Page 35 of Trial and Error

Patrick gives Mom’s hand a squeeze and I see the way her wedding band spins around her spindly finger. “After many discussions with her doctor, we’ve come to the decision that treatment wouldn’t be beneficial for your mom and it would just make her feel worse. And ultimately, we want her to be as comfortable as possible.”

I look over at my mom and frown. “You don’t even want to try?”

She shakes her head. “The doctor said that chemo could make me feel very nauseous and I’d rather not have to deal with that on top of everything else. There’s not a lot they can do otherwise, and I’d rather not spend my last year in pain.”

There’s only one part of that sentence that my mind clings to. “Your last year?” I say, my tone almost disbelieving, “They’ve given you a year?”

She nods solemnly. “It’s common for Stage Three. I could make it to eighteen months, if I’m lucky.”

I shake my head and stand from the sofa, ripping my hand from Bridget’s. I feel her looking up at me as I step away from them and run my hands through my hair. “Elias.” Her voice is soft, but I ignore it.

“I’ve had a good life⁠—”

I laugh incredulously, not believing those words are even coming out of her mouth. “You’re fifty-four, Mom. That’s not a good life—that’s a life cut short.”

Patrick clears his throat, his face tense as he looks over at my mom with a worried glance. Clearly, they hadn’t anticipated this conversation going this way.

“You’ve got a year,” I breathe out. “That’s nothing.” I hear my mom sniffling but I don’t stop. “You’re going to miss so much. You won’t see me have a family, you won’t—” My words get stuck at the back of my throat as an uncontrollable sob rattles through my chest. “Fuck, you’re not⁠—”

I’m hyperventilating and can’t find a way to stop the burning in my chest.

Arms wrap around my waist and the smell of lavender and jasmine fill my senses. Bridget rests her cheek against my shoulder blades and squeezes me tightly, the action relaxing me ever so slightly. My body feels like a deadweight, but I manage to move my hand to hold onto her forearm as she clings on to me.

“Son, I’m here now, and that’s all that matters,” Mom says from her spot on the couch. “But I do have one request.”

I turn in Bridget’s arms and loop mine around her shoulders. “What is it?” I ask.

Mom looks between the two of us with a warm, yet sad smile. “I know you both haven’t really planned the big day yet, but I’d like you to consider moving it up.” I feel Bridget tense under my touch, “I just want to see you get married, Elias. It would make me so very happy.”

I have to tell her.

I have to tell her that I’m a fucking liar and that none of this is real—but the words won’t come. No matter how hard I try to say them, they stay rooted in my chest. I feel my arms drop from Bridget as I take a step back to try and catch my breath.

I can’t fucking breathe.

This is all too much.

“Of course.” Bridget’s soft voice fills my ears.

What?

I turn to look at her, trying to understand why she’s saving my ass—again. She looks up at me with a smile, but I don’t miss the sad but tense look that lingers in her eyes.

“We want you there, and if that means moving it forward, then that’s what we’ll do.” She keeps her gazes locked on me as she speaks. “We’ll do whatever it takes to make this last year of yours the best one yet.”

Fuck.

She really is perfect.

bridget

We’ll do whatever it takes to make this last year of yours the best one yet.

What the fuck was I thinking? This feels like a really bad fucking idea, yet here I am, stepping in and trying to accommodate my fake future mother-in-law with a wedding that doesn’t even exist. This poor woman has been given a year to live, and here we are, deceiving her. The joyful grin she sends me hits me like a flaming arrow to my chest, and I just know it’s going to stay lodged there until we clear this whole mess up. How could I possibly think what I said would help? It doesn’t. We have to come clean eventually, but we can’t do that now.

Helen and Patrick nod at each another, clearly happy with our response, but Elias is as stiff as a board, and I can’t think of what else to say.

We really need to talk about whatever the hell is going on, because there’s one thing I’m certain about—this has taken a turn that neither one of us have anticipated.