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“Anything you need, just ask,” I say, pausing in the doorway.
There’s so much I want to say, feelings I’ve been holding back, but it’s not the right time. Not now, with her world spinning out of control. I’ve been patient this long; I can wait a bit longer. A few days—or months. Time is relative.
Leaving her to settle in, I try to keep myself occupied, but my mind keeps wandering back to her. I imagine what it would be like to finally kiss her—to hold her face gently in my hands, to look into her beautiful eyes and slowly close the gap between us. I can almost feel the softness of her lips, the subtle hint of vanilla, and that moment when everything else just fades away, leaving only the two of us.
But it’s just a daydream, nothing more. Right now, her well-being is my top priority. The thought of that kiss, as sweet and tempting as it may be, has to wait.
Though there’s the fear of not knowing if wanting this again—love and forever—is even worth it.
I close my eyes, and I can see her clearly. There’s a simplicity and an honesty in the way she looks at the world, at me. And in this quiet moment, I feel a sense of certainty. Despite my fears and reservations, she’s the one who’s managed to quietly break through my defenses.
To wake my heart and make it beat again.
Chapter Thirty
Gabriel
Two days.
Ameline was only able to rest for two days before she insisted it was time to see her mom. I think she doesn’t know the meaning of the word relax.
While Ame pretended to chill in my house, Archer did some digging around about her mother’s current situation. She’s staying at Seattle Memorial—the oncology ward. He didn’t find out anything about her prognosis, but I’m seriously concerned.
As we enter the sterile hospital corridor, Ameline slides on her sunglasses with a quiet wince, shielding her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights.I can tell her headache is back. It’s in the subtle crease of her forehead, a detail I wish I could overlook. Though I can’t do much to stop her from heading to her mom’s room, I can try to persuade her to cut this visit short. We could come back tomorrow.
If possible, I would suggest we go back to my place, but I wouldn’t dare to do it. Not when I know she’s determined to make this visit today.
Would it kill her to wait until next week after she sees the neurologist? Aunt Aspen helped us get an appointment with one of the best doctors in the state. She said he’ll be thorough and will be able to provide her with a customized treatment—if this turns out to be just a migraine. The last part worried me, but I didn’t ask much since Ameline was next to me. I don’t want to worry her, but what else could it be?
As we leave the elevator, I offer my arm for support as we walk toward her mother’s room. Ameline leans in slightly, her strength seeming to ebb but her resolve standing firm.
We enter her mother’s room, and I’m greeted by the familiar sounds of hospital equipment and the smell of antiseptics. Her mother, in her mid-sixties, lies in a hospital bed with all the usual medical devices surrounding her—monitors, IV drips, and a heart monitor beeping away rhythmically.
Her mom’s face lights up when she sees Ameline. “Look how big you are. So beautiful, just like your father,” she says with a mixture of joy and a hint of sadness.
Ameline forces a smile, though I can tell the comparison bothers her. I give her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. They make small talk about her mother’s treatment while I stand near the doorway, allowing them some privacy. Yet, Ameline turns frequently in my direction, as if looking for some reassurance. I smile as a way of saying, I’m here and not going anywhere.
Their conversation is pretty casual, mostly about Ameline’s school life. She talks about her poli-sci major and plans for law school, mentioning an interest in corporate law while also wanting to offer her skills to those who can’t afford legal representation. This revelation catches me by surprise. I thought she wanted to do restoration or something focused on art.
This is news to me. We haven’t talked about her plans or aspirations in a long time. All I know is that she’s been adding more credits to her load and even had classes during the summer. She’s hoping to graduate at least a semester before, but if possible by this time next year she’ll graduate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ameline rubbing her temple. That’s her tell for a headache kicking in. She’s trying to be subtle about it, but I can tell it’s bugging her. Concern washes over me as I observe the creases of discomfort on her forehead, her eyes slightly narrowing as she tries to focus.
“I think we should go,” I finally speak up, knowing it’s time to intervene and get her home. “Maybe we can swing by tomorrow?”
Right as we’re about to leave, her mom drops a bombshell. “There’s one more thing,” she says, her voice heavier than before. “I need a bone marrow transplant. The doctors say it’s my best shot.”
“A transplant,” Ameline’s voice is breaking.
“Yeah. I was hoping all of you would get tested but . . . neither your brother or sister want anything to do with me,” she whispers the last words. “It wasn’t my fault, you know. I . . . it’s all so complicated. When everything was over your father kicked me out, erasing me from your life.”
Ameline takes off her glasses and stares at her mother, confused.
“All I ask is for you to help me beat this,” her mom insists.
After a couple of seconds, Ameline responds, “I’ll get tested right away.”
Her mother reaches for her hand, giving her a weak squeeze. “You’re so brave, sweetheart. Just like your father.”
