The Neverland Project ✎

━━ six

When I arrived home, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table. Her laptop was open in front of her, the screen reflecting on her glasses as she squinted at it. She didn't look up as I walked past her into the kitchen, depositing my water bottle and plastic lunch containers on the counter next to the sink. I reached up and open the cupboard, my fingers wrapping around the smooth metal handle as I pulled it open, removing a glass before closing it again. When I opened the fridge, it hit me with a blast of cold air. I grabbed the Brita from inside, pouring myself a tall glass of water before shoving it back inside and closing the door. 

My mother still hadn't torn her eyes from the computer screen. 

I opened the fridge again, taking out an apple and placing it on the granite counter before closing the refrigerator door. In the cupboard next to the fridge, there was a stack of small, freshly washed plates. Martina must have done the dishes when she was here today. I grabbed one off the top of the stack, placing it on the counter and gathering a paring knife and a cutting board. 

I cut the apple into slices, sliding the knife through the fruit, avoiding my fingers. Sweet juice ran out of the apple and my fingertips were soon sticky and smelling like apple. I placed the plate of sliced apple next to my mother on the table, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was looking at on the computer. 

I grabbed my glass of water off the counter, not bothering to wipe up the ring of moisture it had left on the granite and sat down across from my mom. 

Finally, she looked up at me. Her eyes were brown masses of caramel, connecting to her irises with strings of gold and they looked at me with so much sadness and love that I could only hold her gaze for a moment before I looked down at the water sitting still in my glass. 

I couldn't look at my mother or the mess that she was becoming. Instead, I looked all around us. The kitchen was sparkling clean with the exception of the dishes that I had put next to the sink. From where I was sitting I could see the ring of water left by my glass and a few crumbs sitting on the countertop. The kitchen table was covered in dents from when we'd play board games as a family and the dice had bounced off the board. My mom was sitting with her back to the sliding door that led to the backyard where the grass had grown up until my knees. In front of her was her old MacBook which was making a whirring noise that drowned out the silence in the room. Even from where I sat across from her I could feel the heat radiating from the old thing. it was sitting on a pile of medical pamphlets and papers, cut-out magazine articles and advertisements all offering the same thing- some miracle cure to cancer. 

"Mom," I said, reaching out and placing my hand on top of hers. "Mom what are you doing?" 

She looked up at me, eyes welling with tears. She removed her tortoiseshell glasses and wiped the edges of her eyes with her fingers. I already knew what she was going to say. This wasn't the first time I'd come home to her sitting here, scouring the internet for these miracle pills or treatments. One time she'd come across this clinic in Iceland where they would bathe you in the hot springs then cover you in mud and salt to remove all the cancerous cells from your body. I'd come home from being out with friends just in time to stop her from booking a flight. 

She had never been one to fall for these scams before Aurelia became sick. She was a firm believer in medicine and in science and would trust health care professionals. After my sister became sick something in my mother changed. She would still listen to what the doctors would say but she'd seek out her own answers on the side. Talking to physics and healers online, falling down deep, dark internet rabbit holes and scouring suspicious websites looking for a magical answer that would stop my sister's cells from betraying her.  

I looked up at her, her caramel eyes that were tired with desperation. The hope and determination that used to fill her were wavering, the hope that used to lift both of our souls up out of the clutches of defeat was wavering. My mother was still holding her head above the water but I think I'd begun to sink a long time ago.