When Lily Langston goes to a game with her best friend. The last thing she ever thought to happen was being hit in the face with a ball.
But what left her even more shocked was when the guest pitcher himself, the known ruthless billionaire Hayes Gr...
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The surreal stomach ache that was building in my stomach churned as I pulled in front of the house. I hadn't informed Mom I was coming.
So when her face poked through the window, I saw it. I watched as it turned to horror: She'd stopped updating me on Dad. She was now ignoring my texts and calls, and when I called Warren, he'd been iced out as well.
James said she'd spoken to Mom. She said he was doing well. But growing up, she always lied to James about the hard things. Mostly to protect her from reality when Alden died during her freshman year in college. She didn't even tell him we were putting him down. She found out after he died.
Mom was never good at this, at goodbyes. But nobody was; nobody would ever be ready to say goodbye to a loved one. No matter how long you've known it was coming. When it's really there, you still aren't prepared yourself. Unexpected or conscious, you'll never be at the point where it's okay. It will never be okay.
So when I slammed the car door shut, and she came out, her expression showed something was wrong. "You aren't answering your calls? Did your phone break?"
She goes for a classic tactic: she bites her fingernails for a slight moment. Then fiddles with any and every piece of her hair.
"No, I just," she pauses, thinking of an excuse. I've thrown her off guard. An unexpected guest in her life has returned. She doesn't know what to say, so she remains silent, and I nod.
I walked past her toward the red front door and pushed it open. "Dad?" I called out. No response was heard, and as I walked forward into the house, I found him.
He's solving a crossword puzzle in a tan paper-stained book that seems like it's been around for a thousand years. The book is slightly crinkled, and his hand shakes as he does it. "Dad?"
He looks up at me, but there is no excitement, no shock that I've visited him, not even a smile. "Dad, how are you?"
I look to see a catheter and the oxygen tank behind him, and then I'm pulled into another room, and Mom's face greets me.
She was tired, even exhausted. My mom was always stern about getting the proper amount of rest at night. Throughout my childhood, she always made sure we slept at a reasonable hour. But here she stood, disgruntled, with eye bags and pale skin.
"I didn't want you to see it," she whispers.
"See what?"
"I didn't want you to know; I didn't want you to see your father like this, Lily." I peer back into the other room. He's continued his crossword and I'm left confused.
"He seems fine, just distant." Her eyes look down at the cracked floor below us. But when they glance back up at me, she's a blubbered mess.
"Mom?"
"Honey, your Dad's memory isn't very intact right now. The Doctor said it could come back, but it's metastasized." Her face begins to blubber up in a mess as she speaks, her voice shaken. Holding together whatever strength she has left in her. It leaves me feeling guilty.
