Slammed (Slammed #1)(44)

-The Avett Brothers, Paranoia in B Flat Major

Chapter Twelve

Eddie has never been inside my house before. You wouldn't know that by watching her bounce through the front door. She's still pulling me along behind her when we walk inside. My mother is sitting on the sofa, watching this stranger scamper toward her with a smile on her face, dragging her angry daughter behind her. I have to admit, the surprise on my mom's face is gratifying.

Eddie pulls me to the couch and pushes my shoulders down until I'm seated next to my mother. Eddie proceeds to take a seat on the coffee table directly in front of us, posture straight, head held high. She is in charge.

"I'm Eddie, your daughter's best friend," she says to my mother. "There, now that we all know each other, let's get down to the nitty gritty."

My mother looks at me, then back at Eddie and doesn’t respond. I actually have nothing to say either. I don't know where Eddie is taking this so all I can do is allow her to continue.

"Julia, right? That's your name?"

My mother nods.

"Julia, Layken has questions. Lots of questions. You have answers." Eddie looks at me. "Layken, you ask questions and your mother will answer them." She looks at both of us simultaneously. "That's how you do it. Any questions? For me, I mean?"

My mother and I both shake our heads. Eddie stands up. "Alright then. My work here is done. Call me later."

Eddie steps over the coffee table and heads for the front door, but spins on her feet and comes back to us. She wraps her arms around my mother's neck. My mother looks at me wide-eyed before she returns the hug. Eddie continues to squeeze my mother's neck for an unusually long time before she finally lets go. She smiles at us, hops over the coffee table and walks out the front door. And she's gone. Just like that.

We both sit in silence, staring at the front door-confused as to where exactly things went wrong with Eddie. Or where exactly they went right. It was hard to tell. I glance back at my mother and we both laugh.

"Wow, Lake. You sure know how to pick 'em."

"I know. She's great, huh?"

We both settle into the couch and my mother reaches over and pats the top of my hand.

"We better do what she says. Ask me a question, I'll answer it best I can."

I cut right to the chase. "Are you gonna die?"

"Aren't we all?" she replies.

"That's a question. You're supposed to just answer."

She sighs, like she's hesitating, not really wanting to answer.

"Possibly. Probably," she admits.

"How long? How bad is it?"

"Lake, maybe I should explain it first. It'll give you a better idea of what we're up against."

She stands and moves to the kitchen and takes a seat at the bar. She motions for me to sit with her as she grabs a pen and a sheet of paper and starts to write something down.

"There are two types of lung cancer. Non-small cell and small cell. Unfortunately, I have small cell, which spreads faster."

She is drawing a diagram. "Small cell can either be limited or extensive." She points to an area on a sketched pair of lungs. "Mine was limited. Which means it was contained into this area." She circles an area of the lungs and makes a pinpoint. "This is where they found a tumor. I was having some symptoms a few months before your father died. He had me go in for a biopsy and that's when we found out it was malignant. We researched doctors for a few days and finally decided our best course of action would be a doctor we found here in Michigan-in Detroit. He specializes in SCLC. We decided on the move before your father even died. We-"

"Mom, slow down."

She lays down the pen.

"I need a minute," I say. "God, it feels like I'm in science class."

I rest my head in my hands. She's had months to think about this. She talks about it like she's teaching me how to bake a cake!

She patiently waits as I get up and go to the bathroom. I splash water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look like complete crap. I haven't even glanced in a mirror since before I went out with Gavin and Eddie last night. My mascara is smudged under my eyes. My eyes are puffy. My hair is wild. I wipe the makeup off and brush out my hair before I go back to the kitchen and listen to her tell me how she's going to die.

She looks up at me as I walk back into the kitchen and I nod, giving her the go-ahead.

"A week after we decided we were moving to Michigan to be closer to the Doctor, your father died. I was so consumed with it, with his death and the arrangements and everything. I just tried to push what was going on with me out of my mind. I didn't go back to the doctor for three months. By that time, it had spread. It was no longer limited small cell, it was extensive."

She looks away, ashamed. Her voice lowers. "I blamed myself-for your dad's heart attack. I knew it was the stress of the diagnosis that caused it." She stands and walks to the living room and looks out the front window.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you, Mom. You didn't need to deal with all of it on your own."

"I know that now. I was in denial. I was angry. I was hoping for a miracle, I guess. I don't know. The days turned into weeks, then months. Now we're here. I started Chemotherapy again three weeks ago."