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I shake my head, refusing to believe it. Refusing to give in.
“It’s not okay.” It’ll never be okay. “I need you. Nixon needs you.”
This can’t be happening. This can’t be our life. Not yet.
“Yo—” She sucks in a sharp breath. “F-fine.”
“We won’t be fine. We need you.”
I need you.
I thought I was ready.
I thought I’d be able to do this without falling apart.
I thought I’d be able to make it easy on her.
But I can’t.
She’s slipping away, and there is nothing that I can do about it. Nothing that I can do to make her stay.
“Mom…” I try to reach for her, but she’s slipping through my fingers. “Mom!”
I startle awake, sucking in a breath. My heart is beating furiously against my ribcage, sweat covering my body.
Running my trembling fingers through my messy hair, I slowly take in my surroundings.
Home.
I’m back home. Sleeping in my room.
I rub my sweaty forehead, feeling the throbbing at the back of my skull.
It was just a bad dream.
Just that.
A bad dream.
I haven’t had one of those in a while. It could be that after everything that has happened lately, being home after so long brings the memories of those last few weeks with Mom back to life.
Turning to the left, I see Prescott’s sleeping face on the pillow beside mine. His hair is a mess; a frown is etched between his brows as he sleeps.
He’s still here.
Prescott has barely left my side since we got home after my chemo. Well, except when I woke up and he wasn’t there. What the hell was with that? I try to remember, but everything about yesterday is clouded by the pain.
Thankfully, today I’m feeling better. My stomach doesn’t seem like it’ll jump out of my mouth, and the shivers have stopped, although I still feel the ache in my muscles. Almost like I have a cold.
The soft light peeking through the blinds falls over Prescott’s head, making the gold strands stand out. It’s early, too damn early from the looks of it, but there is no way I’ll fall asleep again, so I slide my legs over the mattress and get up.
The house is quiet as I make my way downstairs, the clock on the oven showing it’s barely past five in the morning. I flick on the small light over the sink and go straight to the coffee machine. There is a soft buzzing sound as the device comes to life, and soon enough, the smell of the dark brew fills the air.
Grabbing the cup in my hands, I take a sip, letting the caffeine enter my bloodstream as I look around the kitchen.
Since I had to reschedule the chemo, Yasmin ended up getting here before us, so everything was already clean, and the house had been aired out since nobody had been here for months. A few pans and bowls were waiting in the fridge, ready to be put in the oven for today’s dinner.
Leaning against the counter, my gaze falls on Mom’s cookbook.
