The Road Home Page 23

  Lila doesn’t say a word. She visibly swallows, and the sound of her gulp is as loud as ever.

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “You seem like it.”

  “No, I’m not mad.” She looks away and shakes her head. “I’m so ridiculously disappointed. I thought you loved me.”

  “I do love you.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  “Your mom asked me to not say a word. Why would I go against what she begged me not to do?”

  “Because I’m the one you’re sleeping with. Me. I’m the one who’s in love with you. Me. Not my fucking mom.”

  Lila groans. “You seriously think you’d have been okay with me had I said, ‘Oh, by the way, your mom is going to die from this cancer’? You think that would have went over well? And why would I even want to say that? Hmm? Don’t you think it was hard for me knowing that? Knowing that it didn’t matter what poisons she put into her body, the likelihood that the cancer would win was very high. You seem to forget she’s basically my mom, too. You like to make me feel bad about it, like I had any fucking choice. My parents said okay. My parents gave me to your parents. I didn’t beg her to take me in. I didn’t beg anyone. Stop acting like none of this has affected me.”

  “Are you done?”

  “No, actually, I’m not. In fact, I’m only getting started.” Lila stands and takes a few steps until she’s next to the railing, where she leans against it. “When someone asks me to not say anything, I don’t. Period. Your father’s indiscretions are horrifying, but your mom chooses to stay. She chooses to allow him to be that way because she doesn’t want to deal with it. She loves him regardless of everything. And the fact that you think I should have run to you with information that was not my place to tell is totally ludicrous.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow.”

  “Can you not see why I’d be upset?”

  “Sure! I can see why. But I can’t believe you are letting this bother you so deeply. You’ve been acting different around me for the past two weeks. If it was bothering you so much, you should have talked with me about it when you first found out.”

  “My mom asked me not to.”

  “Oh really?” Lila’s voice is layered with sarcasm. “Imagine that.” She pushes away from the railing. “Look, when you think you can get past the fact that I kept a secret from you, a secret I was asked to keep by, mind you, a woman who hated me when she first met me, you let me know.” She dusts her hands off and turns to leave.

  “You’re going to leave? Just like that?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “Wait a second.” Gwendolyn jumps from the swing and takes three steps until she’s next to Lila. “You’re going to be mad at me for being disappointed in you? For lying to me? Are you serious right now?”

  “For lying to you?” Her tone is coated with astonishment.

  “Yes. For lying to me.”

  “Let me get this straight. Because I was asked to not say a word to anyone, namely you, it means I am lying to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are kidding me right now.” Lila’s cheeks puff from a hard exhale. “This whole conversation is irrational. I was asked to not tell you. I was asked, Gwen. By your mother, who didn’t want you to see your father in a different light. She asked me to not tell you about the cancer diagnosis. She said she wanted to try the chemo for you because she didn’t want to die without fixing things with you. Everything she has done in the past however many years has been to protect you. You, who spent the same amount of time hating her for something she didn’t understand.” Lila blinks before she pulls her shoulders back and stands a little straighter. “And by the way, if you think any of this has been easy on me, you’re insane. I struggled every single day with whether or not I should break my promise and tell you everything. Maybe you want to call it a lie, but I did it for a woman who is not only my other mother but also my best friend.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and turns. “I’m out of here.” And she takes off down the porch steps and over to her car.

  Gwendolyn tries to shout after her, but no sound exists. She closes her mouth, standing there dumbfounded. Her mind is racing with the information Lila dropped on her. All she can focus on is the fact that Lila has a very valid point. And yet, she let Lila leave.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  A week and a half passed after that first volleyball match, and Gwendolyn put aside her frustration, her irritation, and her disappointment to continue helping the team. It’s what her mom wants.

  Lila, on the other hand, clearly doesn’t want the help. She’s cold, standoffish, and sometimes downright mean. Working in LA has given Gwendolyn a lot of experience dealing with ice queens. She has a thick skin and an easy ability to slough off Lila’s perfected attitude. And Lila seems pretty proud of herself, too, as if letting Gwendolyn know she’s upset is the only thing causing her any sort of joy.

  When Gwendolyn arrives home after practice, she creeps in as quietly as possible. The downstairs living room has been converted to a hospital room, complete with all the necessities. The lamp next to the bed is on, but her mom is asleep. She takes another step. Her eyes land on her father, asleep on a chair next to the bed. His presence startles her, but it also makes her feel more at ease. He has been more present in the past month. She isn’t sure why, but she thinks it’s because she called him out in front of the redhead. At least, that’s what she assumes. Seeing her mom light up when she sees him is only minimally maddening. At this point, things causing her mom happiness are few and far between, and she needs to embrace them all.

  The cancer has progressed far quicker than anyone thought, especially Dr. Wynn. Her visit earlier, a daily occurrence, was bleak, and when she suggested home hospice, Gwendolyn had to take a minute to compose herself. She’s been as calm and strong as possible. But every now and then, something brings her nearer to the precipice of emotional breakdown.

