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“Honey,” Mom says in thatpump-the-brakestone she uses when Dad tries to push new therapies on her. “I’m not sure this is the kind of situation that requires our opinions. Certainly not our permission.”
“I’m not saying that.”
“I’ve never seen Celine like this,” she wistfully sighs. “She was so… full.”
“She’s pregnant?!” I balk. “She didn’t say—”
“No, no, no,” Mom laughs. “Full as in happy. Full of life.”
“Great,” I mutter darkly. “Not sure that’s something we can cure. At least a pregnancy can be fixed.”
“Taylor Marie Theron!”
“Shit,” I mutter. “Did I say that out loud?”
Mom leans forward to rap the back of my knuckles in a light scold. But the gesture wears her out and she slumps back into the armchair, wheezing quietly. “I was worried about this, too,” she admits as her gaze flits out the window to the bright day beyond. “I mean, this is Celine. She’s always been so cautious about everything. But when I saw them together today—”
“Wait. Pause. Back up. You met him?”
“Of course,” Mom says. “They came by for a cup of coffee. She wanted to introduce him to us.”
“Why wasn’t I invited?” I ask, my face falling. Honestly, Mom’s the only one I don’t mind baring my soul to. She’s the one person I know won’t judge me over anything.
Even if I happen to deserve it.
“Oh, honey, don’t take it personally. It was an impromptu visit,” she reassures me, patting my hand. “That being said, you have no one but yourself to blame. You’d have met him if you still lived here.”
“Pulling out the guilt card, huh? I’m shocked, Mrs. Theron. Simply shocked.”
She laughs, the same musical laugh it’s always been. “You’re twenty years old; of course you want your own space. I don’t fault you for that.”
“Dad does.”
She sighs, but the smile remains on her face. That’s what I love about my mother. Even after everything she’s been through, all the doctors, the chemo, the false hope, the painful years—even after all that, she hasn’t lost her smile.
“Your father is getting older,” she says. “I think he just worries about who’s going to take care of you girls once he’s gone.”
“He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The stubborn ones never do.”
The two of us giggle together. “Still,” she sighs when the laughter fades, “he’s always been a traditionalist. The night we were married, he told me that he was going to take care of me. That I didn’t need to work if I didn’t want to.”
“I’m sure you took that one lying down,” I tease.
“Why, I would never,” she jokes back. “But once I got pregnant with your sister, I realized that I wanted to be your mother more than I wanted a career.”
“You big softie.” I tickle the bottom of her bare foot.
She chuckles and waves me off of her. “I worked for three years before I had Celine, though, and he never touched a penny of the money I earned. He told me that his money was ours, and my money was mine.”
I do a double take. “I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a lot of things about your father you girls don’t know,” she chides. “Before he was your father, he was this gorgeous, mysterious, capable man. I couldn’t believe that he’d even look my way.”
“Hush, Mom. You’re beautiful.”
She shrugs. “Yes, yes, butter me up. I didn’t believe that until he told it to me, though. It took meeting your father to teach me what love—reallove—was all about.”
Hearing her talk reminds me of the old days.B.C.: Before Cancer.She and Dad used to hold hands when we walked to the park together. He’d bring her a cup of coffee every morning so that she could drink it in bed. When she fell asleep on the couch halfway through a movie, he’d pick her up and carry her to their room, making sure to skip the noisy floorboards so he didn’t wake her up.
