by Sasha Dawn
“Lainey, I’ll take you to see her.”
“See her? Where?”
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but she hasn’t feeling well. Your nana took her to the hospital.”
“The hospital?” I’m pacing now. “Just tell me what’s going on, Ted. Was there an accident? Or—”
“Remember when . . . Lainey, sit down.”
I’m numb. He guides me to the sofa.
“Last month, your mom went to Minnesota for a few days.”
“Yeah.” I wipe tears away with the back of my hand. “Some potential choreography gig?”
“That’s . . . no. No, Lainey.” He looks me in the eye. “She went for a second opinion. For additional rounds of tests.”
Realization dawns on me, and my heart kicks into high gear. “No.”
“The team of doctors here suggested she seek a second opinion, and I thought . . . Mayo Clinic. It’s the best.”
“No, no, no.” Tears are pouring from my eyes. “This can’t be happening. Not again.”
“And when I took her back last week—”
“No!” I shove his arm away when he tries to comfort me. “It’s not fair. She wasn’t supposed to get it once, let alone twice. No!”
The cancer is back.
That’s why she quit her jobs, I realize.
That’s why she’s been trying to squeeze in time with me . . . because what if we don’t have that much left together?
God, what if it’s too late already? What if no treatment can save her this time?
My head is spinning. “How bad?”
“A little farther along than last time. The surgeon had an opening in his schedule, so your mother took it.”
“So while I was in New York, my mother was getting cancer cut out of her?” I backhand my cheek, rubbing at the tears. “It’s not fair. This is bullshit.”
“Your mother doesn’t deserve this,” Ted says. “That’s absolutely true. You don’t deserve it. But it’s happening, so we have to deal with it.”
“We?”
“Lainey, I know I wasn’t around the last time your mom went through this.”
Numbly, I say, “Mom said you couldn’t deal with the reality of the situation.”
“I guess she was right from a certain point of view. But it wasn’t that I couldn’t handle the cancer. That wasn’t the situation I was avoiding. I walked away because . . . I didn’t want to leave, but things were complicated. I loved her, but—”
“But she was still in love with Dad.” I catch my breath and look to the hallway, where a week ago, my mother and I screamed at each other. I think of her words: I’m done fighting.
“The bottom line is, this time it’s different. I’m here for you. I’m going to take you to see your mother.”
I shake my head. “I’ll call my dad. I’m sure, once he hears what’s going on—”
“Your nana already told him.”
“What?”
“When she called when you were at the airport in New York. I was right there, and Adie told him then.”
“He knows the cancer is back?”
Ted nods. “We called when we found out she could have the surgery on Friday. He thought it best not to worry you during your trip. And we called again today when the doctor said he wanted to keep her another day.”
“And he just . . . left me on the doorstep?”
“He knew I’d be here,” Ted says. “Your nana told him I’d be here for you.”
“And he had to be there for someone else.”
Ted shrugs. “I guess so.”
Chapter 28
Mom is asleep.
Hayley and I each sit on either side of her bed, and we both hold her hands. It’s not until my sister smudges a shoulder against her cheek that I realize she’s crying.
I still haven’t stopped much, myself.
“So,” I say. My voice comes out flat. “Dad got married.”
Hayley sits up straight. “What?”
“Months ago. He told me earlier today.”
My sister stares at me. “Today? After Adie called him to let him know about Ella?”
“Yup. Great timing, huh?”
Hayley lets out a long breath and shakes her head. “I don’t understand how he could do such a thing. And then . . . just to leave you there with a guy who played your daddy for six months. This is our mother. She raised us. Maybe she wasn’t getting a paycheck in the early years, but she worked. Probably harder than he did. She made my lunches, and taught me to tie my shoes, and stayed up with me when I was sick or scared and he was gone.”
I nod. “Maybe you could get through to him, Hay. Whenever I try it doesn’t seem to register with him. It’s like he doesn’t even care—about all she used to do, about everything she does now, and about everything she’s going through—and I can’t imagine how that must make her feel.”
I don’t speak my thoughts aloud, but come to think of it, this whole thing is unfair. Everything has worked out for him. He’s married. He gets to keep his money. Mom, on the other hand, is out of luck just because she dared to give Ted a shot. They earned that money together. It’s not fair that Dad has all the control, that he could do this to her.
It’s appalling. I owe her so much, and my dad makes her out to be a lazy sponge.
“And he makes money off me,” I say as if Hayley hasn’t just made an excellent point. “Can you believe that?”
“He’s your manager, right?”
“Okay, so everyone’s focused on that right now. But I tell you: if Mom made money off me, and we needed that money to pay my tuition, she’d work for free.”
“Yeah, I suppose, but—”
“I feel like he deliberately misled me,” I tell my sister. “Like he lied to me about what she deserves. I was mad at her for not pulling her weight, for the court case . . . all of it. When all this time, he hasn’t accused her of doing anything he hasn’t done himself.”
“Well, he does have the law on his side.”
“It doesn’t make it right! And for my sake . . . for our sake, he should do what’s right, not what he can get away with.”