  She hates admitting it, but she wants to apologize to Lila. She sees her every day at practice, at the house, in her dreams. She wants so badly to say how sorry she is, how she overreacted, how she should have never gotten angry over something so stupid. She had numerous moments to make the move, but she hasn’t. She’s stuck. In the grand scheme of things, of everything going on in her life, Lila keeping a family secret is miniscule. She let it bother her when in actuality, it wasn’t Lila’s ability to keep the secret which upsets her. It’s knowing her mom wanted to keep it from her to begin with. And her awful past with her mom is not Lila’s fault. In fact, Lila has been instrumental in bringing her and her mom closer.

  Well, Lila and the cancer.

  Gwendolyn stands near the edge of the bed, and her mom’s eyes open. After a couple seconds, a smile spreads across her mom’s lips. They’re dry and gray, and no amount of Vaseline seems to help. Her cheeks have started to hollow. Dr. Wynn said, “She’s going to fade now. How quickly, we won’t know. But be prepared for a good day, followed by…” Her trailing off was enough for Gwendolyn to know exactly what she meant.

  Death is around the corner.

  “Hi.” Gwendolyn places her hand on her mom’s cheek and returns the smile. “You okay?”

  She nods. “We should talk.” She lifts her hand, which has aged in the last three months. Her skin is thin, her veins so much more pronounced. She grabs at something in the air, and Gwendolyn’s heart aches. Her mom is starting to see things which aren’t there. She’s researched the symptoms; she’s read the pamphlets; she’s completely aware. And yet, it’s not any less difficult to see.

  “No, Mom, let’s have you rest.”

  “I want you to know how much I love you.”

  “Mom….” Gwendolyn cannot stop the tears, and it’s pointless to try.

  “You have been the best part of me.” Her words are soft. She’s breathless, the oxygen machine whirring constantly. “I am sorry I couldn’t handle…” She pauses. “You being a lesbian.
I should have never pushed you away because…” She breathes in through her nose, closes her eyes, and finishes with, “Because of something you cannot change.”

  “Mom, you have to stop. You’re wearing yourself out.”

  “Gwennie,” she whispers. “I will always be proud of you. Of what you’ve become. Of the person you are.” She smiles. Her eyes are wet, but she’s not crying. “You are everything I wish I was.”

  “You’re the strongest woman I know. You’re amazing. And the best role model I could have hoped for. I wish…” Gwendolyn sits on the edge of the bed and holds her hand. She keeps her head bent. “I wish things had been different all these years.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I know.” She clenches and unclenches her jaw. Not because she’s mad, but because she hasn’t felt honesty flowing from her so easily in the longest time. She needs to say so many things. But the most important is on the tip of her tongue. “I’m so mad at you.” She finally admits it, and shockingly, the truth feels good because her being mad has nothing to do with anger.

  “Honey, why?”

  “Because.” She sighs. Her chin trembles, the one thing which doesn’t happen when she makes herself cry. When the tears are real, filled with truthful emotion and not backed by a script, she can’t control her natural reactions. “I finally stopped hating you, and now I’m going to lose you.” She breathes in, her breath shaky, her face covered with salty tears. She sniffles. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

  “Gwennie,” her mom says, her voice heavy with sickness. “I will always be with you.”

  “Mom, please stop.”

  Her mom does for a few minutes, the only sound coming from the oxygen machine and her father’s gentle snoring. “Promise me something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Promise me you’ll take care of each other.”

  She tilts her head, unsure what she’s asking. “Me and Dad?”

  “You and Lila. She loves you so much.”

  “Mom…”

  She grips Gwendolyn’s hand and hits the bed with her other fist. “Promise me.” The exertion is too much, and she begins to cough. Her breathing is better with the constant oxygen, but as time passes, the breaths have become shallower. Gwendolyn rubs her sternum, a gentle caress that helps. Her mom’s coughing finally subsides. Her father sleeps through the entire bout.

  “I don’t ask for much,” her mom whispers, wheezy. “I want to know you’re going to be okay. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  The whole conversation is difficult. How can it not be when it’s years and years of apologies mixed into ten minutes? Ten of the last minutes her mom will ever have. The glaring obviousness of the end has become clearer and clearer. But this? Making sure everything is going to be okay with her? The reality sits on Gwendolyn’s chest with the weight of an elephant, forcing her to be okay and to forgive and move on, which, when it comes to her mom, she has. She really has. But now Lila? God. Admitting defeat has never been one of Gwendolyn’s endearing attributes. She covers her mouth, stifling a sob. She looks away, trying to hide her face, her tears, her emotions. “I promise,” she says from behind her hand while she squeezes her eyes shut.

  “Good.” Her mom sighs. “Can you do me one more favor?”

  Gwendolyn nods, sliding her eyes open. “Anything.”

  “Forgive him.” Her mom points with two fingers. “He loves you. And he has always loved me. In his own way, he has. And I love him. So much. He is my best friend.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m literally on my death bed. Asking this from you.” Her smile is striking in that moment, and Gwendolyn cannot fight her small chuckle. “My death bed, Gwennie.”

  “Fine. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Her chuckle is good to hear and once again, reality hits her. That small, beautiful chuckle will be gone.

  “You need to get some rest.”

  “Sit with me.”

