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“Dr. Meyers wouldn’t give me a straight prognosis when I talked to him. Did he tell you one? How long do you have?”
My mom leans forward, the first spark of true emotion I’ve seen from her fully appearing. “You talked to my doctor?”
“Yep.” I sip some water.
“Why?”
“Just answer the question, Lana.”
I refuse to call herMom, even if I still refer to her that way in my head. It’s a title she never earned, one she threw back at me.
She looks away, expression shuttering closed again. “I need a transplant.”
“I know that. If you don’t get one, how long?”
“I don’t know. Months. A year at most, maybe.”
Beside me, Sydney sucks in a sharp breath. It’s shorter than I was expecting too.
“That’s not much time.”
She still won’t look at me. “If you’re offering some absolution because I’m sick, I don’t want it. I made my choices, Holden.”
“There’s no forgiving what you did. I’m only here because Sydney wanted to see you.”
Our mom finally looks at Sydney.
“You went to see Holden. Years ago, after Dad died. Why didn’t you talk to me?” Sydney asks.
Our mother’s voice is even and calm, but I can feel the emotions radiating off of her. “Because Holden was like me and you were always like your father.”
Her tone is matter of fact, stating out loud what I’ve told myself many times before. What I spentyearstelling myself.
“Holden isnothinglike you,” Sydney hisses. “He’s loyal and—”
“It’s fine, Syd,” I say.
I don’t need her to defend me. I don’t care what my mom thinks, what assumptions she’s made about similarities. She doesn’t know me. The only reason I’m here is for Sydney.
“Holden got tested, you know. Youabandonedus without a second thought, and what did Holden do when he found out you were sick? He went to the hospital to get tested to see if he was a match and could donate his own liver to save your miserable life. He’snothinglike you.”
Dr. Meyers obviously didn’t say anything, because there’s a clear flicker of surprise on my mom’s face.
“You didn’t evenbother to see me, the one time you showed up in the past decade, and I would have gotten tested too. Would’ve helped you too. Except I can’t, because I’m pregnant!”
More surprise.
The mask she showed up wearing is slowly splintering.
The waitress appears. “Are you all ready to order yet?”
It’s almost funny, her expression twisting uncomfortably as she registers the total, awkward silence around the table.
I clear my throat. “Uh, we’re still deciding,” I say.
“Okay.”
She leaves quickly, and I’m guessing she won’t be back.
