Chapter 9
I didn't even try to argue with Spencer, we both knew that it was pointless. So now, we are on a plane to Massachusetts.
"The five year relative survival rate for your mom's cancer, if it's localized, is 95%." Spencer said, right as the pilot was announcing our descent into Massachusetts.
"I know," I said, pulling on my fingers to try and calm down. "69% if it's regional, so if it's spread to the stomach and kidneys. And 17% percent if it's spread anywhere else in her body."
"Hey," he said, grabbing my hand and rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. "What did we talk about before we got on the plane?"
"Not worrying until there's concrete evidence of something to worry about." I repeated.
"Exactly," he said. "So until there's something to worry about, your mom has a 95% survival rate."
"95." I repeated.
......
I told my mom I was coming, and she sent Patricia to the airport to pick me up. However, I didn't tell her I was bringing a guest and I still didn't mention getting shot.
We walked towards the lobby of the airport, Spencer carrying both of our bags. I noticed Patricia standing near the coffee shop, holding a sign that said 'Eliza Sheppard.' I rolled my eyes and hobbled towards her, a confused Spencer following after.
"It's my mom's nickname for me." I explained, "my middle name is Elizabeth."
"Right." He said.
"Natasha! What on Earth happened to your leg?" Patricia asked, pulling me into a hug. "And who is this?"
"This is Dr. Spencer Reid, a friend from work." I said, and her face curled up in a smirk. She didn't believe "and this was just a hazard of the job."
"Here, let me take those." She said, trying to take the bags from Spencer.
"I've got them ma'am, thank you though." He said, smiling that awkward smile of his.
"Right, well let's get going then," Patricia said, clapping her hands together. "Michelle is so excited to see you, and I'm sure she's going to love meeting your...friend."
"How's she doing?" I asked, as we walked outside to catch a shuttle to the car.
"Good, all things considered." She smiled weakly, "how were you able to get time off? I mean, the FBI, that seems like a pretty strict job."
"If we get a case, we can work on it remotely," I said. "It helps having a very understanding unit chief."
....
"Are we not going to the house?" I asked, watching Patricia drive past the turn to get to the house.
"Michelle didn't want to tell you this over the phone, but they moved her surgery up to tonight. 7pm, she's getting prepped right now."
"Why'd they move it up? Were they concerned it might be something serious?" I asked, already starting to worry. Usually I can keep a cool head, but this is my mom, I can't lose her.
"No, nothing like that." She said, calmly. "Your father was college roommates with Michelle's oncologist and he pulled some strings to get her into surgery sooner."
"When did they start talking again?" I asked. Mom and dad weren't exactly on the greatest terms after their divorce, and now I know why.
"A few months ago. You should go see him while you're here. He talks about you a lot." She said.
