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A few seconds tick past, filled only with the murmured beeping and groaning of the hospital around us. He takes my silence for what it is: terror.
“Come on,” he says, his hand gently pressing to the small of my back. “One step at a time.”
I draw in a deep breath as he coaxes me through the door.
The room beyond is much larger than I expected. Cancer makes you intimately familiar with hospitals. You learn the cadence of the machine beeps, the tang of disinfectant, the way the nurses’ shoes squeak on the tile. You start to have a sense for the space and shape of a room and for what the temperature of the air tells you about the people trapped inside of it.
I was ready for this one to feel like death.
But to my surprise, it doesn’t. Sun pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and it fills the space all the way up to ceilings that are a touch higher than I’m used to.
It doesn’t feel like death. Not yet, at least.
There’s a sliver of hope left.
I force my eyes to the sickly woman lying on the bed. It’s hard to reconcile her with the mother who raised me. She isn’t wearing any yellow, for starters, and it just looks so wrong.
She hasn’t spotted me yet. Her eyes are closed and her face is tilted to the side as though she fell asleep praying. She looks so—
I whirl back around abruptly and smash into Ilarion’s chest. Forehead pressed against him, I shake my head. “I can’t do this. I can’t say goodbye to her.”
“Then don’t,” he says. “Just say hello.”
He grazes the bottom of my chin with two fingers and tils my face up. Our gazes meet. The blue of his eyes is calm today. An ocean at rest. Just mellow enough to put me at ease, to make me feel like maybe—just maybe—everything will turn out alright.
Even if it’s a lie, it’s one I desperately need.
“I’ll be right here,” he murmurs.
And, God help me, I believe him.
I pivot around and inch slowly up to Mom’s bedside. I slip my fingers through hers, tender as I can, and her eyes blink open. When she groans softly and squints up at me, though, her gaze is blank. For a moment, I wonder if she even recognizes me.
Then I see that familiar surge of love, and my heart shatters all over again.
“Oh…honey…”
There’s so much relief in her voice that the dam I’ve been building to pen back my tears crumbles and they all pour loose. I bend down and hover over her chest as I sob. Big, loud, full-body-wracking, ugly-girl sobs, the kind that hurt as they come. Mom pats my head with whisper-soft touches, and lets me cry it all out.
When I finally lift my head, I feel both relieved and ashamed. “I’m so sorry,” I mumble. “You’re the one in the hospital, and I’m the one crying.”
She makes an attempt to wipe the tears from my face, but her hand trembles from the effort. I take that hand and hold it to my chest as I perch on the bed beside her.
“I know this is a stupid question and I honestly kinda hate myself for asking it, but…how are you?”
“Been better,” she croaks. Her mouth twitches in a smile that she’s too weak to see all the way through. “Celine? Archie?”
I lie immediately and without an ounce of guilt. “Don’t you worry about them, Mom. They’re fine.”
Mom frowns. “I saw…Celine. They…t-took her.”
I stiffen, but this is no time for heartbreaking truths. Mom needs hope. Healing and hope. I won’t be the one to steal that from her. “Ilarion went and got her back,” I reassure her. “Dad, too. They’re both safe at one of his houses. They told me to send you their love.”
She coughs. It’s so faint I could almost start crying all over again. “Thank you for lying to me,” Mom whispers. “But I’d really rather have the truth.”
I gnaw my lip. They don’t prepare you for this kind of thing in school. You learn calculus, you learn that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, but who teaches you whether or not to lie to your dying mother?
“Ilarion is going to get them both back,” I promise her. “They’ll be here at your bedside soon enough.” She cringes, and I reach out to stroke a loose bang from her forehead. “Are you in pain?”
