Part 27 (1/2)

Mark walked in after about ten minutes and sat down across from me, putting his coffee cup on the ground and taking her other hand.

”This isn't your fault,” he said after a few silent minutes.

”That's what everyone keeps saying,” I muttered as I shook my head.

”It isn't,” he said more firmly. ”She wouldn't want you to blame yourself. She wouldn't-”

”Stop,” I begged, my voice breaking on the p. ”I've been horrible to her... you've seen it. How can you not hate me?”

He sighed before leaning back in his seat, all the while gazing at my mother. ”I've known you for a lot longer than you've known me.” My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. ”She talks about you all the time,” he said softly. ”You and Derek.”

”What'd she say?” I asked, hope and fear waging a war inside me.

He smiled as he looked over at me. ”She says you're going to be a brilliant lawyer someday. She told me she should have known, what with how you argued with everyone when you were a kid. You hate wearing socks and are pretty messy unless someone forces you to be clean.” He laughed as he thought of something else. ”You love eating raw vegetables almost as much as you love eating candy.”

I smiled at that and unconsciously squeezed her hand tighter.

”I told her that I hoped those two things weren't done together.”

”No, never.” I mock gasped in horror. ”Did she defend my honor?”

His gaze turned sad as he looked back over at her, bringing his hand up to her head and pus.h.i.+ng hair from her face. ”No. She started laughing when I said that, and I got lost in her laughter. Lost in her. We never finished the conversation.”

My own fleeting joy and nostalgia fell right with his. Clearing my throat, I asked, ”Has she been happy?”

Mark smiled once more. ”I'd like to think so. She's made me happy, and all I wanted to give her in return was that same happiness.”

”And you love her?”

Love shone through his eyes even as he answered, ”More than anything.”

”How does it feel to know she doesn't feel the same?” It was a hard question, but I tried to say it as gently as possible.

Mark's smile fell and his posture stiffened. ”What do you mean?”

”I mean... she loves drugs more than anything,” I said as I waved my hand over her. ”More than me... more than you. How do you stand it?” I asked, begging for an answer, begging to know how he had my mother in his life and had accepted that horribly sad truth.

His expression softened in understanding. ”She doesn't love drugs. She loves the escape. The freedom. And that's the same thing I feel when I'm with her. I'm not condoning what she's done. I hate that we're back here, but I can't walk away...” He trailed off as his eyes filled with tears. He cleared his throat before roughly wiping away the evidence that had yet to fall. ”Maybe I'm an addict too... and I'm just addicted to her, but I can't walk away.”

We both continued to stare at my mother. She was no longer on oxygen, thankfully she was able to breath on her own. But she was still hooked up to an IV containing multiple vitamins, helping her combat the damage of drinking almost an entire bottle of gin. Apparently, she'd woken up a few times in the two days I'd been denying everything, and they were confident she'd be discharged soon. Alara had already mentioned several rehab programs Derek had been looking into.

”I love her,” I admitted softly. ”I know that may be hard to believe.” I shrugged. ”I love her, but I don't know how to live this kind of life.”

Mark nodded. ”You think losing her would be easier if you completely cut her out of your life?”

I looked around at the hospital room we were in but I already knew the answer.

No.

I'd cut my mom out for years and in a matter of weeks we were back here, me clutching her hand, silently begging her not to leave me. All the pain, frustration, sadness, and anger in the world wouldn't stop me from loving her.

”This will always be an issue for her. I won't lie and make it seem like she'll ever be 'better.' People are clean for twenty or thirty years sometimes and they relapse. That's the danger of this disease, you're never safe and it's unpredictable.”

Unpredictable.

I hated that word. And judging by Mark's expression, he knew it. ”But that's just life,” he said slowly, with compa.s.sion. ”And if you can put that aside, and I know it's hard, what I'm asking of you. But if you can do that and accept it for what it is, I think it'll be easier. Not easy, just easier.”

How did you accept something like that? How did I accept seeing my mom like that?

One day.

It came to me swiftly and surely.

This wouldn't happen overnight. And maybe it would never fully settle. Maybe, like most things, I'd have to work at it every day just like she did. Every day I'd have to make the conscious choice to accept and forgive her. And hopefully she could do the same. Because I never should have cut her out of my life in the first place.

My mother loved me, of that I was certain. I may have doubted the degree and over which drug, but I knew I was loved. Some people, Ellie and Damien included, didn't have that from their parents.

And maybe if I'd been more understanding, more sympathetic to her situation and her difficulties, she would have called me instead of drowning in gin. Maybe we wouldn't be in a hospital right now.

All I had were maybes. And despite how much I hated it, how much I'd prefer to control my life... I couldn't. Life was a handful of maybes, hoping they shook out in your favor.

Mark left me a few minutes later with the excuse that he was getting more coffee, but honestly I thought my tears were a bigger factor. My voice had shaken with my goodbye and my shoulders were tense in an effort to contain my sobs. Once the door shut behind him, I let my pain loose once more, crying for what felt like the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours.

Apparently, there would be no end to my tears.

I woke up with a kink in my neck. Swearing, I twisted my body and ma.s.saged the ache until the pain subsided.

”Hi.” My mom's voice cracked and my head whipped toward her.

”Ouch,” I mumbled as I gripped my neck.

”Sorry, sorry.” Her voice broke again as she kept mumbling apologies.

”Stop talking,” I lightly admonished as I reached for a cup of water. I helped tilt her head up as I poured some of it down her throat. She nodded her thanks and laid back again the pillow. ”Better?”

”Yes,” she said, with only a tiny bit of scratch to it this time. ”Much. Thank you.”

I didn't say anything as I gingerly sat back down. Not knowing what to do with my hands, I tucked them under my thighs, effectively trapping them.

”Hey, Mom.” I smiled as her eyes filled with tears. We both sat in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to say or how to act.

”I need to tell you something,” she said softly.

”What is it?” I asked.

She hesitated before nodding to herself. ”It's about your graduation day.”

My heart dropped. ”It's okay, Mom. We don't have to talk about it.” I tried to give her a smile, to let her know it was okay and that I was starting to accept the past.