Fake Marriage Box Set

She did her best raising me, despite working in her own field that demanded long nights and extra days, hiring in-home babysitters when it was necessary and firing them when they either spoiled me too much or not enough. She always said finding the right caretaker was impossible, and to never settle for anything less than what you would do. It had been just as hard hiring a live-in nurse for mom. Karen was the 23rd applicant, and I had begged mom to consider her for just a moment. She had wanted to live alone in her newly built house, and I had considered it at first. Her prognosis had been decent, an 80 percent chance of success with the right dosage and treatments. But then one night I had found her on the floor in her bathroom choking on her own vomit, and we had hired Karen the following day.

The moment I welcomed Karen into the house, mom promised me that there was nothing to be worried about. And since she had been right about everything else, I believed her.

The door opened, and the children’s father returned with the nurse. My breathing paused as I watched him hug his wife, clinging to her as if it was the first time he’d touched her in years. The entire family began to cry, but whether from good or bad news it was yet to be seen. And then the father took his turn kissing each child and pressed a long kiss on his mother’s forehead. She held his hands and raised her eyebrows, and he nodded with such a smile that even my mother was struggling to fight back her tears.

“Remission,” he said, and his family broke down crying. Mom slipped her hand into mine and looked at me.

“See?” she said, “I told you everything was going to be fine.”

“I never doubted you,” I said. The nurse spoke briefly to the man’s family, about what this meant and how it would affect their life. I heard snippets of their conversation, aware that eavesdropping during such an intimate moment was rude.

“He’ll still check in once every six months,” the nurse said. “But we’re extremely optimistic that it won’t return.”

Another nurse entered the waiting room and gestured at mom.

“Ms. Hayward?” she asked, and mom nodded. “Dr. Lemonis is ready for you.”

I stood with mom, not giving her the slightest opportunity to tell me to wait, and followed her toward the door. Someone grabbed my hand on the way out, and I turned to find the young girl staring at me with wide, blue eyes.

“Good luck,” she said. “We got good news; you will, too.”

Mom held back tears as she thanked the girl, and I shared a brief glance with the man’s mother, still speaking with the nurse. She nodded toward me, a brief acknowledgment, and I mouthed a thanks to her and thanked the daughter aloud.

I followed mom into Dr. Lemonis’ office with the words of encouragement still ringing through my head.

Dr. Lemonis had a head too big for his body and a chin too small for his face. It seemed he was trying to hide his small chin with a patch of facial hair, a new addition since mom’s last appointment. It didn’t look bad, but it didn’t look natural either.

He greeted us as we entered his small office. Everything was still white on white, with white chairs in front of a white desk. I helped mom take a seat and stood behind her. Sitting in his office was a foreign concept to me.

“Mona,” he said, looking through a thick file on his desk. “How have you been?”

“The same, Dr. Lemonis.” Mom pulled out a thin blue napkin from the depths of her purse and coughed into it.

“How’s your appetite?” he asked. “I have it marked here that a month ago you were struggling with breakfast, but were famished by dinner.”

“She’s not eating either time,” I said. “We’re trying to supplement her diet with protein powders, but all she can keep down are pudding cups.”

Dr. Lemonis glanced at me. He had made it very clear in our first few meetings that he wanted Mona to answer for herself, but she hated talking about her failures. I didn’t like going against his wishes; he was the best doctor in the state that money could buy and had the most experience dealing with breast cancer. He was the expert, not either of us, but I’d like to watch him try and guilt mom into doing anything she didn’t want to do. I paid the asshole; I could fire him in a heartbeat and fly in the next best doctor available.

“And what about your energy levels? Are they the same?” he asked.

Mom answered for herself this time. “Some days are better, others not so much. Last Saturday, do you remember how beautiful it was last Saturday? The sky was clear without a single gray cloud, and the grass seemed greener than it had been in months. Last Saturday, Karen helped me take a walk around the garden.”

I tried to remember where I was the previous Saturday. I had decided on my sobriety weekends and had taken the boat out for a few hours in the afternoon. Had I known mom was enjoying her afternoon in the garden behind her house, I would have joined her. I never admitted it aloud, but I appreciated the lush garden that I added last minute in the layout of the construction.

“And how long were you able to walk in the garden?” Dr. Lemonis asked.

“I think I was out there for an hour,” she answered. “I was covered in a shawl because of the breeze, but I remember watching the birds fly from feeder to feeder.”

“I would have joined you,” I said from behind. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was hoping you were on a lunch date with a woman,” she said. “Don’t squash my hopes.”

“There’s no woman,” I muttered. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Until my last breath, and even then, I probably won’t believe you.” She smiled at me as Dr. Lemonis watched our exchange with narrowed eyes.

“Mona,” he said and looked at her. “We took some samples last month, do you remember?”