Page 51

Mom’s Orders

Mallory

I punch the oversized pillow between my hands a couple times before placing it gingerly under my mom’s casted leg. It’s been two weeks, and she’s home from the hospital now, but recovery has been slow.

“There. How’s that.”

“It’s fine, Mal. Stop fussing.” She takes a drink from her water bottle. She’s propped up on the living room couch, which has become her home base.

“I was born to fuss.”

“Not over me, you weren’t. That’s supposed to be my job.”

I ignore her protests as I ease her forward and place a lumbar pillow behind her back. “I like taking care of you, Mom. I don’t mind.”

She leans back against the pillow and sighs. I scuttle around the living room, tidying up the newspaper my dad set next to his chair before he left for the store. I grab my coffee mug, bring it into the kitchen, and rinse it in the sink. “Are you hungry?” I call to my mom.

“You asked me that five minutes ago.” She sounds amused.

I drop the mug into the drying rack and walk back into the living room, plopping down in the chair across from my mom. “So?”

“You’re being a busybody.” She’s smiling, but she arches her brows, daring me to dispute her.

I sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to be useful. ”

“You’re on edge. You’re fidgety. You’re wound up about the tournament this weekend, aren’t you?”

My mom always could read me like a book. It’s like a mom super power.

I sigh. “Yeah, of course I am. I’m worried about how Holland will handle the pressure.”

The PGO Championship tournament is being held starting today and running through Sunday in Virginia. It’s the second major tournament of the year, the first having been the Grand Masters, and we all know how that went.

Holland’s tee time is one o’clock, which means he’ll play with the later pairings today and then he’ll get up early tomorrow and have his second round of the tournament in the morning.

Depending on how he does and where the cut line falls, he’ll play two more rounds, one on Saturday and one on Sunday.

My mom’s right. I feel unsettled and antsy.

I’ve talked to Holland every day since I left Cashmere Cove—sometimes more than once a day.

We’ve texted and talked about life, and golf, and my parents, and his training, and how he’s feeling, and how I’m feeling.

He’s shown up for me every dang day, even from half a country away.

He sent so many bouquets of flowers to the hospital we couldn’t fit them all in my mom’s room. We started leaving them with my mom’s nurses, and pretty soon the entire nurses’ station looked like a greenhouse.

He’s called me every night and read me to sleep.

He’s been funny and lighthearted when I needed him to be, and he’s been a listening ear and a figurative shoulder to cry on when I’ve gotten overwhelmed and anxious about how this injury is going to set my mom back and what it means for her future mobility and independence.

It’s been killing me not to be there to coach him in person, but he’s done what I’ve asked him to do. He’s putting in the time, and with the help of Cy at the golf course in Cashmere Cove, he’s as ready as he’s going to be for the PGO Championship.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not a ball of nerves.

“You should go.”

My mom’s statement cuts through my thoughts.

I blink and frown. “What? No. I can’t go.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Holland told me to take all the time I need here, helping out and taking care of you. That’s what I plan to do.”

“You can’t stay here indefinitely, Mal.” My mom tips her head to the side. She’s put on her firm voice. Some may call this tone of hers stubborn.

“I’m not staying indefinitely,” I argue. “Just until you’re back on your feet.”

“That might never happen,” she says quietly.

“Hey!” I stand up and cross the room, sitting at the end of her couch. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be walking around in no time. We’re going to get you the best therapists and the best treatment, and you’re going to be fine.”

She reaches over and pats my arm. “You’re the best daughter, Mallory. You really are. But it’s okay. I’ve made my peace with the fact that I may have to be in a wheelchair after this.”

“But—”

“I’ll try my best with therapies and all that, of course,” she says over the top of my opposition. “But sometimes, we have to understand our own limitations and realize that we’re not invincible. My body can only do so much, given this disease, and that’s okay.”

Tears well up in my eyes. “It’s not fair, though. You’re a dancer. You’re a social butterfly. You aren’t supposed to be wheelchair bound.”

I’ve been struggling with the why of all of this for a long time…ever since my mom’s diagnosis, but more so since he r fall.

“I don’t get to decide that, honey. And neither do you. So much of life, of suffering, is out of our control.”

I bite my lip as she goes on.

“I’ve watched you try to take control of this for me, like you’ve done with everything else in your life.

You’ve put your head down and put in the work, and things have gone according to your plan, for the most part.

You’ve helped your dad and me so much as you’ve gotten older, and sometimes I fear that you think if you do all the right things and make enough money, you’ll be able to white knuckle life into having the outcome you want it to have. ”

I lean back on the couch. She’s right. I know she’s right. I’ve been so focused on working hard and making enough money to provide for my parents to keep my mom as healthy as she can possibly be that I failed to remember that I’m not God. I actually don’t have that kind of power.

“Sometimes, things don’t go according to plan. Sometimes, things go off course through no fault of our own, and we don’t have any control over it.”

“I know, and I hate it,” I admit. “No one should have to go through something like this, especially not you, Mom.”

“Oh, sweetie. Here’s the thing. As soon as you can shift your perspective from ‘why me?’ to ‘where’s the good in this?’ the world becomes a much more joyful place, no matter your circumstances.”

I frown. “Where can you possibly see the good in an autoimmune condition that’s stolen your ability to move?”

“Lots of places,” she answers quickly. “I’m reminded every day of what a blessing you and your dad and your aunt Jo are to me. I have a devoted family who loves me in sickness and health.”

“That’s true, but we wouldn’t have needed a disease to show us that,” I argue.

“Fine, then how about this? If you hadn’t felt like you needed extra money to help cover my medical expenses, you wouldn’t have agreed to be on Most Eligible Mister .” She arches her brow, daring me to argue.

“I guess that’s true.”

“And if you wouldn’t have agreed to be on Most Eligible Mister, you would never have seen Holland in a different light.”

She’s right. I would have kept him firmly in a work-only box.

“Now, you are two little love birds, sitting in a tree.”

I roll my eyes.

“Which brings me back to the point. You should go to his tournament. Be there for him.”

My heart trips at the thought of being with Holland again. I want to do that, but I’m torn about leaving my mom’s side. The last time I did that, she fell, and I wasn’t here.

“Mal, I would have fallen down the steps whether you were in Cashmere Cove or in the next room. It’s not your fault,” she says, reading my mind.

“But—”

She holds up her hand. “No. I will not be happy if you put your life on hold because of me. I want to see you live . I want to see you love fully and deeply. I want you to have a relationship like I do with your dad. You can’t do that if you’re here ‘indefinitely.’” She uses my word choice. “You’ve got to go and be—”

“The heroine of my story,” I finish for her with a smile. “So you’ve said.”

“And I’m right,” she replies staunchly. She claps her hands. “Now. Let’s think this through. Holland’s been taking such good care of you from a distance. What are you going to do for him to return the favor when you see him again?”

I’ve been thinking about that ever since I left Cashmere Cove.

He told me he loved me in the tree house.

He said there was no rush to say it back, and I know he’d never push me.

It’s one of the reasons why I know that I do love him.

He’s put himself out there for me and faced his fear of rejection and his fear of not being good enough time and time again. He’s trusted me with his heart.

I’ve done that between the two of us too. But it’s time I make a splash. I can’t control what other people think of me in the process, but I can show him what he means to me so he has no doubts about where I stand.

“He told me he loves when I live out loud, when I let loose,” I say slowly. “So I have an idea, but I’m going to need some help.”