, I’m still your mother, and that means you have to listen to me.”

I don’t bother continuing the argument, not when I know I’ve already lost. “Okay. Get some rest. Text if you need anything. I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetie."

I hang up and drop my head back against the headrest. The bulk of my bun bounces off, and I groan loudly, scrubbing my hands down my face. "FFFFUUUUCCCCKKKK!"

The outburst doesn't make me feel any better, and I’m not the type to dwell on something I can’t change. I’d rather put my frustrations into my work where I can see progress, so I grab my bag from the passenger seat and climb out of the car and into the chilly morning air.

A short jog later and I’m inside the library. The smell of books and coffee fills my nostrils.Home.This place is the equivalent of that. The large study area is mostly vacant, but I still scan the expansive space to see if my client is here—or worse, Drew.

No Drew, but also no client yet either. I'm relieved as I lug my bulking bag up onto a chair and sit at my usual study cubicle.The basketball player I'm meeting with will find me when he arrives. He paid in advance so if he sleeps through the session, I can't say I'll care too much. I dig through my bag and rip out a math textbook. Once I have my notebook, the text, and my water bottle arranged on the desk in front of me, I scan the room again.

Nothing crazy, a few people are studying early; there is no reason to feel like my nerves will slither out of my body. My last encounter in the library was strange and a bit disconcerting. Drew’s friends creep me out. Not as badly as he messes with my head, but all of them are intense, and Sebastian looks at me like he wants to bite my head off and see what's inside. To him, I'm simply prey, even if he's not the one who hunted me down.

Out of nowhere, a hand lands on my shoulder. I jolt and spin around, ready for a fight, but talk myself off the ledge when I realize it’s just my client.

"Ah, Stewart, sorry, I was distracted."

He throws his super-tall body down in the chair beside me. I break out into conversation immediately. "How are you feeling after that last test? I know we reviewed, so I want to see how you think you did? Did you get the results you wanted?"

He shrugs. "I passed. That's good enough for me."

"Nothing you want to review again or go over?"

With another shrug, he scoots closer, his knee bumping against mine. It could be by pure accident, or it could be something else. I do my best not to look too deeply into it. I can feel my cheeks heat, and I slam my legs to the other side of the chair under the desk. "Okay well, you have another essay coming up. Have you decided what you want to write about?"

I'm about to grab another textbook when he pulls out a large bottle with some type of green liquid in it. Looks like a smoothie or protein shake.

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