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“Fin, she’s your mom. We should find a way to let her know.”
“She’s the woman who gave birth to me. That doesn’t make her a real mom. I doubt she cares one way or the other, anyway. She probably hasn’t even noticed that I left and it’s been over a year.”
“I doubt that’s the case. I know she’s not your favorite person, but she’s still your mom whether you like it or not.”
“I’m not doing this with you.” I let out a loud sigh. “Monica is the farthest thing from what I need right now.”
This isn’t the first time Claire has tried to push me to mend fences with my mom. She has some unrealistic notions about what it means to be a drug addict. She thinks that my mom still cares–and maybe she does–but she cares about getting her next fix more.
“What about your friends at the restaurant? Have you told any of them?”
“No.”
“Finley, you have to tell people.”
“I don’t want anyone to know.”
“You still can’t accept that there are people here who care about you, can you? You can’t shut out the world. You need a support system behind you.”
“I have one. I have you.”
“And you know I’ll be here for you every single step of the way. But sis, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell your friends what’s going on. They’ll want to know.”
“I highly doubt any of them care that much.”
“What about Heather?”
Heather is the only real friend I have outside of Claire. We’ve been working together for almost a year now and have become pretty close over that time.
“I’ll tell her if I survive the surgery.”
“When,” she corrects. “Whenyou survive the surgery.”
“When,” I repeat unconvincingly.
“Hey.” Claire leans forward, once again taking my hand. “I don’t mean to push. I can’t imagine how overwhelmed you must feel. I just think there are people in your life that deserve to know what’s going on with you. People who love you and care what happens to you. People who will want to help you through this.”
“You just want the best for me, I know that. But I can’t. This is something I need to handle on my own.”
“Okay,” she concedes. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“We’re going to beat this, you know?” she reassures me. “Whatever it takes.”
“Whatever it takes,” I repeat her words, wishing like hell it were that simple.
“What do you say we spend the day in? We can rent some movies, eat anything we want, and lounge in our pajamas all day?”
“I’d like that,” I admit, knowing there’s no one else I’d rather spend my final day with.
Just as the thought takes hold, Abel’s face flashes through my mind. It still doesn’t seem real–everything that happened last night. I spent the entire walk home replaying things in my head, trying to convince myself that the feelings I have for him are born out of my fear of the future. Of dying having never loved a man. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t make myself believe it.
Nineteen years I’ve been searching for something to make me feel even a fraction of what I felt last night. It doesn’t matter that I’ve only known him for a few hours. It doesn’t matter that I may never see him again. Because he gave me one perfect night. Ten perfect hours. And because of him I feel like I have something to fight for.
And so I will fight. I will fight with everything I have because all I want are more hours, more days, more time... More him.
