It Was Us (9 page)

TWENTY-ONE

ABBY

I opened the door to the office and stopped in surprise. Both my parents were behind their desks in their office, working. My mom looked up at me and smiled. She still came into the office but not with any regularity.

“Was wondering if you were coming in today,” my dad said, his eyes still glued to his computer screen.

“Sorry,” I said. I hitched my purse higher on my shoulder. “I had an errand to run.”

“I need some stuff printed for the Open House tomorrow,” he said. “And we need to call Carlos. Schedule two more shoots with him, then contact the sellers. I'd like to get them down early next week. Monday, if he's available.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

My mom stretched in her chair and yawned. “Let her get in before you start barking orders at her.”

My dad looked at me, then back at my mom, his eyebrows raised. “I was expecting her here this morning. It's almost noon.”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Doug.” My mother's voice was firm. “Leave her alone.” She smiled reassuringly at me. “It's alright, sweetheart.”

“It would be alright if you'd called,” my dad said, a frown settling on his face. “If I'd known. But you're always here Saturday morning. I even saw you at breakfast. And there wasn't a word about being late.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. “I know,” I finally said. “Something sort of came up. I'm sorry.”

It was a partial truth. I'd called Planned Parenthood on impulse when I'd woken up, not really expecting they'd be able to see me so quickly. And then, when the lady on the phone had suggested coming in at ten o'clock, I didn't know how to say no. And I certainly hadn't known how to tell my parents.

“Everything okay?” my mom asked.

No, I wanted to say. Everything was not okay. I'd gone for a consultation for an abortion and had left more confused and undecided than ever. I looked at my mom. Her smile was over-bright, her eyes wide, and I froze. Not because I was worried about what was going on with me. I glanced at her again. Her eyes were still fixed on me, a fierce smile etched into her features. It was like she needed to hear it from me, needed to hear me say that things were fine. I felt a tingle run down my spine because I'd seen that look before.

When she'd first told us about the illness.

“Honey?” she said. “You alright?”

I swallowed, hard, even though a ball of fear had lodged itself in my throat. “Everything's fine.”

I didn't say anything more, just crossed the front room and headed toward my tiny office. I sank down in the chair and tossed my purse on to the desk. My heart beat erratically and I felt the moisture on my palms. I rubbed my hands down the front of my shorts and tried to get myself under control.

It had been a few months since Mom's last chemo treatment. I sat for a minute with my eyes closed, trying to pull an exact date, but I drew a blank. Sometime after Thanksgiving but before Christmas. She hadn't wanted to celebrate, to earmark the date in any way, and we'd reluctantly complied. I'd wanted to throw a party, to celebrate the fact that we were putting that part of our lives behind us, but Mom was adamant that we ignore the date. She didn't want to give cancer any more importance in our lives than it had already claimed. She didn't want to celebrate one single second of it, not even the moment her treatments came to an end. When she'd put it like that, I hadn't argued.

I knew she'd gone in for a a check-up since then. I'd offered to go with her but she'd refused, telling me it was something she needed to do on her own. I smiled a grim smile as I remembered those same words I'd echoed to West only a few hours earlier. What had happened at the appointment? How had I forgotten to ask her about it?

But I knew. She'd gone in when I'd been sick. I was almost certain. And then I'd been so consumed with what was going on with me that I'd simply forgotten to ask. Forgotten she'd gone. I felt like the worst daughter in the world.

I shifted in my chair and stared at the phone on my desk. More than anything, I wanted to pick up the receiver and call someone. Not someone, I corrected. West. I wanted to call West. I needed to tell him about the look I'd seen on my mom's face and the worry and fear that had blossomed in my stomach. And I wanted to tell him about the appointment, about the sterile and cold environment of the clinic that were a complete dichotomy to the nurse's calm and reassuring words. I wanted to cry and scream and have him be there to pick up the pieces. Right then, when I needed him, and again when I went back to the clinic on Wednesday. Because, despite my reservations, I'd made the appointment.

But I couldn't. I knew he'd still be angry. Aloof. And I couldn't deal with that. I couldn't handle the silence, the coolness I knew I'd hear in his voice. I felt tears spring into my eyes and I took a few deep breaths as I tried to blink them back.

One thing at a time. I needed to deal with one thing at a time.

And the one thing right at that moment was my mom.

