Page 9 of That's Not a Thing

“Would you buy it if I said I was just trying to shore up my immune system and it has absolutely nothing to do with my staying out too late last night?” I offered, trying to keep things light. My mom’s health was steadily chipping away at her emotional state, and I’d made it my personal mission to keep her spirits up. The antidepressants she was taking didn’t seem to be working, so I cracked jokes with her like it was my job.

“I’m glad to hear you’re finally letting loose a little,” she answered on a puff of air. “You don’t have to be perfect every single second. It won’t change my fate one way or the other.”

I closed my eyes and willed myself not to snap at her for making another casual reference to her dismal prognosis. She might as well have been tearing my skin clean off my body for the agony I felt every time she talked like she was going to die.

“Anyway,” she continued when I stayed silent, and I could hear a rattling in her voice that had me immediately refocused.

“What is it?” I asked, my heart already quickening.

“I need another surgery.”

“What? Why?” I demanded. I heard keys in the door and looked up to see Daphne coming in with a pile of books and a container of takeout food. I noticed that her normally curly red hair was blown straight, and I held up a finger letting her know I needed a minute before I could engage with her. I mouthed the wordmom, and she nodded as she took off her faux-fur coat and starting riffling through the papers on her desk.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” my mother said. “They’re just going to remove the port from my chest. I shouldn’t even have called it a surgery. It’s just that with the infection around it, it’s a little more involved than a simple procedure. I’m only telling you so you don’t feel out of the loop. I promised you could trust me to tell you the truth about my condition, so I’m just letting you know.”

“When?” I asked, trying to stay calm.

“I’m going in Friday morning. You don’t need to be there. Go to your classes. Your father will be with me the whole time.”

“We’ll see,” I answered, not bothering to remind her that I didn’t have classes on Fridays this semester. “How are you going to finish the chemo without having the port for the medicine?”

“Stop worrying.” She was trying to soothe me, but all I heard was the way her voice stalled, like her words were becoming air as the life slipped out of her more each day. “It’s only a few more weeks, so they can use a simple IV line until I finish treatment.”

She paused, and I waited for her to say more.

“I’m getting tired, too,” she finally added, “thinking about you in bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

We said our good-byes and I took a deep breath, trying to contain the rush of feelings that came every time I said good-bye to my mother these days. The fear that it might be a final farewell was always there.

After a moment, I looked over at Daphne, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed, facing me, the takeout container balanced on her lap and a spoonful of quinoa en route to her mouth.

“Everything okay with your mom?” she asked, staring at me hard.

“I don’t know,” I groaned. “It’s all so tangled and confusing. I never know what’s a big deal and what’s not. But I don’t want to get into it now.” It was easier for me to function when I could compartmentalize.

Daphne considered me for a moment, and I could tell she was trying to decide whether to push the topic or drop it like I’d asked. She pursed her pink lips into a little tulip, was silent for a moment, and then switched gears. “Okay, time to spill.” she commanded, clearly aware that I had not spent the night in Bina’s room.

“Can we not talk about spilling while you’re holding that power bowl or whatever it is in the middle of your unmade bed? You’re going to get little quinoa pellets all up in your business the next time you bring a guy back here, which”—I paused to look at the time on my phone —“should occur in only six or seven more hours.” For as long as I’d known Daphne, we had been poking fun at each other with glee.

She rolled her eyes at me as I continued, “You should at least warn the next dude. Quinoa in the ass-crack has got to be a bitch.”

She picked up a furry pink pillow from her bed and hurled it at me, missing me by several feet.

“Nice try changing the subject, twat-wad. I bumped into Bina while she was getting her java at the Commons. We had a little chat about vegetarian eco-feminism, and then she mentioned she hadn’t seen you since Science and Tech yesterday. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours ...” She waggled her eyebrows and took another spoonful of her health bowl, sucking on the spoon for effect.

“Nasty.” I shook my head. “No deal. I love you like a sister and all that, but really, I don’t need to hear about last night’s fuckboy, okay?”

“Fine, then let me put it this way—unless you scoop me on your night, I will tell you every last detail of mine. Starting with what he sucked on first.” She narrowed her eyes at me in challenge.

Rather than subject myself to her vile play-by-play, I caved. Especially since I was feeling pretty charged about Wesley.

“Okay, fine. I was with the RA. He works at a dessert place on Amsterdam. I watched him bake for a few hours, and then he took me to an all-night diner for breakfast. It was all very tame—wholesome, even.”

Daphne’s lip curled slightly, and she looked at me as if I had peed in her quinoa. “You spent all those hours with skinny Keith and his face-full of acne?” She recoiled a little as she considered the thought and then added, “You’re too pretty for your own good. It’s making you stupid.” She pointed her spoon at me in accusation.

I laughed. “Not Keith. There’s a new guy,” I explained, trying to sound relaxed. “He’s meeting me at the library tonight.” I felt myself tingling just thinking about him, but then I had a sobering thought. “I just ... I don’t know if I should be starting something right now. You know, with everything going on with my mom.”

“Toss my pillow back so I can chuck it at you again.” Daphne’s phone started ringing from inside her bag, but she ignored it. “You have been busting your ass since you got here, and you’re allowed to have some playtime—not in spite of your mom’s illness, but because of it. She would not want you putting your life on hold for her like this. She wants to see you living, finding joy, making the most of the time God gave you, you know?”