Just One Week (Just One Song) (21 page)

“What up, douche?” I can play the name game too.

He rolls his eyes and takes a seat on a couch across from mine. Elijah’s place is the typical bachelor pad. Dark leather couches that are old and worn. Empty bookshelves and a layer of dust so thick it’s allowed me to draw little sad faces with my fingertips all over the place on the most mind-dumbing days.

“Mom’s coming over to talk to you.” He leans back and raises one eyebrow, silently telling me to go ahead, argue with him.

“Are you kidding me?” It’s incredible my mom miraculously recovered from her cancer. None of the doctors could explain it. She was given a second chance at life, and while that’s awesome, and when I was a teenager I was so glad to have my mom back – she also came back changed. As if she came back with only the ability to see life through rose-colored glasses. It allows her to only see good things, avoid the negative, and most definitely look past my dad’s alcohol issues with one excuse after another. The last thing I need is her talking to me, encouraging me, or trying to make my decisions for me. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Uh … because she’s our mom.” He gives me that “don’t be stupid” look.

I shoot him my “don’t be an ass” look.

“Look, brat,” he begins with a smirk. “You need to talk to her about this. You’re avoiding making your decisions on treatment and I just thought she could help you wrestle through this all this crap. I don’t know shit about it.”

It’s amazing my brother is a successful criminal defense attorney with a vocabulary as colorful as his.

“I’m not avoiding anything. I just don’t know which one to choose and even the doctor said no one can make this for me.”

“Yeah, but maybe mom can help. She went through this all too, you know.”

“I know.” I snap. Like I wasn’t there every day, watching her waste away and turn into a gray-skin colored, pale-eyed, bald, fragile human being. She barely looked human – and she definitely didn’t look like a woman. Her hair still isn’t the same either. It grew back, but it’s drier and more wiry than it was before.

I don’t want to see my future staring me in the face.

“She’s already on her way. You might as well take a shower and wash the smell of tequila off you before she shows up.”

He shoves my head playfully into the side of the couch cushion before he leaves the room. My heart starts beating a little faster. I wish he would mind his own business.

“How you doin’ honey?” My mom’s arms wrap so tightly around me that it’s difficult to breathe.

“I’m good, Mom. Really. It’s fine.”

She pulls back, her hands on my upper arms and gives me that mom look. The same one that all moms somehow learn while their babies are in utero.

I smile and shake my head as I pull her hands off me and head toward the kitchen.

“It’s not like I haven’t been expecting this. Want something to drink?”

I get her the water she asks for and sit down across from her at the table.

“If only we could go back and remove our cursed genes from you. I wish so much you didn’t have to go through this, but you’re stronger than I was. You’re a fighter and you always have been.” I can see the tears bubbling up in her eyes and all I want to do is change the subject. She’s so wrong. I’m not a fighter. I’m an avoider and a runner and I do both swiftly.

“How are you?” I ask to change the subject.

She takes a slow deep breath. I look around, wondering where Elijah has disappeared to. Of course he would make me face this on my own.

“Everything is fine,” she says with a sad smile. Like she knows it’s simply better to give in to my avoidance than fight it. “I talked to Sharon and Daniel. They said Nicole’s wedding was beautiful. And your dad thinks he may have a new job working at a production plant.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. My dad’s been in and out of work ever since she was diagnosed with cancer. If he has a job, he’s sure to lose it in a few weeks when he shows up drunk and stumbling. Or so hung over he falls asleep on the production line. He wasn’t always this way, but the longer he stays the same, the harder it is to remember the man I once knew.

The silence grows thick around us. The chasm between us grows larger than the kitchen table that separates us.

“I know you’re afraid,” my mom begins softly. Tears prick the corner of my eyes and I can’t look at her. I refuse to let her see me cry. “You can fight this, baby girl. You just have to want to.”

I want to roll my eyes again. Or throw something. My hands begin shaking and I can feel a rush of nervous – or fearful – adrenaline take hold of my veins.

“I’m scared,” I finally admit.

Her arms are around me, pulling me to her before I ever see her move.

“I know, baby.” Her arms tighten around me and my head falls to her shoulder. I lose the war with my tears and they spill freely onto her pale pink blouse. “I know it’s scary and it’s hard.”

Her skin feels soft as I bury my head into the crook of her neck. My shoulders shake from the sobs I can no longer control.

“Let those of us who love you, help you through this. You don’t always have to be the strong one. The one who puts the pieces of everybody else’s life back together. You can trust us to fight this with you.”

“I don’t want to lose who I am.”

“Your body has never – and never will – determine who you are.”

“That’s not what I mean.” But it is and she knows because she’s been through this. All of it. Her voice is quiet and soothing, but she’s choking back her own tears for me. Or is she remembering what it was like for her? The fear. The pain. The loss. The brokenness. She’s been through it all. Why did I ever think I didn’t need my mom for this?

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit as she holds me tighter. The decisions are overwhelming. The consequences for making the wrong one could end me. The pain of recovery for both is frightening. How is anyone supposed to make this decision?

She holds me until my tears stop. Her blouse is soaked and both of our cheeks have mascara dripping in lines down to our chins. Our eyes are red and swollen when I finally pull away, finally able to tell her about my appointments.