I turned my attention to my computer and powered it on. The screen flickered to life and I opened a folder on on the desktop, the Marguerite Street home that was having an Open House the next day. I selected the files I needed and hit the print button. The printer whirred to life and I reached for the phone and called Carlos. He didn't answer—my calls to him always rolled to voicemail—so I left him a message with the requests for photo shoots the following week.

I stood up and collected the printed sheets for the Open House. The copier was in my parents' office so I headed in there with the stack of paper. My dad wasn't at his desk.

I looked at my mom. She had a folder spread out in front of her, paper-clipped stacks of paper everywhere. I was pretty sure she was writing up an offer on the Figueroa property.

Anticipating my question, she said, “He ran out to grab lunch.”

I nodded. “Oh.” I loaded the sheets into the copier and punched the buttons on the control panel. “I'm sorry about this morning.”

She was bent over the paper, a calculator next to her. She tapped at the screen, adjusting her reading glasses so she could see the numbers. She jotted them down on the memo pad next to her. “It's fine, Abby. Really.”

“I should have told you guys this morning.”

She glanced up. Her hair had grown back, a soft shell of dark curls that framed her face. She somehow managed to look fragile and sophisticated at the same time. “You're doing us a favor by coming in,” she said, shaking her head. “This isn't your job. Your career. Sometimes I think your dad forgets that.”

“I know,” I said. I collected the collated sheets of paper and set them down on the table next to the copier. “But it's what I'm planning to do. After I get my degree, I mean.”

I'd made the decision back in the Fall to transfer to San Diego State the following year and get my degree in real estate. What had started as just stepping in to help when my mom had been sick had turned into something more for me. I found out that I liked working in the office. I liked helping to sell houses and I loved helping people find homes. I'd gone to Mesa after high school with no clear plans other than to get away from my sister and, by some ironic twist of fate, I'd decided to put myself right back in her path again by applying to SDSU. Granted, there were thirty thousand other students there and she'd opted to major in Global Studies so our paths wouldn't cross much, but still. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be heading to State and working toward a real estate degree so I could jump into my parents' business, I would have told them they were crazy.

Then again, I thought ruefully, I would have said the same thing if someone had told me I'd be pregnant at the same time.

“You look like you're a million miles away.” My mother's voice was soft. “You sure you're okay?”

I blinked rapidly a couple of times, focusing my gaze on her. “Yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking.”

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes reflecting her concern. Then she smiled. “Okay.”

“What about you?” I asked. I reached for the stapler. “How are you?”

“Good,” she said brightly. “Busy. The usual.”

I collected the first stack of papers and stapled them together. “I never asked about your appointment,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

She busied herself with the papers in front of her.

“How was it?” I asked.

“My what?”

“Your follow-up. With Dr. Spanos.”

“It was fine.”

I stapled another set. “What did he do?”

“Some blood work,” she said. “A physical exam.” She wasn't offering much and I felt my stomach somersault.

“And did you get any results back?” I asked.

“I'm feeling a little role reversal here,” she said. I could tell that she was getting agitated.

“What do you mean?”

She frowned at me. “I'm the parent. Not you.”

“I know,” I said. “But I was your nurse for a while. Remember? I'd kinda like to know how my patient is doing. Especially since that patient is my mom.”

She looked at me, her lips mashed together, her eyes narrowed. “The blood work was abnormal,” she finally said.

Fear clawed at my stomach and I sucked in a breath. “Abnormal how?”

“They found some elevated levels.”

I braced my hands on the table. “Of what?”

She didn't answer right away. “CA 15-3.”

I turned to look at her. I was pretty sure I knew more about markers than most med students. “That's for advanced breast cancer. You were Stage 2.”

She nodded. “I know.”

I felt the panic rise up, felt the tears building behind my eyes. “So Dr. Spanos thinks
—?”

She cut me off. “He doesn't think anything yet. You can have elevated levels of that with benign cysts. And endometriosis. And a bunch of other things.”

I leaned against the table. My hands were shaking. “So what now? Where did you leave it?”

And why the hell didn't you tell me?

“He wants me to come in for a PET scan.”

“He...he thinks it's back?”

She shook her head. “No.”

But I knew better than to believe her. I'd done my fair share of research when she'd been sick. I knew PET scans were expensive and were only used in certain situations. CT scans and MRIs were more common and my mom had been through a few of those before and during treatment.

My chest hurt and I knew it was because I was taking short, shallow breaths, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. I tried to get myself under control, but I couldn't suck the air down.

“So what?”

