I knew it wasn’t a viable solution, but anything I thought my mom might forget, I tried to pre-empt it. I wanted to clear it all, present her with a hurdle free walkway for as long as possible so neither
of us had to confront her condition.
But there was so much I couldn’t control; so many little fires I couldn’t put out.
I couldn’t predict she’d forget where we kept the Tylenol. I couldn’t stop her from putting her phone away in some random place and flipping out, turning the house upside down in her quest to find it. I couldn’t keep words she’d used her whole life from falling out of her head, leaving her unable to finish a sentence and looking so fucking lost and helpless.
I couldn’t stop it. Any of it. We’d been plunged into a war armed with no weapons. This wasn’t something we could fight. There was no hope. All we could do was sit back and watch her mind deteriorate further.
My heart rate escalated—the sound a bruising thump against the inside of my skull—and a familiar void opened up inside my chest.
Placing the mug down on the counter, I planted my palms beside it and took a deep breath in. This was why I didn’t think about it, why I focused on today, not tomorrow.
I’d think about tomorrow when it became impossible to avoid. Tomorrow was still too hard.
Was my coping mechanism healthy? I had no fucking clue, but the pain in my chest eased and my head calmed.
Bree turned to Bella. “Go finish packing, Bells. We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon, right after the bake sale, ‘kay?”
Bella grumbled, but slunk from the stool and stomped out through the doorway.
“You okay?” Bree asked beside me, voice quiet.
“Fine.”
Her eyes pinged between mine for a beat, narrowing, but I’d already hidden whatever she was looking for. She blinked with a slight dip of her head, her eyes darting over my shoulder to the counter. “Did you forget to put something in them?”
Reminded about the crappy cupcakes, I shot her a glare and snatched up the tray. Opening the trash can, I dumped the cat puke cakes in, then stormed past her to the fridge.
Bree pressed her lips tight together to suppress her chuckle, then ducked out into the hall.
Eggs in hand, I dragged my feet across the tiled floor toward the stand mixer and read that goddamn recipe like it was next week’s winning lottery numbers. Of all the things I couldn’t control, this wouldn’t be one of them. I would fucking do this. These cakes would not get the better of me.
Wearing a pound of flour with egg slime sticking clumps of my hair together, I slid three trays of fresh batter into the oven and sent up a silent prayer to the baking gods just as the doorbell rang. I glanced up and threw the oven mitt down on the counter before striding for the front door. Reaching for the knob, I scowled down at myself and brushed my hand over the white powder dusting my black tank.
Awesome. The UPS delivery guy was in for a shock.
The doorbell chimed again, and I pushed up onto my toes, peeking through the window. My heart almost catapulted out of my chest at the sight of Leon standing on the other side of the door.
Shit.
Dropping to the soles of my feet, I put my back to the door and ran my hands over my matted hair. I couldn’t keep my pulse from rushing, throat tightening, chest thumping—an exact imitation of the way I’d reacted to him the night of the bonfire. I’d assumed that was just a response to seeing him again after the way I left things on New Year’s. But apparently, this was just the way I reacted to the guy now. Which was just fucking awesome.
I couldn’t wait to hyperventilate every time I ran into him.
I exhaled through pursed lips and straightened my spine. My body might be spiralling out of control, but no one—fucking no one—did unaffected quite like me.
I turned and pulled the door back.
Leon’s head lifted as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his navy sweatpants.
“Hey,” he murmured, bringing his gaze to mine.
I swallowed, avoiding his eyes. “Bradshaw.”
He cleared his throat, drawing my attention, and the serious look in his eyes sent a tiny sliver of unease through me. “Can I talk to you about something?”
My lungs squeezed, fingers doing the same around the knob. He’d come to call me out, to have the long-delayed morning after conversation. I wasn’t fucking ready for it, but my voice came out steady when I asked, “What?”