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“Oh, honey. If there’s one thing to learn about us, it’s that we don’t do anything halfway,” my mom says, stepping across me and holding out a hand for Laney.
I hold my breath and wait for it, but Laney’s good at masking the quick breath that leaves her the moment she truly looks my mom in the eyes.
“I’m Allison, Laney. Cutter has told us only what we’ve been able to drag out of him about you.” My mom—I can always count on her to kick things off.
I chuckle as Laney shakes my mom’s hand then glances to me. I catch the quick signal in her eyes as they widen that she’s put my mom’s diagnosis together and is maybe a little miffed about my omission. I smile through tight lips, hoping it relays an apologetic excuse.
“Probably about as much as he’s told me about you all,” Laney responds. My chest tightens, but she’s quick to shift the tone. “Though he has told me about you two.” She moves to shake Todd and Flynn’s hands next.
“Oh I’m sure. Sorry you got the leftovers with that one. The gene pool ran out of good looks and charm since we came out twins,” Flynn says.
“And that one is Flynn. The charmer,” I say in introduction. Before Flynn can make it to Laney, Todd cuts in front of him and introduces himself, practically tripping over himself. Patrick sits back and waits while the twins act like buffoons but make Laney laugh, then he steps in to play adult.
“Patrick, Patrick McCreary,” he says, a throat clear as punctuation. We all grow silent and I hold in my laugh as best I can until Ma, of course, puts Patrick back in his place.
“What are you, James Bond? Jesus, the girl isn’t interested in any of you. And you’re married. Lordt!” Everyone cracks into hysterics except Patrick, who immediately presses the key fob to unlock the SUV and usher us all on our way.
My family piles into their vehicle while I take Laney in mine, which gives me the privacy I was hoping for to tell her just how proud I am of her.
“So where should I start? The block? The kill at the end? Seven aces? I could go on.” I like gushing about her, and it’s clear she likes to hear it by the way she sits up tall and fills her chest with air as she grins.
“It was a pretty great block wasn’t it?” Now is not the time for Laney to be humble.
“Uh, yeah!” I pull us onto the main drag to head toward Baker Joe’s, our favorite BBQ place. The twins haven’t been there since graduation and begged that we head there for dinner.
Laney recants her game to me play-by-play, explaining the little details that she thinks I missed. And I may have missed some, but not many. I studied her. I was locked on her. And I see how she makes this game so exciting.
“Did you know that the only reason they had to give Chelsea a shot was because her family is the one that owns Mickelson Electronics? Like,thoseMickelsons.
I grimace and glance at her as I drive. It takes her a few seconds to pick up on the fact that I did, in fact, know that.
“Why didn’t you say something?” she huffs.
“Uh, I could tell you that it’s because it slipped my mind, but honestly, I think I was afraid of what you might do if you knew.” I glance at her again and her eyes have hazed but she’s not totally shooting lasers at me through them.
“I see that’s not the only thing you were afraid to tell me?” Her lips purse and she blinks a few times. I turn my attention back to the road. She’s talking about my mom.
I run my palm over my face then leave it over my mouth and chin as I take a deep breath.
“There’s not really a natural segue into saying ‘Oh, by the way, my mom has breast cancer.’” I glance at her with a sheepish smile and her eyes soften. She pulls her torso free of the safety belt as we approach a stoplight and when we’re stopped, puts her arms around me, her head on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
I look down as her eyes flit up to me.
“Thank you,” I say before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Is she . . .”
I know that the start of her question comes with multiple possibilities. Is my mom alright? Is she winning? Is she going to be okay? So many more.
“She’s in good hands, and they caught it early. She’ll finish chemo next month, and then some more tests to see what’s next. But her prognosis is very, very good.”
I think maybe saying it out loud to Laney is the first time I’m believing it myself. My mom has told me thousands of times, but when it’s your mom—your rock—it’s hard to see the good odds. You only see the fraction of a chance that life goes wrong.
Laney stays close to me, hugging my bicep and leaving her head on my arm as she runs her palm along my skin. It feels . . . nice.
“You’re a good son,” she says after nearly a minute of silence.