“Look,” Hayley says. “I’m mad at him, too. But we should talk to him. We should figure out why he’s acting this way. If we did something he didn’t like . . . like the whole misunderstanding about you and that guy in New York. How did it feel knowing he didn’t want to hear your side?”
On the surface this feels like an excellent point, but I’m not buying it this time. “I have listened to his side. And all I ever hear is legalese. The paperwork says this, the judge declared that. What kind of justification is that? For using me. For pitting me against my mom. For dictating everything from my hair color to who I get to spend time with, for making me feel guilty when I ask for something he doesn’t feel like giving me. For never, ever apologizing for anything. We’re his kids. He shouldn’t treat us that way.”
Hayley looks about as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen her. “Of course. I get that. Here’s the thing, though: He’s still our dad. Don’t we have to give him the benefit of the doubt?”
I shake my head. “Not when he’s wrong.”
Chapter 29
Monday, May 8
It’s eight in the morning. I’m supposed to be in physics class right now, but instead, I’m curled up in the same uncomfortable leather chair in the same frigid hospital room I’ve been in since Ted brought me here last night.
Mom’s been sleeping since I got here, and for the past two hours I’ve been drifting off to sleep, too, only to waken with a start. When Mom wakes up, I want to talk to her. There’s so much I have to say.
“Madelaine?”
“Mom?”
“Hi, baby girl.”
“Mom.”
“Where’s Hayley?”
“She was here. But she had to go to class.”
I think of the night Mom met me after my callback audition—the night I chose shopping with my dad for clothes I didn’t really
need over spending time with her. I think of this past weekend—the trip to New York, when Dad didn’t even notice if I wore the new clothes or not. I should have been with my mother.
It’s weird. You look at your parents, and you assume they’ll always be there—at least for the foreseeable future—ready to tell you what to do, annoy you, restrict you, make you do the dishes. But when I consider that something worse could have happened . . . that she could have died while I was in New York . . . After all, if the cancer was aggressive enough that they thought they had to squeeze her in for surgery this quickly, anything could have happened.
“Mom.” I hiccup over a sob. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh. You didn’t know.”
“I shouldn’t have gone to New York. I shouldn’t have gone shopping that night, I should have—”
“And I should have told you.”
“Yes, but—”
“I didn’t want to distract you from the audition. And you were focused. Obviously.” She smiles. “Madelaine Joseph is July.”
I decide right now: I’m going to dedicate my performance to her.
I bite my lip and try to stay strong. The last thing she needs right now is to watch me fall apart, but I’m raw and exhausted, and I don’t know if I can hold it together. “What’s going to happen now?”
“I’m going to fight.” A soft smile touches her lips. “Fight like the devil. And you’re going to that school next year.”
“Mom, don’t worry about that. I can just finish at Saint Mary’s. It’s okay. Everything will be okay if you just get better.”
Taking over as my manager is going to be difficult, if not impossible, now that she has a long battle ahead of her. Unless Dad budges and opens his wallet, there’s no way her plan will work now.
“It’s all figured out. We’re going to be able to pay half your tuition next year—and at NYU.”
“Mom . . . how? The medical bills are going to be through the roof, and with your awful insurance—”
“The insurance is adequate.”
“Sorry, Mom, but it’s not.” Even when she was working, corporations would only hire her part-time so they didn’t have to give her benefits, and the insurance she can afford sucks.
“At least I have it. It’s going to take care of what I need.”
“Still. We can’t afford performing arts school . . .”
“You got a grant.” Mom smiles.
“I did?” I start to smile until I remember that Mom’s on some pretty heavy painkillers after her surgery. Maybe she’s mistaken. “How? Those are based on need.”
“A grant from the Ted Haggerty Foundation.”
“No. Mom, no.”
“Yes.”
“But then he’ll expect to be involved.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“He still loves you, okay? He’s going to expect you to get back together. And you’re still in love with Dad.”
She laughs. Honest-to-goodness laughs. “Is that what your father thinks?”
“I heard you tell him so. That’s why you and Ted broke up.”
“Oh, that phone call. Listen, honey, I needed time to fall out of love with your father, and the past several years, with everything that’s come to pass . . .” She laughs again. “Let’s just say, mission accomplished.”
“But you don’t have to get back with Ted just because he offered to pay.” “Of course not. This isn’t the Dark Ages. He’s offered to pay your tuition whether or not we’re back together. On the other hand . . . how would you feel if Ted and I did try again?”
Tears prick my eyes, and I hold her hand and shake my head. “You’re not good at this dating thing, Mom. I love you, but you’re not. And watching you fumble all these relationships all these years . . . it’s why I don’t date.”
She frowns at me. “Do you think you’re going to have the same kind of track record I have in regard to romance?”
“Well . . . basically.”
“That’s ridiculous, Lainey. You don’t have to date if you don’t want to, but you shouldn’t hold yourself back out of fear. This point in your life is the perfect time to start dating. You have to figure out how to be in a relationship before you’re in one for the long haul. Sometimes things are messy. But sometimes they’re not.”
