“Shhh,” she said, smoothing my hair like she used to do when I was a little girl.
She guided me into the living room where Adam and Peter sat in chairs across from us. Mom guided me to sit down next to her on the couch. Somehow the presence of others forced me to try to pull myself together and stop bawling like a baby. Adam got up, fetched a box of tissues and set them on the coffee table in front of me. I grabbed a handful of them and mopped my face.
“Adam, maybe we should step out,” Peter said quietly.
“No,” I said finally in a shaky voice. “It’s okay. You should be here for her.”
I turned to my mom, who’d raised her brows at my words. I put a hand on each shoulder, sniffed and squared my own shoulders, trying to find the strength to say those horrid words. “I—uh—” I began in a shaky voice. I cleared my throat. “I have cancer, Mom.”
Mom didn’t react at first. Then, after about a three-second delay, she looked like someone had stomped on her feet with steel sole boots and she was trying not to show a reaction.
So I took a deep breath and kept talking. “It’s, um, it’s a carcinoma, stage two, in my left breast. I had a lumpectomy in October and hormone therapy and, uh, I need to start chemo.”
My mom’s lips disappeared into her mouth and I could tell she was trying her hardest not to cry. She was trying to do that thing I’d done when she’d told me about her diagnosis.
Finally, after a minute of trying to contain it, she broke down. “Oh God, baby,” she said, taking me in her arms, pulling me close. No one understood the road ahead of a cancer patient like a cancer survivor. My mom knew intimately every torture in store for me.
Almost every torture.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said tightly.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Not even Adam?” she said, pulling away and looking at him.
And that was when I finally felt like dirt for the first time. I’d thought I was being strong for them. I’d thought I was choosing to brave my battle—a battle that only I could fight—without burdening them.
This was the first moment I realized how selfish I’d been.
I sat back and looked at Adam. His face was blank but his eyes were heavy with accusations and hurt. I looked back at my mom. “I only told Heath.”
My mom shook her head, clearly not understanding. A million excuses jumped into my head. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I was confused. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to fight the cancer on my terms.
But every excuse was all dust and ashes. Meaningless to the people who loved me.
“So you made Heath keep this from us? Oh, Mia, that was so unfair to him. But—” She put her hand on my arm, shaking my shoulder so that I’d look at her again. “Now is not the time to discuss how you’ve handled it. Now, we talk about what comes next. When do you start chemo? And where?”
I straightened, pulling away from her. I kept my eyes fixed on her. I couldn’t meet the gaze pinning me down from across the room. This was what he’d counted on. He knew that it would rip my heart out to tell my mother that I was going to deny chemo. I clenched my teeth, trying to swallow that bitter pill.
“Kim, there’s a complication,” Adam spoke up in a quiet voice. “Mia can’t start chemo this week because she’s pregnant.” I closed my eyes—mostly to block out my mom’s reaction. But I was such a coward because of the relief I felt that Adam had told her for me. I felt like falling at his feet in gratitude.
My mom jerked her gaze back to stare at me. She opened her mouth to say something, but, apparently unable to find the words, she shut her mouth again. Her face went white as the wall behind her.
The doorbell rang and Adam stood up to get it, walking quickly down the hall. Peter leaned forward, “Kim, can I get you some water or something?”
At her vigorous head shake, he leaned back, watching her carefully. Mom turned to me again, her jaw slack again, gaping like a fish.
Adam re-entered the room with Heath, who immediately walked over to my mom. She stood up and practically leapt into his arms, clasping him close to her and weeping into his shoulder. Heath must have been notified by Adam to come and I realized now that I had been right earlier when I’d told him that I knew he was up to something. He’d scheduled a meeting so they could all sit around and tell me what I needed to do. I shot him a look but was distracted by Mom’s sobs.
I watched them, feeling like a knife had impaled me through the sternum. A wave of nausea smacked me and my stomach roiled. I swallowed bitter bile at the back of my throat.