“He wants a clear picture of what's going on,” she said calmly. “Before we make any decisions.”

“Decisions? What kind of decisions?”

She picked up her pen and tapped it lightly on the top of the desk. “I've been toying with getting a mastectomy.”

“What?”

She reached up to touch her hair but there was so little there. She patted it instead, smoothing down one of the curls. “Just to be safe,” she said. “Or safer, I guess.”

I pushed away from the table and made my way to the chair parked in front of her desk. I sank into it. “This is the first I've ever heard you mention it.”

She smiled at me, but her eyes were tired. “I know. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I...I just want a good shot at living, Abby. I opted for the lumpectomy and the chemo because I wanted to save my breast. I wasn't ready to lose that part of myself. But, now? There are nights when I can't sleep, when I wonder if they got it all. Your dad and I talked about it, especially after the blood work came back. I'm thinking of just going in and getting it done. After the scan, I mean.”

“But you just said you didn't know what the results meant.” I rubbed my hands together, trying to stem the shaking.

“I don't,” she said. “I go in next week. But, either way, I think this is what I want to do. Have the surgery.”

“But, Mom...”

She smiled again and reached her hand across the desk. I lifted my hand out of my lap and she reached for me, her fingers rubbing my palm. “It'll be okay, sweetheart. Whatever happens. I promise.”

 
TWENTY-TWO

WEST

I didn't expect to see Abby that night. Hell, I didn't know when I would see her again after the way I'd acted that morning. But there she was, standing at the door, her eyes rimmed red, her skin mottled from crying.

My first reaction was to stand there and wait her out. I'd been so angry when she'd left and it had wrecked the rest of the day. I felt like she'd cut me out of her life. I wasn't going to forget that and I wasn't going to apologize for getting pissed.

My second reaction was to hug her because she looked as messed up as I felt. Maybe I needed to set aside the anger for awhile and figure out where the hell we stood.

I went with door number two.

I reached for her and she launched herself into my arms, sobs wracking her chest.

“Shhh,” I said, my lips on her hair. I pulled her into the apartment and kicked the door shut. I led her to the couch and sat her down next to me.

I held her while she cried, my mind racing, my own stomach twisted in knots. What had happened at the appointment? Had she done more than a consultation that morning?

“Hey,” I whispered. I rubbed her back, massaged her shoulders a little. “Talk to me.”

She shook her head.

“Abby,” I said, trying to coax her. “Please. Tell me what's wrong.”

“Everything's just all messed up,” she said, her voice hiccuping.

“Tell me.” I felt the pain in my gut intensify. Was she hurt? Had something gone wrong?

“My mom,” she said. Her mouth was against my t-shirt and her voice was muffled.

“Your mom?” I repeated. “Did she find out?”

She shook her head. “No. Not that.”

She was confusing the hell out of me. “Okay. What about your mom?”

“She...she had an appointment.”

A new fear rose up in my stomach. “Okay.”

“Blood work wasn't right. It didn't come back normal. They...the doctors want to do a scan.”

I chose my words carefully. “Do they think it's back?”

“I don't know,” she said. “She doesn't know. The doctors don't know. No one fucking knows anything.”

I didn't know what to say so I did the only other thing I could. I tightened my grip on her and pulled her closer.

“I don't know what to do, West,” she said.

“I don't think there's anything you can do.”

“No.” She shook her head again, her hair sticking to the stubble on my chin. “Not about that. About the baby.”

My breath caught in my throat. It was the first time she'd ever used that word. “Okay.”

She lifted her head from my chest and looked at me. Her eyes were swollen, her face tear-stained. I wanted to take away the sadness and the pain, grab it all by the balls and toss it out the window.

“I'm more confused now than I was yesterday,” she said.

“Because of the appointment?” I asked, resisting the urge to add
that I wasn't allowed to go to
.

She nodded. “Yeah. I thought I knew the right way to go, but now...now I feel like I'm back where I started.”

“Okay,” I said. “One thing before we continue on here. Because it's driving me fucking nuts. And I'm not trying to start anything. But it's
we
, alright? Back where
we
started.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. We. I'm sorry.”

I didn't want to turn it into some big, blow out argument, but it was hard for me to be a part of the decision-making process if she made it only hers. It was ours, whether she liked it or not. I knew she wasn't doing it on purpose, but the sooner she got around to admitting it was our decision and not just hers, the better off we'd be to actually figuring out what the hell we were doing.