I’ve never seen what the not option looks like. I doubt Mom has either. “But with Ted . . . What if things go bad again? Then what?”
“Caring about people is always a risk.” My mother smiles. “But it’s also incredibly rewarding, even when it doesn’t work out. If you never let yourself care, you’ll never know anyone else. And worse, no one will know you. And you are wonderful.”
I laugh a little and climb into bed with my mother.
“How’s your song coming?” Mom asks.
“It’s good. Still needs some fine-tuning, but it’s getting a lot of shares online.” I reach into my pocket and feel the outlines of the origami moon I found on the steps yesterday. “Dylan Thomas shared some more lyrics with me.” I leave out the details about how he shared them, in case it freaks Mom out. “Listen to this.”
I unfold the moon and read the poem inside, which weaves themes of aspiration with contentment: “I reach for you, teach you / Everything you aspire to be . . .”
When I’m finished, Mom is staring at me wide-eyed. “Someone sent that to you? Someone you met online?”
“Yeah,” I say, not sure why she looks so unnerved. “I mean, it’s like these words were written specifically for a music staff. When you’re all better, I want you to choreograph a dance to it.”
She smiles but still seems concerned. “Lainey, this Dylan Thomas—”
“Don’t worry about it. He’ll come around to letting me use his words. And then, one day,” I continue, “we’ll put it into production. I’ll write and sing the songs, and you’ll choreograph. Like Nana says: we can write our own musical. You want to collaborate, Mom? You want to work on something together?”
A pensive expression settles over her face. “It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”
I kiss her cheek. “I’d love that, Mom. And someday we’ll be onstage together.”
Chapter 30
I’ve finally taken a break from my post at Mom’s hospital bed. Now that I’ve finally showered and changed out of the clothes I was wearing when I got off the plane, I start to unpack my suitcase and sort my laundry. I set aside the goofy souvenir shirts I bought for Mom and Nana, plus the mini Statue of Liberty for Hayley because the first time she went to New York, when I was too little to go, she picked one out for me. And I pull the moon out of my hoodie pocket and I place it in my desk with all the others I’ve gathered over the past couple of weeks.
The place seems somehow quiet without Mom here, even though she’s not usually awake past ten, and it’s now after midnight. Nana’s laughter filters down the hall every now and again (she’s watching her shows), and nothing sounds different.
It just is.
And while Mom’s probably going to be back home in a day or so, it’s still hard to sleep without her here.
It’s like tonight is a preview of what it might be like . . . when she’s gone.
The thought is like ten stones of grief plummeting into my gut. I don’t want to imagine it. It’s too soon. She has to beat this evil entity again. She has to. There’s so much we have to do together, so much we haven’t gotten around to.
For the fortieth time since Ted told me about the cancer coming back, I bury my face in my pillow and cry hard for a few minutes. But like always, I have to pull myself back together.
I reread the poem in the last moon and begin jotting down notes, adding phrases of my own.
I plug into my amp, pop on my headphones, and start messing around with chords. Pretty soon I have the seeds of another song at my fingertips.
After recording a few versions, I pick my favorite one and post it on Lyrically with the caption: For my hero, my mom.
And because I pro
mised Mom we’d be onstage together, I go out on a limb, certainly out of my comfort zone. I post a picture of the two of us and share the song on the public forum.
Instantly, my phone chimes with “Raspberry Beret.”
Brendon: Girl, you are the shiznit.
McKenna: Totally addicted to your page already.
McKenna: You’re going places!
McKenna: Remember us little peeps when you’re famous!
Me: Awww, thanks.
Me: If I sign up for open mic at the Factory, would u come?
Brendon: You’re like twenty one pilots meets Stone Temple Pilots meets Amelia Earhart.
McKenna: OF COURSE WE’LL COME.
Brendon: (was sort of going with the aviator theme there.)
Me: Got it.
Brendon: Amelia because she’s legendary.
Brendon: Not because she disappeared.
Brendon: Because OMG, if you disappeared, like Vagabonds, I’d cry.
McKenna: How’s your mom?
Me: We’ll see.
Me: Supposed to be pretty routine treatment, so fingers crossed.
Me: But something good came out of it.
Me: Guess where I’m going to school next year?
McKenna: NO WAY! The academy?
Me: Mom made it happen.
McKenna: Let’s chat tomorrow.
McKenna: There’s no way I’m waking up early tomorrow if I stay up.
Brendon: Continuing with the aviation theme: I’m still jetlagged.
Me: Goodnight, cast of ANNIE.
And because I want to commit, I pull up the Factory’s site and sign up for open mic in July. I would sign up for an earlier slot, but . . . baby steps.
It’s not a big stage, but it’s a start.
A message pops up on Lyrically.
Dylan: Hi.
Dylan: I love your new song.
Dylan: Where ya been?
Me: New York.
Me: And then, the hospital.
Me: My mom’s sick.
Me: Cancer.
Dylan: Shit, that sucks. :(
Dylan: Anything I can do?
Me: No.
Dylan: I can listen.
And so I talk.