Elijah has filled her in, but there’s enough he doesn’t understand that I need to clarify. By the time I’m done explaining, as she quietly listens and asks the appropriate questions that I didn’t have a clue to ask at the doctor’s, Elijah has joined us at the table – apparently deciding he’s safe from my wrath for bringing mom over here.

I’ll need to thank him later. Jim, Jack, and Jose can only do so much. Sometimes a girl just needs her mom.

We visit for a little bit longer until I claim that I’m tired and need to take a nap. My mom understands, so she leaves quickly. It’s not until after she’s gone that I realize that besides mentioning my dad’s job, she didn’t mention him at all. She didn’t even ask me to see him, which is unnatural. Before I moved to New York, I was harassed at least monthly to come to the house and see him. I never did. I haven’t seen him in years.

Nicole got back from her honeymoon several days ago and has tried calling me. It’s been simple fear that has kept me from answering my phone and talking to her. Did Chase tell her what is going on? At least the parts he knows? Does she know yet that I’ve been the world’s crappiest friend and lied to her? Is she too wrapped up in her pre-tour promotions to even notice I haven’t returned her calls?

There are too many questions and simply not enough answers.

But it’s the answers that terrify me.

And yet, I’m forced to face them when Elijah walks into his living room, my ringing cell phone in hand.

“It’s Nicole,” he says as he throws the phone toward me. I catch it at the last second right before it hits my book that I haven’t actually been reading. “Answer it.”

I scowl at him, but yet I know I can’t avoid her forever.

I take a deep breath, afraid of what I’ll hear on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“Hey girl! I miss you!” Her voice is happy enough. Innocent enough. Perhaps Chase has kept my secrets after all. The thought allows me to breathe and exhale some of the pent up tension in my body.

I plaster on a smile, even though she can’t see it. “How was your honeymoon?”

“Fantastic. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

My heart starts racing. Here it comes. “Oh?” My free hand begins nervously wrapping a lock of my hair around my finger.

“Yeah. I wanted you to know I’ve got your tickets booked to the concert for opening night. You and Elijah both have backstage passes and everything.”

I blow out a breath. She has no clue. If she did, she wouldn’t be this happy. But I can’t go to this. There’s no way I’m going to be able to go now. The doctor’s want my decision on treatment this week and by next week when the tour starts, I’ll be a mess.

“I can’t …” I stutter and then start over, lying through my teeth. “I’m really sorry, Nic. I won’t be able to make it. Things are too busy right now with work and Fashion Week coming up. I might have to go to France.”

I suck. I absolutely suck. Elijah crosses his arms against his chest and glares at me. He thinks the same thing and I can’t even argue with him.

“What?” If Nic was in the room with me right now, I know exactly how she’d look. Her blue eyes are enormous and her jaw is hanging down to her shoulders. She’s probably pale. “But you promised you’d be there. I can’t go on stage without you, Mia. You have to be there.”

“I know … I just … there’s no way Devan’s going to give me the time off. Not right now and not with the time I just had.”

And now I’m throwing her a guilt trip because I visited her for her wedding. If an award for Worst Best Friend of the Year existed, I’d win by unanimous vote. Elijah’s so pissed at me he turns and leaves the room. He’ll have a mouthful of disappointment to share with me later, I’m sure.

The other end of the phone is so silent I almost think she hung up on me.

“Nic?” I ask to make sure she’s even there. “I’m really sorry. You’ll still be incredible though.”

“It’s okay,” she says finally. But I can hear the disappointment and sadness in her voice. Why can’t I just tell her what’s really going on? What am I so afraid of? “I understand. Will you try to make our Boston concert when we’re there next month?”

There’s no way in hell I can make it to that one. “I’ll do my best.”

It appeases her some, while I’m suddenly picturing that I’ve just nailed the coffin closed to our friendship.

“Okay,” she says reluctantly, and then I practically see her smile as her voice gets lighter. “Have you talked to Chase lately?”

“Not since I left. Why?” The question escapes my lips and I wish I could suck them right back in. I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me.

“Because he’s been mopey and pissy and I was wondering if you have anything to do about it.”

“Umm … no?” Yes. Probably.

“What’d you do?”

I’ve become an expert at pissing off and lying to awesome people. It’s a skill I’ve mastered in less than thirty days.

She’s scolding me like her mom did when we were kids and a laugh bursts from my lips. I can’t tell her though. How do you tell someone you fell in love and then high-tailed it out of there when you realized you might die? I don’t want Nic scared for me. Not when she’s so far away and can’t do anything to help. All she can do is worry, and I know she will.

“I just left. It’s not a good time for us.” That’s the closest to the truth I can tell her. The problem with lies and hidden truths is that once you start they eventually snowball out of your control. My motives are pure, but I’ve dug my hole and now I have to lie in it. There’s no way she can know the truth now. By the time her tour is done, I’ll be done with treatment or recovered from surgery. Sure she may hate me, or be pissed then, but I’ll be fine by then.

Hopefully.

She sighs. “There’s something going on that you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“No,” I answer quickly. Too quickly. “I just … I can’t be with him. I liked it better when we were just having fun.”

“He really cares about you. I wish I knew why you were so scared.”

Because I could die.