  “I will.” She pulls over a chair. “Do you feel like telling me about Grandma?”

  “Oh yes,” she says with a tiny smile and pats the quilt. “This is hers.” Gwendolyn knows, but she acts as if it’s the first time she’s heard. “She was quite the seamstress. And she loved going to church. She used to take you to vacation bible school every single summer.”

  “I remember.” She chuckles. “And I used to collect as many pennies as possible from around the house. I’d go through the couch cushions every day. I wanted so badly for my team to win the offering competition.” She shakes her head. Making kids compete with church offering money. What a fucking racket.

  “She was a true believer in the Lord.” She stares at something across the room. “She loved teaching you to cook. Do you remember?”

  “Yes, of course. She used to have me mix the meatloaf with my hands.” The memory is vivid: standing on a chair at the countertop, smushing ground beef with her tiny hands, and wondering if she’d ever be old enough to not need the chair.

  “She made me so angry because she didn’t like your father.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Gwennie,” she says softly and once again squeezes her hand. “You know she grew up in Texas. Gainesville. And she followed a man here.” She scoffs. “Men.”

  “It’s why I don’t want them.” The comment causes her mom to let out a puff of air that on a good day, would have been a decent laugh, and it makes Gwendolyn feel good. “Didn’t she meet Grandpa at the toll road restaurant?”

  Her mom nods. She reaches and slowly pulls her knit cap from her head. “I believe in Heaven. I do.”

  Gwendolyn smiles. “I do if it means they’re there.”

  “They are.”

  She knows what this conversation means. She’s completely aware. And she doesn’t want it to continue because it’ll mean more tears, and she’s all cried out. She cries at the drop of a hat these days.

  “I used to sneak out of my bed at night and come sleep with you.”

  Gwendolyn’s throat tightens. “I remember.”

  “You loved me more than anything then.”

  “I do now, Mom.”

  “You were a human heating blanket.”

  She chuckles. “I still am.”

  Gwendolyn doesn’t respond as her mom’s eyes close. She stands, kisses her forehead, then the side of her scalp where peach-gray fuzz has slowly started to grow back. Her scent is still the same. She smells like home. Like years of laughter and love. Like being an only child who was everything until she wasn’t. Like avoidance and sadness. Like forgiveness. Like finally coming home.

  She stays awake until deep into the night, memories that once haunted her wrapping their arms around her to provide as much comfort as possible in a moment she never thought would exist.

  Skinned knees and bicycle accidents and playing ditch until the streetlights came on.

  Volleyball bruises and sprained ankles and as many victories as losses.

  Watermelons and summer and swimming.

  Cinnamon rolls and winter and Christmas.

  Realizations and coming out.

  Cancer and chemo and Lila.

  Lila, dazzling, amazing Lila with her heart of gold and her resilience. Her deep brown eyes and sparkling smile. Her ability to break down everything about Gwendolyn.

  The minutes pass, one by one. Her mom’s chest continues to move. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  Not until her father stirs does she retire to her room, where she crawls into bed without washing her face, brushing her teeth, and completely clothed.

  * * *

  Gwendolyn is downstairs drinking coffee at the breakfast nook before the sun is fully in the sky. She feels compelled to not miss a single moment with her mom. When she rounds the corner into the hospital room, her mom is sitting upright, smiling and talking to Dr. Wynn. She feels bad for missing the first minutes of this appointment, but Dr. Wynn is early.

  “Gwendolyn, good morning,” Dr. Wynn says with a smi
le.

  “Hello there.” She crosses the room . “You look good today.” She leans down and kisses her mom on the cheek. “Did you sleep?”

  “I did. Thank you for staying with me. Both of you.” She smiles as her gaze moves. Gwendolyn’s father is standing there, hands in his pockets, a look of hope on his face. She offers the smallest smile she can muster, her mom’s words echoing in her mind. Forgive him.

  “Her vitals are good today. Heart rate is good, oxygen level exactly where it needs to be. She’s still producing urine, too, which is good.”

  “Nice job, Mom,” Gwendolyn says as they high five. She laughs, too, which is lovely to hear.

  “Well, I’m going to head out.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.” Gwendolyn squeezes her mom’s hand before she turns and follows Dr. Wynn. “This is good, right?”

  Dr. Wynn turns, her hand on the screen door. “Not necessarily.”

  “Oh.”

  “The calm before the storm.” She turns fully, places a hand on Gwendolyn’s arm. “This is normal. It’s good because you need to eat this up. Every second of it. Tomorrow may be quite different. In fact, you should expect it.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry, Gwen. I really am.” Dr. Wynn has her hair pulled completely back for the first time, and her sadness is easier to see without the dark veil surrounding her. “I have home hospice coming this afternoon.”

  “Oh.”

  “Gwen?” Dr. Wynn squeezes her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nods. “I’m good.”

  “No, you aren’t. And that’s okay. You know that, right?”

  “Dr. Wynn, I’ve been preparing.”

  “Nothing really prepares you, honey.” She moves her hand. Her next movements must be absentminded because she goes to push her hair behind her ears, but it’s all pulled into a ponytail. “Have you read the pamphlet I gave you?”