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“Hey mom. Smells good.” She finally turns around, wiping her hands on her well-worn apron that my dad got her for Mother’s Day when I was a kid. She never makes a meal without it. I open my arms to wrap her in a hug. Even at twenty-seven, my mom’s hugs still bring me comfort. She is just one of those moms. The mom.
“It’s about time you came to see me,” she says and swats me with a hand towel. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“I didn’t forget about you. Just slammed at work.” I take a seat at the kitchen table while she finishes up the meal. I know better than to offer to help. Leann Gibson doesn’t share cooking duties. She’s a lone wolf in the kitchen and has been known to swat the hands of anyone who tries to help.
“It’s not good to lie to your mother,” she says, pointing a wooden spoon at me. “Especially when she’s dying.”
“You don’t get to hold dying over my head, old woman. Not when you chose to not do the treatments.” This is the same song and dance we do every time we talk to each other. I learned months ago there was no sense in arguing with her about cancer treatments. It's no use. She made up her mind the day she got her diagnosis and hasn't swayed since.
She gives her attention back to the stove, dishing her famous spaghetti into two bowls. “No sense in delaying the inevitable. Besides, if I was doing treatments, then I’d be too sick to make you meals.” Putting the bowls on the table, she sits gingerly in the chair. Taking noticeably longer than normal to make her way down into it. “You’re going to starve when I’m gone, you know. With no one to feed you.”
“I am capable of feeding myself. In fact, I do it fine on all the days I don’t see you.”
“You know exactly what I mean, Colt.” It’s hard not to when she brings it up any chance she gets. Apparently, having your husband die unexpectedly and then getting diagnosed with cancer makes you sentimental. Who would have known? “It’s not healthy to go through life alone. You need someone to go through all the ups and downs with. To explore with. To give your love to. People aren’t meant to be by themselves.”
No matter how much I know what she’s saying is true, it doesn’t change the fact that there hasn’t been anyone that I want to do any of that with. I’ve been with my fair share of women, dating around, but none of them had me wanting to spend the rest of my life with them.
That was until a certain redhead came into my life. She’s the first person to intrigue me on a deeper level. I want to know everything about her and what makes her tick. I want to know all of her thoughts and worries, dreams and triumphs. I want to be the person she runs to with everything, good and bad. And damn it, I want to be the person she calls when she needs help. After only knowing her for a little over a week, I know I want to be everything for her.
“What’s her name?” My mom pulls me from my thoughts and back into our conversation.
“What’s whose name?” I play innocent, but I’ve been caught and I know it. And my mother is not known for letting things go, so I guess it’s time to buckle up and prepare for the interrogation.
“Don’t waste what little time I have playing games.” Cancer has made her a little more ruthless than she used to be.
Having finished off my last bite, I lean back in my chair and kick my feet out in front of me. “Her name is Libby.”
“That’s a pretty name.” That’s all she says, but the silent questions still hang out in the open, waiting for me to answer.
“She’s Ty’s sister’s roommate. I only met her a week ago.” Which makes feeling the way I do about her seem impossible. Am I crazy? Obsessed? Not that I care too much, I know how I feel and have no problem owning up to it. Even if I don’t understand it.
My mom grabs our now empty bowls and takes them so to sink. “Come on.” She motions for me to follow her to the living room where she claims her floral sitting chair. I pass my dad’s worn leather recliner that’s still in its rightful place next to her and take a seat on the couch. Nobody sits in his chair. He was a stickler when he was alive about it being his chair and would raise hell if he found your ass in it. Never being one to raise his voice, he’d scoop you right up and toss you on the floor. Old age didn’t stop him either. As a seasoned firefighter, he could lift anyone. He was a superhero. In more ways than one.
“Now tell me more about her.” Unlike my father, my mom has never been one for theatrics. She’s always relaxed, always steady. Cancer has only amplified that.
“She’s beautiful. Spunky, but only in private. Loyal, thoughtful, she worries about everyone else before herself.” My mom smiles as she closes her eyes and continues to listen. Her energy levels have dwindled significantly lately. I continue, knowing my mom wants all the details, and I have no problem talking about my girl. “She’s going through a lot right now and has some pretty bad anxiety.” This causes her to open her eyes again to look at me. “The night I met her, she was having a nasty panic attack. Tyson said she’d just broken things off with her ex and apparently went to talk to him. Then just showed up at his sister’s in the middle of an attack.”
My mom’s brows crease. “What happened with the old boyfriend?”
“She hasn’t told anyone yet. Not even Tyson’s sister, Blake, which is her best friend.”
“You be gentle with that girl, Colton.” She’s the only one that’s ever used my full name, and only when she wants me to know that she means absolute business.
“I will, Mom.”
“I know you will.” Her eyes close again. “And then you bring her home.”
I don’t bother with a reply. She’s a dying woman with a dying wish. One that sits heavy on my shoulders. It already breaks my heart that she’ll never get to be a grandma. But to know that all she wants is to see her children settle down, to die knowing that they have someone, it eats away at me.
My mom's soft snores fill the room, and the ache in my chest grows. I hate that she’s all alone in this house. That she wakes up and goes to sleep some days without ever getting a hug from someone. This is not how I want her to live out her last days. I suppose this must be how she feels about me and Savannah being alone. We have our own lives that give us social interaction, though, so it’s not exactly the same.
I pick my mom’s frail body up out of her chair and carry her to her bed. It’s perfectly made other than where she tossed the blankets back on her side this morning. My dad’s things are still on his bedside table. His house shoes were where he left them that morning before going into work. Who would have known that after over twenty years as a firefighter, a car wreck on his way to work would be what killed him?
Life is crazy in that way, I guess. How a devoted father and protector of his community can get taken away in an instant by a drunk driver. How a selfless mother who spent her life dedicated to nurturing her family can be stolen from us in such a cruel way. I don’t know which one is worse. Having a parent die unexpectedly, or to watch them slowly deteriorate in front of your eyes.
I suppose the bright side to that is I got to have two of the best people be my parents. I was lucky enough to feel their love every day. Never once have I doubted it. And how beautiful it has made life, to be surrounded by love.
The realization hits me as I cover my mom up with the quilt. Much more soon than I’m willing to admit, that love won’t be here. I’ll have Savannah, but sibling love isn’t the same. More than that, though, Libby has never had that type of love. The unconditional kind. It’s evident in the way she doesn’t seem to trust anyone. Not even the man that just proposed to her. I couldn’t imagine the type of life that would build that kind of disconnect. She deserves more than that. She deserves someone to show her it's possible to lose yourself in a love so great that you never question anything.
