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“Wait, so she was sick when you guys met?”
“She was, but I didn’t know that at the time. Not that it would have changed how I felt about her. Nothing would have changed how I felt. But I understand her reasoning for not telling me.” I pause, taking a long drink of water. “I found out later that she found out about her brain tumor the day we met. When she left me the next morning, she did so under the impression that she wouldn’t be alive long enough for it to matter. She thought she was sparing me.”
“But she did live.”
“She did.” I nod. “She survived the surgery and was on the mend. That’s when our relationship really took flight. The few weeks that followed were the happiest of my entire life. But then we found out the cancer had spread, and everything changed. We no longer had our whole future ahead of us like we had hoped. Now we were staring at months, possibly weeks, and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it.”
“Did they try chemo again?”
“They said they could, but it wouldn’t cure her. At best it only would’ve bought her a couple of months longer. She opted to live out the remainder of her time on her own terms.”
“I get that.” Peyton sits back, dropping her hands in her lap. “Sometimes it’s better that way. Especially when you know the chemo won’t work. My mom stopped treatments after they were unsuccessful. I was so mad at her at the time. I didn’t understand why she was giving up. Now I realize that she wasn’t giving up. She was accepting that there was nothing she could do and choosing to live for however long she had left.”
“Quality over quantity. That’s how Finley put it. She didn’t want to spend six months so sick she could barely get out of bed if she could have three good ones where she could be herself.”
“When the outcome is the same either way.” Peyton shrugs. “Doesn’t make it any easier for those of us who are on the outside holding onto hope, looking for a miracle.”
“It certainly doesn’t. You know, I don’t think I truly believed that she was dying until those last few days. Even on bad days she was still just Finley. My beautiful wife who always wore a smile and could crack a joke even in the heaviest of situations. I think I had convinced myself that she would eventually get better. Only she never did.”
“I was the same way. I refused to believe that my mom was going to die. Problem with that is I didn’t make peace with it when I should have. I was holding out for that miracle for so long that when I finally realized it wasn’t coming, I was out of time. And then I was just angry. Angry at her. Angry at myself. Angry at the world.”
“Yeah, I know a thing or two about feeling angry.”
“How long were you two married?”
“Not long, though it felt like she’d been my wife forever. We actually eloped in Vegas a couple weeks after she received her terminal diagnosis.”
“I’m so sorry, Abel. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you.”
“It’s hard to think about but impossible not to. My best and worst memories are all wrapped up in those few months I got with her. Sometimes, when I open my eyes first thing in the morning, for a brief moment I forget that she’s gone. There’s no pain or loss. No heaviness in my chest. It’s all just... gone.”
“But then it washes over you all at once and you’re forced to relive it over and over again.” She finishes my thought so clearly, it’s as if she can see inside my head.
“Exactly.”
“Oh my god! Aaron!” Henna’s loud cackle pulls our attention to the booth behind us. My gaze slides beyond Peyton right in time to see my brother’s shirt go flying across the room.
“What the fuck,” I mutter, running my hand down my face as I slide out of the booth.
By the time I reach their table, Aaron has his belt off and his pants unbuckled.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I look at him like he’s lost his damn mind, because honestly, I think he has.
“Henna bet me a blow job that I wouldn’t strip right here in this booth.”
“And you thought it would be a good time to prove her wrong?” I glare at him.
“Well, yeah.” He laughs.
“Did you forget that our aunt and uncle own this place?”
“There isn’t anyone here.” He gestures around the empty diner.
“There are two waitresses and the cook, not to mention that more customers could walk in at any moment.”
“You know, for the rebellious sibling you’re kind of a stick in the mud.”
“And for someone who pretends to be so mature, you’re acting like a two-year-old,” I bite back.