“Tell me about the appointment,” I said.

She explained what she'd learned at the consultation. It sounded like it was completely unbiased, with no pressure to make a decision one way or another. She'd been given options and learned about what was involved, which sounded really fucking unpleasant.

And she's made an appointment to go back.

As soon as she said this, I stiffened. “You made the appointment to go back?”

“Yeah, but...”

“You said you wouldn't make a decision without me.”

“I haven't. I didn't. But...”

“Making an appointment to go back wasn't making a decision?” I asked. “Because that really sounds like you've decided what
you're
doing.”

“Would you shut up for just a minute and let me finish?” she said, sitting up and pulling away from me. “I know you're pissed at me and I
am
sorry. But this is all new for me, alright? I haven't done it before. So excuse me if I don't do it all the way
you
want me to.”

I felt the donkey ears sprouting out of the top of my head. “Okay. Sorry.”

She waited a moment to see if I had anything else to add to my apology.

I didn't.

“Yes,” she said. “I made an appointment. To go back for...the procedure. But I don't have to. Not like they're going to come and get me and throw me on a bus and make me go do it. But I was there. I thought about we'd talked about, about not being ready to have kids and I thought I knew what
we
would think was best. I asked about coming back to have it done. She pulled up the calendar and I knew the only time that would work this week –
for both of us
– was Wednesday. So I made the appointment. The woman told me that if I changed my mind for any reason that I could call or go back to talk some more or whatever. But I just did it so that that option was there. For
us
. That's it. That's why.”

I took a deep breath. I had to quit flying off the handle because I was only going to make it worse. And I understood what she was saying. Even if I was still stung about not going to the appointment, I understood what she was saying. It was fair.

“Okay,” I finally said. “So. Wednesday.”

But she winced like she had a cramp or something. “But that was before I saw my mom.”

I thought for a moment, then I shook my head. “I'm not following, Abs.”

She laced her fingers with mine and squeezed my hand. “So my mom starts talking about...the possibilities. With her. And I'm not dumb, West. I know any abnormalities in her bloodwork at this point aren't a good sign. It just got me thinking.”

I held her hand and didn't say anything because I knew she was trying to figure out how to put it into words.

“So let's say it's worst case scenario,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Let's say it's the worst kind of news.”

“Abby, don't...”

She squeezed my hand. “Wait. Just let me explain.”

I nodded.

“I'm just being hypothetical,” she continued. “Let's say it's the one thing none of us want to hear. That it's...just bad.” She swallowed hard. “What if her window to be a grandmother is...pretty short? What if this is the only chance she'll have to have a grandbaby? Even if that time is pretty limited.” She paused, her eyes watering. “I don't want her to...be gone...without having that chance.”

I felt my own throat close up and tried to clear it. “Okay. But it's not your responsibility to give her that, Abby.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “I really do. I've thought about that all afternoon. But this is where we are. I'm pregnant. She may be pretty sick. It's not like I ran out to have a baby because she's sick. They happened at the same time.” She paused, wiping at her eyes. “Maybe there's a reason for that.”

I took a deep breath. I wasn't sure that was the right reason to have a baby, but I didn't disagree with her. I knew what she was saying. Maybe things lined up for reasons we didn't know about. We hadn't planned on meeting in line at Mesa. We hadn't planned on me playing ball at USD. Things happened and sometimes you weren't sure why. We hadn't planned on her going back to State. Maybe the timing of this wasn't a coincidence. Maybe we'd only focused on the negative aspects while we'd ignored the positives.

“Okay,” I said. “So we're having a baby?”

She smiled, tears leaking out of her eyes, then shook her head. “I didn't say that. It was just something I thought about today. And I didn't cancel the appointment on Wednesday. It's still there.”

I took both of her hands and held them in mine. I looked at her for a long time.

“Abby, I love you,” I finally said. “And I'm going to be okay with whatever we decide. I really will be. Because it's me and you.” I paused, my eyes still locked on hers. “But we have to make a decision. Sooner rather than later. Because the longer we wait, the more complicated it's gonna get.” I squeezed her hands, smiled at her, tried to reassure her. “So we have to decide. And then live with it. And we'll be okay. I promise.”

Something flashed through her eyes that I couldn't read, but she went somewhere else for a moment and I wondered what she was thinking. But then she was back, her eyes focusing on me.

“I know,” she said. “I will.” Then she shook her head, irritated with herself. “
We
will.”