Or would Dad accept that his daughter was growing up?
I flipped to another flashcard. “When did the Cuban Missile Crisis end?
Tate answered, and we went back to studying. With my dad on the prowl, we didn’t dare do anything but go through flashcards.
Although my mind lingered on kissing.
When it was time for dinner, Tate got up, gathered his backpack, and stood in my room, uncertain.
This time, I wanted to take control, since he’d broken the ice and kissed me first. I rose up and was about to kiss him fast on the lips. But he held my upper arm away from him. As if on cue, my dad popped up in the hall again.
Kiss blocker.
I scowled. Because there was no way I’d kiss Tate in front of my dad, at least not until I felt more comfortable with that activity with Tate.
“I’m on my way out,” Tate said to my dad. Then he smiled at me. “See you Sunday,” he whispered, and touched my nose with his fingertip. “I’ll text you.”
I nodded watching him go, and I’d never felt more expectant or happy.
Really, I should have known the moment Dad announced pork chops on the menu that it meant bad news. Especially pork chops coated in Shake N’ Bake, my least favorite dinner. It’d be simpler if he just gave me a pig to gnaw on rather than an insipid inch-thick piece of pale gray meat. That way it would at least be a challenge.
I liked food with flavor. I loved anything Mrs. Lemieux cooked. I hated bland.
But it should’ve been a sign that nothing good would come of this dinner. I should’ve been prepared.
I wasn’t. It blindsided me.
After Tate left, I distracted myself by reenacting our ever-so-quick kiss from yesterday and forgot to think about my dad’s behavior. Soon enough we gathered at the dinner table—Dad, my mom, and me. Dad put a chop on my mom’s plate and started to cut it. She’d been shaky and weak lately, so he’d been helping her out more.
“Audrey.” My dad had a serious look on his face, and it made my stomach plummet. “We have something to tell you.”
I glanced between them and noted the matching tight set of their jaws. Panic set in.
Are they moving me away from Tate?
Did Dad lose his job?
Did someone die?
“What is it?” I asked carefully, unfolding my paper napkin and putting it in my lap.
“Mom and I went to the doctor today, and she got a diagnosis.”
My breath caught in my throat. Besides the fatigue, she’d also had problems with her vision and with dizziness. She’d visited several doctors who had been unable to find anything. This new doctor had been recommended by her GP.
“I have Multiple Sclerosis,” she said, her quivering hand reaching for her fork.
I knitted my brows together. I’d heard of it, but I didn’t know anything about it. “What is that?”
“It’s a disease where my immune system eats away at the protective cover of my nerves.”
We’d always known my mom was tired, but we just thought it was because of her job as a nursery school teacher. Those kids were exhausting. She hadn’t been back to work since her leave of absence, not feeling well enough to last a whole day. But I wasn’t expecting this.
“Are you going to be okay?” I found myself asking, having trouble processing her words.
“Yes. It’s not fatal,” Dad said for her. “Lots of people live for years managing MS.”
I let out a breath. “Okay.”
“But she’ll need more care. And we’re going to get her a wheelchair.”
“Okay,” I repeated, my brain whirring. I needed something to do, something to focus on.
My dad passed me the salad, and I loaded up my plate with things other than pork chops.
I ached to pull out my phone and research.
My mom had always been small and frail, tiny boned like a bird. Her ring didn’t even fit on my pinkie finger. And she was precious. I was an only child of an only child of an only child. And she’d been my whole world just like I’d been hers. I didn’t want her to have to go through anything like this, even if I didn’t really know what it meant.
But she was going to be cured. I didn’t have to worry.
Right?
I needed to research.
We all chewed our dinner as silence descended on the table. If I were the type to cry, I probably would’ve, but I was determined not to, so I didn’t. After their news, I had no appetite, but I tried to eat my salad, and I pushed around the pork chop.
“We have something to ask you,” my dad continued after a bit, and my mom looked miserable as he said it.
Uh oh.
“Anything,” I said. “Anything at all.”
“Do you mind going to Merlot Valley Community College next year until I can retire? And then we can talk about sending you to New York? We’ll need help with cooking and cleaning. And appointments. I can’t take care of her if I’m at the station on shift. And I need to get in the years to qualify for the next tier of retirement.”
My heart sunk.
My natural reaction was to nod and agree before they even tried to convince me, because I’d do anything to help my mom, and I wouldn’t want Dad to have to do everything by himself. Plus, he had to work still, even if his hours were long shifts punctuated with periods of days off.
But I had to think about this.
Because New York. New York meant Tate.
Tate.
“I know this is a lot to ask,” my mom said gently, and her eyes welled up, and dammit, I was going to cry. I needed to head this off.
I swallowed hard and shoved all thoughts aside. “Can I get used to the idea? Before I go changing plans?”
“Sure, honey,” Dad said.
“Thanks.” And I bit the pork and hid my grimace.
My hands were steady. I glanced over at my mom. My hands were steadier than hers.
I can figure this out.
After doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen, I hurled myself on my bed, on the brink of tears.
My heartbeat raced, and my mouth got dry.
Did my mom being sick mean I’d lose Tate?
Beating my pillow, I scolded myself. This wasn’t about me. It was about my mom. She deserved my care, and I needed to be there for her. I loved her. I’d care for her the best that I could.
In a heartbeat.
But it wasn’t that simple.
I writhed on the sheets, running all possibilities through my brain to try to come up with a solution. Wishing everything were different. If we’d caught the MS before, then none of this would have happened. If Dad had started working a year earlier. If I were a better person.
But I couldn’t bargain my way out of this.
I curled up in the fetal position and let out a sob.
I thought of Tate. Perfect Tate, who wanted to date me. Tate, with his pouty lips and generous personality and muscles and kindness.
Tate, who filled my heart with joy.
If I stayed home to take care of my mom, what would happen to us? I’d waited years for him.
And now?
Was our relationship destined to never get off the ground? Was it a broken-down train in the station, never to leave?
If only I’d told him how I felt instead of waiting for him. If only we’d done this years ago.
But we hadn’t.