Page 7 of Mic Drop (Passionate Beats #3)

“What matters is you’re going.” I slip into the guest bedroom and change into a skirt. Might as well look like a professional.

At five minutes before the hour, we park and make our way into the waiting room. At least the paparazzi haven’t figured out I’m home. Yet.

The receptionist packs up her stuff for the day and gives us a puzzled glance. “We have a late appointment with the doctor,” I explain. “We’ll make ourselves comfortable.” She nods and leaves the office as the clock strikes six.

Ten minutes later, the doctor pops his head into the waiting room. “Jenna. Mrs. Westfield. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not a problem,” I reply for both of us. “We appreciate your taking the time to look over my mother’s case.”

He nods and ushers us into his office. After we’re seated, he begins, “Jenna, I have to admit I was surprised to receive your call. I am glad you reached out, though.” He shuffles some papers on his desk.

“Mrs. Westfield, I?—”

“Please, call me Faith.”

“Faith.” He moves the stapler. “I reviewed the paperwork you sent over, with your latest blood tests. You’ve been very thorough.”

“My daughter.” Ma shoots me a quick glance. “My other daughter is an anesthesiologist in the City. She’s been taking me to doctor appointments and overseeing most of my treatment. Jenna arrived last night and wanted to step in and help.”

“I understand.”

Needing more than this chitchat, I butt in. “Tell me, what did you see in her paperwork?”

“Nothing the other doctors haven’t already seen. Tell me, Faith, how long were you having symptoms before you saw a specialist?”

“A little while.”

I turn my head toward Ma. “How long?”

She shifts in her seat. “I’ve been noticing things were slightly off for a couple of years, I guess. I thought it was nothing.”

“Years?”

“I wasn’t keeping track.”

The doctor says, “I appreciate that early symptoms can be hard to discern from heartburn or random pains that come and go. How is your current pain level?”

Ma glances between us. “I’m managing with medication.”

“That’s good.”

I address the doctor. “What’s your plan of attack here? What can be done to help my mother beat this? ”

The doctor pushes away from the desk. “At this stage, all I can offer is palliative care. I’m sure that’s what you’ve heard from other doctors.”

My mother shakes her head. “Yes, that’s what they told me.”

This can’t be. I need more time with her.

Ma addresses the doctor. “I appreciate your time and the attention you put into my case. Thanks again.” She sweeps out of the office.

I stare at the doctor. “I can’t believe this. There has to be something you can do.”

He puts his glasses onto the top of his desk. “Jenna. I know this is difficult to hear, but you know as well as I do there are limits on what medicine can do. I suggest you spend as much quality time with your mother as possible. I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”

Tears well. I can’t lose her too. I’ve had too much loss. First my grandmother, then Darren. Ma can’t be next. Shaking my head, I race out of the office and find Ma waiting for me by the external door. She places her hand on the doorknob. “Take me home, Jenna. We’ll talk there.”

Because I can’t force a word out of my mouth, I do as I’m told. Once we’re settled in her house again, she begins. “Sweet Pea, none of this is new to me. In my book, quality over quantity rules. Let’s make this time special.”

“Ma, I don’t want you to give up.”

“Don’t you see? I’m not giving up anything. I have you and Kara, plus her husband and kids. I’m alert and alive and able to still laugh at your antics. We can enjoy whatever time I have left as normal as possible. Sound good?”

“How does Kara feel?”

“She’s on board now. She was taking me all over for this and that opinion, and everyone came back with the same diagnosis. Doctors aren’t gods.”

“But I want you with me.” A tear streaks down my cheek. For someone who hasn’t cried in decades, I seem to be making up for it now.

“I always will be. Right here.” She pats her heart, which I mimic.

My sniffling turns into full-blown sobbing as she wraps me in her embrace. How will I ever survive without her love and support?

“I’ve been blessed. I have two wonderful girls and have lived a fantastic life. You both are well on your way to making your own marks in this world. What more could I ask for?”

“Kara’s making her mark. So’s her husband.”

“As are you, in case you’ve forgotten about the two physical therapy clinics you’ve opened.”

Into her shoulder, I mumble, “Working on three.”

She chuckles. “I stand corrected.”

We remain in an embrace until my crying slows and finally stops. I lean back. “We’re going to have the best time ever.”

She smiles, and it reaches her gray eyes this time. “There’s my girl.” She yawns. “I’m going to take a nap. Will you be all right?”

“I will.” She kisses my cheek and makes her way into the bedroom.

Opening my messenger app, I text Kara and fill her in on today’s adventure with Ma. No need to bother her about Michelle. The gnat can do whatever it is she wants, Ma’s more important.

I sit in the living room, unable to concentrate on anything despite trying to go through my emails. Deciding a hit of social media is all I can tolerate, I open an app and flip through stupid videos.

Until one from “The Biggest UC Fan Ever” catches my attention.

I don’t mean to watch the clip from the concert.

How Bennett seems larger than life onstage, in his black leather pants singing his heart out with his brothers, all the while denying their friend status.

I refuse to be drawn into his green eyes, which somehow appear more expressive than ever—radiating cocky lead singer, sexy man, and pain.

I bet no one else sees the pain simmering below the surface. I do .

I guess that makes us even. I’m dealing with more than my own pain.

Closing out of social media, I open my text app once again and click on my nickname for Bennett, Rock Star. The name makes me smile a bit, remembering happier times. Were we going through Graceland only a week ago?

I still love him. Guilt over how I left things between us bubbles to the surface, and the need to tell him what’s going on overwhelms. I pull up his contact, Rock Star, and start typing:

I’m so sorry I ran out on you. I had just gotten the news from Kara that Ma’s sick. Really sick. As in the doctors don’t have any treatment plan available for her.

Tears stream down my cheeks again. As I swipe them away, I reconsider contacting Bennett. What can he do? He can’t fix Ma. What else matters?

On an inhaled sob, I delete the text. Bennett can’t help this situation. No one can.