Page 48 of Things I Wish I Said
Chapter thirty
RYLEIGH
I spend the better part of the night wide awake, vacillating between coughing my brains out and staring at the ceiling, mostly imagining what Mom’s life would be like without me in it.
No more debt.
No more cancer treatments, doctors’ appointments, or hospital visits.
No more anxiety.
She’ll bury me, and though she’ll be grieving, John will help her pick up the pieces.
And Katie . . .
She already loves Katie, but once she and John marry, they’ll live together—become a family—and Katie will be her daughter.
Someone she can go shopping with and get mani-pedis with.
She can dote on her and help her pick out a homecoming dress.
Give her advice and dry her eyes after her first breakup.
Be all the things I never was because I was so obsessed with soccer .
My heart thuds.
One day, Mom might even help plan her wedding.
Maybe Mom and John will have a baby.
The thought never occurred to me before now, but it’s not too late for them. It’s still a possibility.
They’ll be a family, one without my disease and everything that comes with it constantly hovering over their head like a thundercloud waiting to strike.
“Thank you.” I hang up the phone and take one last look at the business card from Garry at Star Caskets, then tuck it back inside my desk.
I thought calling would take a weight of my shoulders, but it doesn’t. In fact, I’m not sure how to feel, other than one thousand poorer.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me I’ve yet to have breakfast, so I head into the kitchen, surprised to find Mom still hovering by the sink.
Usually, she’s in her studio by now. Instead, she’s fixing a cup of tea and peering over at me with a look on her face that tells me she’s been waiting for a reason.
“Hey, honey. I wanted to make sure you were feeling better.” She crosses the space between us and places her hand on my forehead as I sit down in one of the rickety old kitchen chairs.
“I was worried about you last night when we got home from dinner, and you were still in your room. I checked to see if you wanted to watch a movie, but you were already asleep. ”
I was faking.
I shrug off her concern, along with her hand, and offer her a smile. “I’m fine. I was just tired. The heat yesterday took a lot out of me.”
This must appease her because Mom nods and returns to her tea while I grab one of the healthy, wild blueberry muffins she claims are chock-full of antioxidants but are actually kind of mushy and unappetizing.
“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says, taking her tea to the table.
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you, too.”
“Oh, sure.” Mom smiles, then lifts her mug to her lips and takes a sip. “Dr. Hammond says that if we want to take part in the trial, we need to let her know by the end of the week, so I was wondering if you’ve given it any more thought?”
“Have you given my trip to LA more thought?” I ask, taking a bite of the muffin.
“Ryleigh.” Mom sighs, and I have my answer. Mom won’t risk it, even if I am dying.
Suddenly, I’m tired. Tired of pretending that I have a chance of beating this. Tired of hoping she’ll change her mind and allow me to go to the award. Tired of being the thing holding everyone back from living their lives.
“No.” I shake my head and push the muffin away.
Mom laughs. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, I have thought about the trial, and the answer is no. ”
Last night made me realize money isn’t the only factor in consideration. The truth of the matter is everyone is better off with me gone. Then they can move on, no more living in limbo. And that’s something Grayson’s money can’t buy.
Mom gapes. “Ryleigh, have you even looked into the research backing this? I really think—”
“I said no.”
“At least listen to the details before you shut me down,” Mom says, panic lacing her tone.
Like she listened to the details of how much this trip means to me?
I sigh and stare out the kitchen window, knowing I can’t win this fight.
“Mom, we’ve tried everything. Chemo. Immunotherapy.
They removed half my lung, and in the end, none of it was enough.
None of it,” I say, returning my gaze to hers.
“My cancer has only spread. Like it or not, it’s determined to kill me. ”
“I know.”
“Then you know there’s no reason to believe this trial will work. At this point, we’re just prolonging the inevitable.”
“No.” Mom’s voice shakes, tears glistening in her eyes. “You’re still only stage two. You still have a chance.”
“I have only a thirty percent chance of surviving five years, and that’s if therapy works. Mom, it’s over. The fight is over.”
“It’s not over,” she says between gritted teeth, standing her ground like a wild animal guarding its lunch—with a startling ferociousness I’ve never seen before. “It’s never going to be over.”
I glance down at my barely eaten muffin and sigh. “So, what if this doesn’t work? Then, what?”
“Then we try another.”
“And if that one fails?” Mom opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it. “More chemo? More immunotherapy? More poison in my body? What about once I’m in the ground?”
“Stop.” A tear slips down her cheek.
“You can’t save me,” I whisper.
I’m resigned, oddly numb instead of emotional like I should be.
A part of me knew this day was coming all along, as if I sensed it like a bloodhound tracking the scent of a wounded animal.
“I’d rather enjoy what little time I have left.
I want to go to these awards with my head held high.
I want to finish out the rest of the summer and enjoy the fall.
If I’m lucky, the holidays, too. I want to go to LA and remember a time when my body didn’t hurt, when I was alive and at the top of my game.
I don’t want to be sick for months on end and barfing up my guts.
Or poked and prodded with needles. As stupid as it sounds, I want hair again.
To what end do I fight a losing battle, Mom? ”
“We don’t stop fighting. Ever.” Mom reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, and it’s the first time I’ve realized how bony and frail and brittle it seems inside of hers.
I’m weak; I have been for a long time. I’ve just gotten damn good at pretending.
“You’re too young. You were healthy before, and you can be healthy again, I know it.
You can go to college or get a job or whatever you choose. You just have to want it.”
I stare down at the table, unable to hold her gaze, because the pleading in her eyes nearly kills me.
“Where’s my fighter?” she asks, her voice firm. “The girl who won the Golden Boot and captured the national title? The girl they called The Missile? That girl never quit!”
“That girl’s already gone,” I croak, my throat tight. “She’s already dead.”
Mom flinches, and I hate myself for hurting her more when she’s already endured enough pain to last a lifetime.
But she needs to let go.
The sooner I’m gone, the sooner she can move on with her life, and the life I imagined for her last night can be hers.
She and John can get married, they’ll have a baby—one who won’t get sick—and Katie will be a good sister. The best.
But as long as I’m here, everyone’s lives are stuck in limbo.
Mom wipes at her damp cheeks, her dark gaze bloodshot and frantic. She reaches a shaking hand to her mouth where she stifles a moan.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper, my heart lurching. I wish I didn’t have to do this to her. I wish there was another way, but I don’t see one that doesn’t further hurt the people around me.
“I’ll let you go,” she says, her voice stronger than it was seconds ago. “You can go.”
My stomach flutters in anticipation, afraid to hope. “I can go? ”
She nods. “I’ll let you go to the awards. If Grayson can take you, I’ll find the money. We’ll find a way.”
“I can use what’s in my savings to pay for the trip, Mom. You won’t have to worry about a thing. I won’t burden you with this.” Or anything else any longer.
Grief flickers in her eyes. “That’s supposed to be for college.”
“I won’t be needing it.”
College is a distant dream I won’t be achieving, and though I feel the familiar swell of grief at the prospect of using the money on myself instead of giving it to my mother, I know she’ll never take it.
Standing, I reach across the table and pull her into my arms and whisper, “Thank you.”