Page 31 of Eleanor & Grey
“That’s so sweet, honey.”
“It was sweet, in a really dorky way.” I walked toward the fresh fruit, moving on my tiptoes as I thought about Greyson. Every now and then I’d start humming. “We’re supposed to go out for Mexican food next week, and I’m really excited about it.” My hands moved across the oranges.
Did Greyson like oranges?
I’d have to ask him. I wanted to know everything about Greyson East. The good, the bad, and his opinions on fruit.
“Oh, and I forgot to tell you—”
Crash.
I whipped around quickly at the loud sound, which snapped me from my current dreamy state.
“Mom!” I hollered, rushing over to her side. She was lying on the floor, and her eyes were crossing before they shut. I shook her body, but she wasn’t responding. “Mom, Mom! Someone help!” I shouted.
She completely blacked out, and my heart shattered into a million pieces.
An ambulance was called to the scene, and I cried harder than I’d ever cried as I sat beside her and tried to wake her up.
When she came to, she was dazed and confused. She tried to speak, but she was too shaky. I just stared at her, wide-eyed and terrified. I watched as my tears splashed her cheekbones, so prominent under her thin skin. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop sobbing. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t let go of the hopelessness I felt.
We were rushed to the hospital, and Dad met us there.
He forced me to sit in the waiting room as he searched for answers.
I sat, I waited, and I cried.
I sat, I waited, and I cried some more.
Mom was released a few hours later, and the whole ride home was completely still.
That was the day when it became real for me. That was the first time since finding out about her cancer that I was really afraid. For a while, I was naive enough to think that she was getting better rather than worse, then a wake-up call hit me in the fresh produce aisle.
* * *
The next morning, Mom walked into my room and gave me a small grin. She wore a Janet Jackson T-shirt with overalls, and her hair was wrapped in a bandanna. For the most part, she looked like her regular self. You could hardly tell anything was wrong just by looking at her. From the looks of it, she didn’t seem like a woman who had just blacked out the day before. I thought that was the hardest part to wrap my mind around: How could she look OK but not be?
“Hey, beautiful,” she said.
“Hey, Mom.”
“So... yesterday was tough.”
“You should be in bed,” I told her. “You need rest.” I sat up a bit. “Sorry about that. I—”
She shook her head. “It’s fine, really. I just want to make sure you’re OK. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“You shouldn’t be worried about me.”
“I’m a mother, sweetheart. Worrying about my child is all I ever do.”
I lowered my head. “I’m scared, Mom.”
“I know.” She moved into the room and sat on the edge of the bed beside me. She wrapped an arm around me, and I rested my head against her shoulder.
“I just need you to be OK, all right? Can you do that?”
She combed her fingers through my hair but didn’t reply.
