Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I shake my head, so stunned by this new side of my father that I’m still spinning my wheels on a reply when his cell buzzes in the front pocket of his ancient button-down, the same one he’s worn to church for probably longer than I’ve been alive.
My parents tried forever to get pregnant with me before finally lucking out when they were both nearly forty. They’ve always been about a decade older than my friends’ parents, but I didn’t notice it much until I got off the train last summer and caught sight of the two graying figures waiting for me in the shade by the ticket booth. Mom and Dad suddenly looked so much older, more like grandparents than parents.
And now my mother’s had a heart attack and my dad wants me to listen to my heart and the entire world feels like it’s upside down.
Dad exhales, his shoulders relaxing away from his ears. “It’s your mom. She said she’s fine and sorry to have worried us.” He glances my way, a teary smile on his face. “And that she loves you and is sorry you fought.”
This time, I manage to hold off the waterworks, but my voice isn’t much more than a croak as I say, “Me, too. Tell her I love her and I’m sorry, too.”
“You should tell her yourself,” he says, rising to his feet. “They’re moving her up to her room. We can join her there in a few minutes.”
I stand, torn in what feels like ten different directions. A part of me is screaming that I have to find Sam and banish that horrible, tortured expression from his face, but Dad’s right. Before I can help other people with their feelings, I need to figure out what I’m feeling first.
So, I follow Dad up to Mom’s room, hug my tiny, but fierce, mother, and promise, “I’ll never use the ‘f’ word in a fight again. I promise.”
Mom smiles. “And I won’t try to live your life for you. It’s suddenly become clear that I have enough on my plate managing my own life.” She casts a glance at me from under her lashes. “The nurse said she told you about the smoking. I’m so embarrassed and ashamed. I should have quit a long time ago.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I know how hard it can be to quit things,” I say, my lips twisting in a wry grin as I perch on the side of her bed. “Like my job. It was really hard to quit. I thought about it for a long, long time before I pulled the trigger. It wasn’t something I took lightly, I promise. In the end, I just…had to leave. That job was toxic.”
She squeezes my hand. “I know. And I trust your judgment. I was just scared for you. I just want to see you safe and settled. Daddy and I aren’t getting any younger and we don’t have much to leave you when we go. I just… I worry.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, overwhelmed by the first emotionally honest conversation I’ve had with my mother in…
Well, maybe ever.
“I can take care of myself,” I promise. “I really can. That doesn’t mean I won’t make mistakes or screw up sometimes, but in the end, I’ll be okay. Because you taught me to be tough and strong and never give up.”
“Until it’s time to give up,” she says, patting my hand one last time before nodding to Dad. “It’s settled, then. When you and Daddy go home tonight, throw out all the cigarettes. Every last secret pack and all my lighters and the spray to get the smell out of my hair. I’ll start on the gum tomorrow and be smoke-free by the end of the summer.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second,” I say, easing off the mattress. “But I need to go take care of something before I meet Dad at home. Is there anything you want me to get for you while I’m out? I can pick up the nicotine gum and peppermints or some other kind of hard candy. A few things to keep you busy when you have the urge to smoke?”
“Yes, and sunflower seeds in the shells,” Mom says, that familiar “On a mission and I refuse to fail” gleam in her eyes. “My friend Sissy said they helped her quit. On hard days, she would make herself shell one hundred tiny seeds before she gave in to the urge. By the time she was done, her fingers were almost always too tired to hold the cigarette. Oh, and hot sauce! The really fiery kind. When she gave in to temptation, she would make herself take a shot of hot sauce. The stomach pain was so bad, she only got through half a bottle before she developed such a horrible ulcer that she gave up smoking for good.”