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Brooke had no idea where her mom had gotten this weird factoid, but it sounded fake and was not as comforting as she seemed to think it was. “How are you holding up through all this?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Oh, I’m just dandy. You know me. I started a new quilting project.”
As her mother rambled on, Brooke listened for evidence of cracks in her veneer of positivity, but if there were any, she’d hidden them too well to be detectable. “Will you keep me updated on Dad’s condition from now on?”
“Of course, honey.”
Somehow, Brooke couldn’t bring herself to believe her. “I’m serious, Mom. I want to know how he’s doing.”
“I’ll keep you in the loop from now on,” her mother promised, sounding slightly more sincere. Maybe even a little contrite.
Brooke realized she was compulsively twisting a strand of hair around her finger and unwound it, tucking it behind her ear. “I don’t suppose I could talk to Dad.”
“Oh, you know…I think he’s asleep. He had his last infusion yesterday and it really tires him out. Best let him have his nap.”
“How did he do with the chemo? Is it making him feel sick?”
“It’s not too bad, really. You know your dad. He’s strong as an ox.”
More like stubborn as an ox. And her mom was no better. The two of them would try to pretend everything was fine in the middle of a category five hurricane.
“It’s been lovely talking to you, but I’ve got to run, honey.” It was so incredibly typical of her mother to bail out of the conversation when it started to get too heavy. “I promised your dad I’d make my chicken and dumplings tonight, and I need to pick up some things at the grocery store. But I’m so glad you called. Take care, Brooke.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”A pleasure, as always.
Brooke didn’t feel any better after talking to her mom. In fact, she felt worse, which was how she usually felt after one of their conversations. This time was different though, because this time her dad had cancer.
But there was nothing she could do about that from here. She’d expressed her concern and been rebuffed. Same as it ever was.
Maybe her mother would actually keep her updated from now on. In the meantime, there was no point in dwelling on it.
The heavenly scentof baking cheese and tomato sauce greeted Brooke when she let herself into her apartment at six o’clock.
Dylan had made dinner for the two of them. Apparently he’d stopped at the grocery store after sightseeing. He greeted her from the kitchen where he was chopping vegetables for a salad. He looked liked a dream: glasses on, shoes off, his jeans slung low on his hips as he made her dinner.
“Perfect timing!” He glanced up without missing a beat in his expert knife strokes. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
“Wow, what’s the occasion?” She felt like the dad on an old sitcom. Her long day at work and upsetting conversation with her mom didn’t seem so bad when there was a hot underwear model waiting at home to put dinner on the table.
“No occasion,” he said, smiling at the cherry tomato he was quartering. “I just like cooking. It’s nice to have someone to cook for, for a change.”
Brooke went to the oven and tried to peer inside the tinted window. “Is that your lasagna I smell?”
“Yes, and I’m about to take it out, so shoo.” He took her by the shoulders and guided her out of the tiny kitchen.
“Fine.” She stuck her tongue out at him as she headed for the bedroom. “I’m going to change.”
Murderface was sleeping on her bed rather than hiding underneath it, which was kind of miraculous with a stranger in the apartment. Maybe the cat was finally getting used to having company. He jumped up to greet her and twined around her legs while she changed into a fresh T-shirt and pair of shorts.
When Brooke came back out of her bedroom, Dylan was frowning at his phone. As she approached the kitchen, he jammed it back into his pocket and started getting out silverware to set the table.
“Here, I can do that,” she said, taking the utensils from him.
She didn’t have fancy napkins or placemats, so he’d set out two folded paper towels beside the plates. A couple of candles he’d brought from the living room flickered in the middle of the table, lending some ambiance to the setting.
“Did you talk to your parents?” Dylan asked.
“I talked to my mom,” Brooke answered as she laid out the forks and knives.
