Page 67 of Faking the Goal

As I look at her now, relief hits me so hard it almost steals my breath. Six months ago, I'd thought I was going to lose my mother to cancer, but she'd fought with everything she had because she wasn't ready to leave us behind.

And three months ago, her doctor finally gave her a clean bill of health, though she still had to continue HER2-targeted therapy for up to a year to make sure any stray cancer cells were wiped out and to reduce the risk of recurrence.

I crouch beside the pod and gently brush a hand over her shoulder. "Mama," I whisper. "Wake up."

Her lashes flutter, and the moment her eyes find mine, a soft smile curves on her lips.

"Ken-chan," she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep as her hand lifts to cup my cheek. "Okaeri."

Something in my chest loosens at the sound of it. Ken-chan. She's the only one who still calls me that, the only one who can say it and make me feel, for just a second, like I'm her little boy again. I guess I always am in her eyes.

"Tadaima, Mama," I whisper back, leaning into her touch for just a second before I straighten. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs so you can sleep properly in your room."

I slip one arm around her shoulders and use my other hand to help her sit up. She's warm and a little groggy, but she lets me guide her to her feet, her fingers curling around my forearm as she steadies herself.

As soon as she's standing, I frown. "Why were you down here in the lounge this late anyway? You should've gone to bed hours ago."

She chuckles softly beside me as we start toward the stairs, one of my arms anchored around her shoulders while my other hand stays wrapped around her arm, holding her close in case she loses her balance. "Listen to you," she says, squeezing my shoulder. "Why are you acting like you're the mother and I'm the stubborn child?"

"Because if I hadn't come home, you would've spent the whole night sleeping in that pod and woken up with a sore back in the morning."

She hums, entirely unrepentant.

I glance around the lounge, then down the hallway, my frown deepening. "Where's Nurse Therese?"

My mother gives my arm a light tap, already knowing exactly where this is going. "I sent her home."

I stop walking.

"You what?"

"She's been here all day, Ken-chan. I told her to go home and get some rest. I didn't need anything." Her expression softens immediately, like she can already see the lecture gathering behind my eyes. "And don't get upset with her. I was the one who insisted."

I exhale through my nose and start walking again, slower this time so she doesn't have to rush. "Even if you feel like you don't need anything, it's still important to have her here. That's literally why she's assigned to you."

"Assigned to me," she repeats with a faint laugh, like I've said something ridiculous. "You make it sound like I'm under surveillance."

"You kind of are."

She turns her head and gives me a look. "Kentaro."

"I'm serious, Mama." My grip tightens slightly around her arm, not enough to hurt, just enough to ground myself. "Just because you're feeling better doesn't mean you're fully recovered. You're still recovering. You still get tired too easily. Your doctor said you need to take it easy, and that's not going to happen if you keep sending your nurse home whenever you feel mildly inconvenienced by adult supervision."

She sighs, but there's amusement in it. "I don't need someone following me around day and night. I have no privacy anymore. If I so much as stand up to get myself a glass of water, someone's already there insisting they do it for me. I can still manage the simple things on my own, you know."

"That's not the point." I glance down at her, trying and failing to keep the frustration out of my voice. "I know you can do simple things on your own. That's not what I'm worried about." I tighten my hold on her a little as we keep walking. "You're still recovering. You still need someone here with you in case you get dizzy, or tired, or something doesn't feel right. Having a nurse around twenty-four seven is the only way I can leave this house and know you're being taken care of if I'm not here."

She laughs under her breath. "You hear yourself, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You sound exactly like an overbearing mother."

I glance down at her. "Somebody has to."

She smiles, warm and teasing. "Yes, Mom."

That gets a reluctant huff of laughter out of me, and she looks up at me with soft, tender eyes, her hand lifting to brush lightly through my hair.