Beautiful Lives

Chapter 18

I. Am. So. Close.

No seriously, I only have a couple more chapters left to write (I've been writing out of order a lot) but then I will have a ton of stuff to update, and in the meantime thank you all so much for bearing with me. I hope you all had a lovely holiday season, and are having a great New Year so far. Enjoy!

Kate xoxo

Chapter 18 – Stand by You (Rachel Platten)

The next few hours could have played out in two different ways – either my mother was calm and accepting of the fact that my father had waltzed back into our lives, or she would lose her mind, and send him packing faster than the first time. I waited for her perched on the end of my bed, my hands trembling, and my breath rattling as my dad tapped his foot nervously from the chair beside the door. I had texted Ryder and asked him to break the news to our mom, but I hadn't heard anything back from him, so I had no idea what to expect.

"So, how's your mother?" my dad asked, awkwardly, as we waited in the hospital room. I twisted my phone anxiously in my hands, my gaze shifting all around the room.

"She's good," I shrugged. "She likes her new job a lot,"

"That's nice," the tension had returned to the room, and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made the right choice asking him to stick around. But, it was too late to question my decisions, because just as I was about to ask him to leave, the door flew open, and my mom walked in, my brother hovering nervously behind her.

"How are you feeling baby?" she asked me. Almost as an afterthought, she turned to my dad, and nodded curtly. "Hi Tom," she said, her voice thin. "How are you?"

"I'm well, Melissa," he stood up, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth awkwardly. "Has Ryder told you about our situation?"

"He has," she said, stiffly. "We really appreciate you doing this for us,"

"Of course," he said. "Anything I can do to help,"

"Well, I think we've got everything else covered," she said, her voice cold. "But thank you, again,"

I knew she didn't want his help. She hadn't wanted it when I was a kid either – she'd somehow thought that this whole illness was up to her to fix, and that was part of what drove the starting wedge through their relationship. Everything fell on her shoulders, and she refused to share the burden. At first, I'd watched her isolate herself from him, and for a while, I almost convinced myself that the divorce was her fault, for being too stubborn to simply admit that she couldn't do it all on her own. But, as after he had left, I'd realized the truth about him – maybe she didn't ask for help, but he'd never offered either.

Until today.

She sat down in the chair beside my bed, dropping her purse onto the floor so she could smooth out my hair, which was going every which way since I hadn't brushed it for days.

"You're doing okay?" she asked. "Dr. Nightingale said we can take you home in a few days,"

"That's good," I said, nodding. "I'm ready to get out of here,"

"You'll have a few weeks of radiation for prep, and then we'll schedule the transplant," she explained, even though it had already been discussed for hours before she'd gotten back. "And if it goes well, maybe we can even talk about you going back to school,"

"Wait, you mean I can't go back before then?" I asked. She frowned.

"I thought we'd already talked about this," she said. "It's too risky,"