Page 36 of Unraveled

“I’d make you laugh, but as previously established, it hurts, so I’ll save the jokes.”

I doubted he had any. The stark truth was most likely hitting him, and he understood things wouldn’t be the same between us. “Appreciate it. Good night.”

“’Night.”

The moment the door shut behind his departure, I finally let myself cry. The beginning of my new reality had officially started.

The next morning, I woke up after a fitful night’s sleep, interrupted by both nurse’s visits and the need for pain pills. My stomach was growling. This was a good sign, meaning I was ready for solid food, but nothing sounded good to me. Whatever appetite I’d had disappeared when the nurse came in to empty my two surgical drains and instructed me on their care. Until they could be removed next week, I needed to be cautious with the tubing.

The day only got worse when my mother came and told me all about her sleepless night. She still wasn’t happy I wouldn’t let her move in with me and take charge of my after-care.

This tired conversation was proof enough I shouldn’t let her do anything of the sort. “I’m not arguing with you about this, Mom. I have a nurse. Someone who is trained professionally and who knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m not arguing with you. I just don’t understand.”

No, she wouldn’t. She never had. From ballet, tap, and piano lessons to all of the pageants in which she’d entered me since I’d begun walking, my mother’s goal had been to take over my life. She’d believed I was destined to follow in her footsteps. I’d wanted soccer, guitar, and ice cream with friends on a Friday night. Instead, I had to practice my interviewing skills for the next pageant competition. By fifteen, I’d had enough of the teeth bleaching, watching what I ate, and dress fittings. I wanted to be a normal teenager, not some human doll for her to dress up.

Throughout the rest of my high school years, she hadn’t let me forget how I’d blown my chance to become a model or Miss Whatever. Her needling was one of the reasons I’d taken off for California as soon as I could. I’m sure she hoped I’d take a chance on Hollywood and acting, but there was no way I was going to subject myself to more critical people. I knew if I was told I wasn’t pretty enough for a part it would trigger old resentments. No, thanks. But I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with me taking a job in an industry where looks still mattered. Perhaps I’d gotten used to relying on them for my worth—probably more than I liked to admit.

So, having my mother take care of me while my self-esteem was already in shambles would be a very bad idea. She’d pick at me and remind me of my shortcomings. I’d lash out. She’d cry. Repeat.

“You’ve made your point about wanting to take care of me. Several times.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, noticing the machine tracking my heart rate reflected my rising irritation.

“Imagine what my friends say about a mom who isn’t helping her daughter after surgery.”

“Right. Because that’s what matters.” Lord grant me the patience to remember this woman truly loved me.

“Marie—” my father started, but she wouldn’t hear it.

“No. Don’t you ‘Marie’ me. This is ridiculous. As if having a daughter with cancer isn’t tough enough, I have her rejecting me.”

“It’s not all about you. I’m sorry you can’t see that I’m lying in this hospital bed in pain and with a fight ahead of me. This simply isn’t about you, Mom.”

Did I need this further reminder that people couldn’t be truly supportive in my time of crisis? Although I couldn’t fathom keeping my cancer a secret from my parents, doing so would’ve had its advantages.

She stood up, on the verge of tears. “Fine. I’ll leave. Obviously, that’s what you want.”

This. This was the part where the guilt trip typically started, but over the years, I’d become immune. Besides, having cancer fucking trumped her feelings. So I simply watched her go.

Russ came in as my mom was exiting. In one hand, he held a bouquet of flowers and in the other a large bag. “What did I miss?”

I heaved an exasperated sigh. “Me making Mom cry because she won’t let it go about taking care of me.”

“Ah. Just what you needed: a guilt trip less than twenty-four hours after surgery. Maybe this will cheer you up.” He put the gorgeous arrangement of lilies on the window ledge.

They did make me feel better. I hated that I was in a shit mood. I told myself it was the emotions, the drugs, and my mother. I figured I wouldn’t be the best patient because I was used to having control, but if I was this big of an emotional mess now, how the hell would I get through the next few months when I’d have chemotherapy drugs and radiation to contend with?

“Hey, hey, hey. I brought more gifts. No need to cry.” Russ pulled out a candy bar bouquet, comprised of every type of sweet imaginable.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and tore open the Hershey bar he picked out and handed over. I was supposed to be cutting down on my sugar intake and maintaining a healthy lifestyle, but there had to be an unwritten rule that you didn’t start a healthy diet while in the hospital.

My dad stood up and crossed over. “Don’t apologize, pumpkin. Your one and only job here is to get better, rest, and make the decisions which allow those first two things to happen. Your mom has her way of coping, which may seem—for lack of a better word—shitty, but she does love you. She’s scared and wants control. She can’t have it, so she lashes out.”

That sounded more familiar than felt comfortable. Evidently, control freak-ism ran in the family. I felt the same way as my mom about the new situation. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I’m running down to the cafeteria to get some coffee. Your mother is probably downstairs getting flowers, reasoning that if her son broke the rules, she will, too.” He gave Russ an amused look before leaving the room.

I had, in fact, told everyone not to waste money on flowers. Frankly, I’d rather have food deliveries once I was home. But now that the lilies were here, they did lift my spirits.