This man makes my blood boil, but if I’m being truthful with myself, it could have more to do with the intoxicating scent of his cologne than his laissez-faire attitude about what he thinks is best for my life after all this time.
He’s been sitting beside me less than two minutes, and I’ve already found myself leaning closer and breathing deeper.
“Don’t call me Tin,” I hiss, giving the woman in front of me a weak smile when she turns around, looking in our direction and being nosy.
I don’t have to worry long about her thinking ill of me because her attention stays on Ignacio when she notices him. He nods in her direction before refocusing on the field.
“He told me he hasn’t been in trouble the last two weeks,” he says, once again ignoring my shitty attitude. I can’t help but take it as his way of saying Alex is acting better because he’s such a goddamn positive influence, but I don’t complain. I’ll take all the help I can get at this point.
“He’s been doing better. No calls from the school.” And it’s been a true blessing.
Mom hasn’t been feeling well the last couple of days. It was hard to leave her to attend the game, but she insisted that Alex needed me to be present more than she needed me hovering over her while she took a nap.
I’m taking my irritable mood out on Ignacio. It’s not fair to him, but I won’t apologize for it either. I’m stubborn like that.
“He’s good,” he says twenty minutes later after Alex’s first at bat carries him to second base.
“He’d be better if he didn’t keep skipping practice when he gets in trouble.”
“I’ve been at every practice for the last two weeks. He motivates the team and helps the coach after practice.”
I keep my eyes on the game even though I’m itching to look over at him and see if his face reflects as much pride as his tone does.
“He’s a great kid,” I whisper, more for myself than him.
“He is.”
Two words soften me to him a little. He could have responded with an attitude that it was pure luck rather than hard work to raise him to be a decent human being. He could easily remind me about the trouble Alex has been in recently.
But he doesn’t do either of those things.
“I ordered him some—” Ignacio’s word stop when my ringing phone interrupts him.
I pull it from my pocket, my heart galloping the second I see the next-door neighbor’s name on my screen.
“Mrs. Hunt?”
“Tinley? Honey, you need to get home. Something is going on with your mother.”
The world stops. “Something? Mrs. Hunt, what do you mean?”
I’m already on my feet, climbing down the bleachers, finger pressed into my ear as the crowd cheers. I don’t have the ability to listen and watch what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure Alex just slid into home base, adding a point to the score for his team.
“There was a delivery man over there, and the next thing I know the ambulance was pulling up.”
“Ambulance?”
“Yes, dear. They loaded her up and carried her away.”
“So, she’s not home, but on the way to the hospital?”
“I think so, dear.”
My entire world narrows to a spot on the sidewalk at my feet.
I shouldn’t have left her. I had a feeling things were worse than she let on. I knew a day like this was coming, but I figured I had more time.
“Tin? Tinley?” I look up, finding myself standing in front of an alarmed Ignacio, his hands gripping both my shoulders. “What’s going on?”
“M-Mom. She’s been taken to the hospital. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Let’s go.” He turns me, directing me to his truck.
I plant my feet. “No. We can’t both go. Alex is going to know something is wrong. You stay.”
“Can you drive? The last thing he needs is you getting hurt because you’re too upset to drive.”
I take a slow breath before looking back up at him. “I’ll be safe. The hospital isn’t far.”
“Text me when you get there and let me know you’re safe and what’s going on.”
I think I nod in agreement, but my next blink brings me to the front doors of the emergency room with no real memory of how I arrived. Getting information from the woman at the counter is like pulling teeth, only I can get dental work done in south Houston without practically giving a DNA sample, proof of income, and the promise of my soul at death.
The delay for news while I sit in the overcrowded waiting room is absolute torture. The news I get two hours later is even worse.
***
“Months?” I whisper to the doctor.
He gives me a weak smile, one I’m sure he’s used a million times in his career while giving bad news.
“Weeks?”
“Her cancer is back with a vengeance, Ms. Holland. When she’s discharged, she’ll go home on hospice.”
“So, months?” I’ve done my research. Six months is usually the high end of care for people sent home to fucking die.
“It’s aggressive. She’s looking at a couple of weeks at best.”
“W-weeks? That’s not enough time. We need more time.” Tears stream down my face as I look over at my frail mother in the hospital bed. “If she only has weeks, why can’t she stay in the hospital?”
“We believe she’ll be more comfortable at home.”
“Comfortable?” My anger spikes as I jab a finger toward her sleeping form. “She’s dying of cancer. There’s no comfort.”
“Hospice care will be able to provide her with the pain medication she’ll need.”
“So, pump her full of drugs?” The flash of her getting addicted to something is gone before it really forms because the cancer won’t let her live long enough to form an addiction.
“I know this is hard news, and even harder times are coming for your family. If there was something we could do—”
“Don’t,” I snap, uncaring that I’m taking out my pain on him.
I leave him standing on the other side of the room and go to her bedside. Moments later, the soft whoosh of the door closing fills my ears. I’m alone with my dying mother, her fragile thin-skinned hand in mine as I cry.
Losing her will be a blow I knew was coming, but nothing can really prepare someone for such a loss. I remind myself that she’s in pain, that she wakes up hurting every single day, and that it’s selfish of me to want her to stay. I don’t want her in pain.
I want a complete do-over.
I want to tell Ignacio about Alex that night.
I want to tell my father I was staying in Houston all those years ago, and if he insisted on me moving anyway, I want to have been there to keep him from going to work that day.
I want cancer eradicated from the world, so no other person has to suffer the way my mom is, the way I’m suffering now, the way my son will suffer from losing another person he loves.
“I’m not ready,” I confess, my words mixing with the beeping of the machines and the bustle of the hospital on the other side of the door. “I’ll never be ready.”
Time no longer exists until I look up and notice the sun has sunk so low in the sky an array of colors is announcing its final goodbyes of the day.