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No.
JUDE: Five more minutes.
I’ve given you thirty. Get your ass out here, or I’m coming in there, and I will drag your ass out to the car if I have to.
JUDE: I’d love to see you try.
You’re such a shithead.
Mom was home alone and cooking by the time Jude and I showed up. She stood at the stove with her favorite floral scarf tied neatly over her head, the same one she’d started wearing after chemo stole her hair. The whimsical design was so very her and one I wished we’d found sooner for her—something I wished she could’ve enjoyed without cancer hurting her. She looked small with her favorite sweater hanging loose around her narrow shoulders. Everything about her looked frail as she flipped pancakes, but there was a determination in how she moved around. It was almost as if, as long as she could stand and cook for her boys, cancer hadn’t taken everything from her.
How I wished that could be enough.
“We can help,” I offered as I came up behind her and wrapped one arm gently around her. I kissed her temple before letting go, fearing I might break her if I wasn’t careful.
“If either of you tries to stop me from cooking, I will swat you,” she threatened without an ounce of malice in her voice. Yeah, it was just easier not to argue with her.
Instead, Jude and I worked in silent tandem to set the table. I got out the plates, and he made coffee for all of us—decaf for Mom, of course, because caffeine upset her stomach. We’d done it enough times that neither of us needed to ask the other what came next or what needed to be done. The familiarity should’ve been comforting.
Somehow, it wasn’t.
Mom hummed along to the music as she plated breakfast, but it felt more like she was trying to fill the silence rather than enjoying the song. Jude kept glancing toward her when he thought she wasn’t looking, his expression pensive. I caught myself doing the same.
There was something uncomfortable in the air—something I couldn’t quite put into words. By the time we sat down to eat, all I knew was that this breakfast mattered, and I wasn’t sure why.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why, to be honest.
The conversation fell flat as she asked about the game, and we gave her enough details to keep her satisfied. She pushed her food around her plate, I barely touched mine, and even Jude didn’t eat enough to feed an army like he usually did. Eventually, she sighed and put her fork down, and I braced for whatever came next.
“I know you both know I want to talk to you,” Mom began with a small smile—the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. I knew that tone. It was the same one she’d used when she told me she had cancer and the same one she’d used when she told us it spread. It was the same one she used any time something more came up. Across the table, Jude knew it too. I could tell from the way his jaw ticked.
“I talked with Dr. Webb this week.” She paused, her gaze drifting between the two of us. “I’ve decided, in light of my recent test results, that I’m done with treatments.”
She… what?
Silence filled the room heavily as it pressed in on my chest, making it damn near impossible to breathe. Every breath scraped against my lungs as I waited for the rest.
There had to be more.
Done with this treatment.
Done until she was stronger.
Done while they explored other options.
But Mom simply folded her hands on the table and offered us a sad smile—one that made my stomach roll violently and my heart sink.
“I’m done with chemotherapy,” she reiterated.
“No.” The word came out before I realized that I’d even spoken.
“Rhodes—”
“No,” I cut her off as I shook my head. She opened her mouth to say more, but I kept talking. I couldn’t help it as my mind raced a mile a minute to find an acceptable solution—one that helped us keep her. “We can change hospitals. We can get a second opinion. Tell me the best doctor is overseas, and I’ll fly you there.”
Fuck, I’d beg May to borrow her private jet if it helped.
