Page 68 of That's Not a Thing

“It was chemo,” he answers flatly. “And itwasa mistake, because it was her second round. We discovered the allergy last time we were here, before this place caused her any major trauma.” He shoots a pointed look at the nurse, and the lawyer in me is already thinking about liability and the lawsuit that is waiting to happen—negligent mistakes that were made.

“Chemo?” Aaron repeats.

“Mom has lymphoma,” Mitch says gently.

“She ... lymphoma? Since when? What are you even talking about?” Aaron’s neck is getting red, the way it does when he’s angry, and I wish I could do something to ease this blow. I move a little closer to him, surrendering to my instincts, and slip my hand through his. He allows it, but I’m not sure he even realizes I’ve done it.

“She didn’t want to tell you,” his father explains. “She had her reasons. We argued with her, but it was her decision.”

“Who’s we? You told Cole and not me?” he spits back.

“No, Meredith and I.”

“You knew?” His eyes dart to mine, accusation written across his features.

“Only since we broke up.”

He yanks his hand from my grasp and backs away a step. He looks from me to his father and back again.

“Why are you even here?” he demands, his eyes harsh.

I open my mouth to answer and then close it again.

“Meredith has been amazing.” Mitch steps in for me and puts a warm hand on my shoulder. “Whatever your story is as a couple, you should be appreciative of the care and compassion she has shown your mother.” He looks back at the nurse, who has been following the whole conversation. “Now, when are we going to get an update?” he asks.

The nurse taps a few times on the screen of a tablet computer and then lifts a manila folder from her desk. “I’ll go check,” she says, her voice neutral, accommodating, and she turns to walk down the hall.

The three of us watch her go until she turns a corner and disappears from view. Then Aaron turns back toward me, and when I see the emotion settling into his features, I recognize the precise sense of uselessness that Gladys was trying to prevent when she made the decision to keep her cancer a secret. He glances from the waiting room to the nurses’ desk and then down the hallway.

“I guess we should go sit?” I ask cautiously, seeing the tension in the way both Aaron and his father are regarding their surroundings.

Mitch puts an arm around Aaron’s broad shoulders, as if he’s trying to corral him. I wish for a second that Mitch were taller than Aaron instead of two inches shorter—that for once, Aaron could feel contained and protected by someone else.

“Yes, c’mon,” Mitch says, as he leads us back toward the orange plastic chairs.

I sit first, and Mitch takes the seat opposite me. Aaron sits down beside him. There is an older couple sitting together at the end of our row and only a smattering of other adults biding their time in the mostly empty waiting area. We’re silent for a minute, and then Aaron looks at me.

“You don’t need to stay,” he says, but not unkindly.

“Stop it,” I command, with more assurance than I feel. “I’m staying.”

Mitch puts a hand on Aaron’s knee, and I can see his fingers squeezing a little. “Well,” Mitch says, “we appreciate having you here. And I know Gladys does, too.”

After a few more minutes of staring silently at the walls, at our fingers, our shoes, the blond nurse reappears and Aaron shoots to his feet.

“She’s stable,” the pretty young woman starts, and I see Aaron’s entire posture change, relief rising off him like steam. “The doctors are still with her, but you’ll be able to go in and see her soon.”

The nurse is unable to tell us more than that, so we wait longer. Finally, Mitch and Aaron are given permission to see Gladys. I stay in the waiting room, knowing I don’t belong with them during this ameliorative moment meant for family. My thoughts begin to spiral about how I was almost a part of that family, about all that I’ve lost, but I shove at them, pushing them away so I don’t start weeping in the waiting room.

While I wait, I make a few calls to check on Wesley. He is still in surgery. No news yet. I lay my head back against the wall behind me and wonder how I ended up in the middle of this shit storm of catastrophes.

The next thing I know, I’m being awoken by repetitive nudging of my shoulder. I open my eyes to see Aaron standing over me. My eyes are sticky, like I’ve been asleep for at least an hour, maybe longer. I don’t know how I fell asleep when I was so amped from the panic I felt for Gladys earlier, and for Aaron.

Aaron has a look on his face that I can’t decipher.

“Is she okay?” I ask through my groggy disorientation, the panic coming back.

He nods, his dark eyes opaque. “For now. They’re going to keep her overnight, but ...” He looks toward the windows and I notice that the lighting has changed outside, that it appears to be late afternoon, nearly evening. “I think you should go see how Wesley is doing.”