This chapter is short but I have my reasons! Seriously, it's barely over a thousand words. 

You'll understand at the end.

Unedited so I can't guarantee there will be no mistakes.

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Finally, the day comes. A part of me is glad that after today the whole stupid issue will be over, but another part of me doesn’t want it to happen at all. I know for sure that mum will lose it. Since the phone call she hasn’t let go of any of her anger—if anything it’s like she’s storing it until the meeting.

After the past few days, I’ve decided that I rather her sad than angry. At least then she’s not silent spewing, ready to snap at any moment.

“Your dad’s picking up Rick soon,” mum says, walking into the lounge room, gripping the phone in her hand too tightly. I don’t know if she realises how close she is to breaking it to pieces.

“Okay,” I say, moving my machine to the side so I can lay down. Using the arm of the lounge as a headrest, I can’t help but stare outside the window, wishing I’m not on house arrest.  I haven’t brought it up in the last few days so I don’t even know if they realise they’ve been keeping me inside.

“Can you breathe fine?” mum asks, moving my feet out of the way and placing them over her lap. Her smile is tight and I know it’s forced.

I roll my eyes, pointing at the breathing machine right next to my head. Then I point to the plugs in my noise. “What do you think?”

“Attitude, missy.”

“Sorry,” I say, meaning it. She doesn’t need to deal with me; we’ve been cooped up in the same house for days together and I know it’s getting to me. Feeling trapped is a feeling I avoid at all costs. That’s what cancer is—a contract you don’t sign condemning you to eventual death. It’s a death trap—literally.

She sighs, rubbing one of my feet. I try to take it out of her grip but she doesn’t let go.

“Mum. Stop. That’s gross.”

Staring at me like I’m the crazy one—when I’m clearly not because she’s the one touching feet—, she tells me, “I’m not hurting you. They’re just feet.”

“Exactly. They’re feet. They might as well have a sign saying ‘Don’t touch me, I’m disgusting’ on them.”

The genuine smile that cracks on her lips distracts me from the grip she has on my foot. I don’t care anymore anyway. I’d been trying to get her smiling for days and now that she is she can do what she wants. “You’re like you’re father. He acts like they’re the plague.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at her. “Great minds think alike then.”

She laughs and my heart warms. I start laughing too.

Soon we’re both laughing hysterically for no reason at all. The plugs in my nose fall out but I don’t even notice. I don’t care.

Somehow I end up with my head on her shoulder and her arm wrapped around me. As we both gasp for breath—I’m worse than her—, neither of us move.

“I love your laugh,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “No you don’t. Trust me. Be glad you got your father’s laugh. Mines awful.” The smile on her face contradicts her words.

I kiss her on the cheek. “I don’t care. I like it when you’re happy.”

“I’m supposed to say these things to you, you realise?”

“We’re not exactly a conventional family, last time I checked.”

She laughs, a genuine sound of happiness. I’d give anything to keep her this happy. Her mood will drop soon and she’ll be back to be being angry. “No we’re not.”

“I love you.”

She strokes my hair, kissing my forehead. “Love you too. I miss these moments, you know? I never get to just sit and talk to you. And your brother’s too old to sit and hug me.”

What she doesn’t mention is the reason why these moments are far and few between. We both know it: the cancer that robbed me of my childhood. And the cancer that robbed her happiness.

I don’t say any of that. “I miss them too. You’re always so sad.” I know that we can have this conversation and I won’t run the risk of her bursting into tears. For whatever reason, she’s happy and it’s staying that way. Nothing can ruin her mood.

At least not yet . . .

I don’t dwell on the thought.

“Can you blame me? You’re sick and it’s not going away.”

She misses out one word: death. In any form of the word she avoids it. I respect it because I love her and she’s my mother. “I know. But we’re both okay.”

Pulling me closer, she strokes my hair. “I swear it’s like you’re the mother half the time.”

“I guess,” I say, because I can’t deny it. I’m the one taking care of Rick when she can’t. Still, I don’t feel any resentment towards her. I can’t find it in me to resent her. She’s done everything right, as best as she can. The first person to question her parenting will deal with me. “That’s not your fault though.”

She hums noncommittally. “I love you. You’re a thirty year old in a sixteen year olds body.”

I glare at her, but I can’t keep the smile off my face. “Are you calling me old?”

She raises an eyebrow. “So what if I am?”

“You’re older than me,” I say, nudging her with my shoulder.

“You have to play that card don’t you?”

“It’s the truth. Sue me.” I roll my eyes, storing this moment in mind forever. “I love you.”

“Fourth time in ten minutes. That has to be a record.” She pauses, staring at me as if she’s searching for something. “I’m a bad mother aren’t I?”

This time my glare is serious. “No you’re not. Never say that. You’ve been amazing when everyone else would have given up.”

She clearly doesn’t believe me, I can see it on her face. Anyone else would miss the guilt but I can see it clear as day.

I kiss her on the cheek again and get as close as I can to her. “Moments like this are why you’re the best mother in the world. You still smile even through the heartache. That takes courage. That makes you brave.”

She rolls her eyes, staring at me like I hold the world in my hands. “That’s you, sweetheart. Not me.”

I wait until her attention is solely on me before I speak. “No. That’s you. I’ll convince you. Just ask Rick. He adores you even if he doesn’t want to tell anyone.”

She laughs, a tear in her eyes. “You’re too amazing for words.”

“I know,” I say, winking.

It gets the reaction I want—she smiles at me and it reaches her eyes. “At least you know. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

A horn blares outside and we both recognise the sound. It’s Rick in dad’s car, honking the horning. Even after five years, he hadn’t broken the habit.  

I sigh. “Guess the meetings now.”

Mum says nothing.

My heart drops when I look over. She’s no longer smiling. It’s completely dropped off her face, replaced with an empty look.

She stands. “Let’s go,” she says, voice empty of emotion. 

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Now you get why I broke it up. The next few chapters are going to be WAY WAY too emotional and impossible to write so I had to break it up with a happy(ish) chapter. Hope you understand!

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~ Littlemissflawed