38
“Sweetie, you haven’t said a word in ten minutes. You’re making me worried.”
My mom’s voice is gentle, soft with concern, and now she’s sitting behind me, slowly rubbing circles into my back. Her hand is warm, steady. Comforting, even. But my body remains frozen, my thoughts still stuck on what she told me earlier.
“I, uh… I think I feel sick too,” I muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
And it’s true. Not just an excuse. The moment she said it—mentioned Emma, her brother, and that other guy—the floor under me seemed to vanish. My stomach’s been churning ever since. The image of some random guy standing next to Emma, of her brother calling him her boyfriend, plays on a loop in my mind like a broken record I can’t turn off.
I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Really, I don’t. I’m trying to be rational. Trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. But why—why on earth—would her brother say that the guy was her boyfriend?
The ache in my chest tightens.
I want to go over there so badly. Bang on her door. Ask her outright. Demand answers.
But I can’t.
What if I misread everything?
We’re not official. We never gave our “thing” a name. There were no promises, no labels. Just two girls falling into something soft and secret, something that lived in whispers and private behind closed doors. What we are… is what we are.
And yet—there was one thing we did agree on.
She said she wouldn’t date.
Not anyone else.
That had to mean something, didn’t it?
“Mom, j-just take a rest, okay? I’ll, um… I’ll go lie down in my room too,” I said quickly, standing before she could reply.
I walked out of her room without looking back, without waiting for her to answer.
The moment I closed the door behind me, I threw myself onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow. My thoughts were spiraling. I couldn’t shut them off. My heart beat furiously in my chest, a steady drum of confusion, anger, and… fear.
Was that guy parked in her spot her brother—or her boyfriend?
Even just the possibility makes my chest seize up.
I don’t know what to think anymore.
It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under me and I’m still falling. Everything hurts, but somehow I’m also numb. Like my brain can’t keep up with the pain.
Have you ever felt that?
So much pain you start to go blank?
That’s what this is.
Still lying on my stomach, I fumbled for my phone, pulled it out of my pocket, and unlocked it with shaking fingers.
I typed:
Hey, can I come over?
I stared at the message for a second. Then hit send.
Now all I could do was wait. Wait and try not to fall apart in the meantime.
My mind wouldn’t stop racing. I tried to calm myself, tried to imagine what I’d say if she actually replied. I didn’t want to show up angry or emotional. If she said yes, I’d need to be collected, logical. I’d need to listen to what she had to say—if she had anything to say.
But still, the waiting…
God, it’s harder than it looks.
I found myself fidgeting with the phone. Tapping the edge. Refreshing the screen. Over and over.
And then—
Buzz.
My heart jumped.
I opened the message.
Later.
That’s it?
Later?
Not even a “Hey, sorry, I’m a bit busy” or “Give me a bit, okay?”
Just... one word. Cold. Distant.
It made my blood boil.
I hit reply immediately, anger blurring my judgment.
Why? Is your boyfriend still there?
I didn’t want to be sarcastic.
I swear I didn’t.
But that reply—short and vague—it pushed every button I had. And suddenly, I was back in that conversation with Sam, hours earlier.
“I might get hurt but I’m willing to risk it.”
Those were my words. My words.
I said them so confidently, so sure of myself. Brave, even.
And now?
Now I felt like a fool.
Pretending to be brave. Pretending I could handle this. Pretending I wouldn’t care if she broke my heart.
I stared at my phone.
Five minutes passed.
No reply.
Ten.
Still nothing.
“Ugh! Kill me. Kill me now,” I groaned, burying my face in the pillow again.
When I finally sat up, my eyes wandered toward the photo frames on my wall. One caught my attention—an old picture of me at the park. I must have been three. My mom was hugging me from behind, both of us smiling. I remembered that day vividly. The smell of popcorn, the way she carried me when I got tired, the way she kissed my forehead when I scraped my knee.
Mom.
Without thinking, I stood up quickly and walked back to her room. I peeked inside. She was asleep now, breathing softly under the covers. I remembered she had been cooking earlier. Probably hadn’t eaten much.
Quietly, I closed the door and headed to the kitchen. I checked my phone again.
Still no reply.
I took a deep breath and shoved my phone into my hoodie pocket.
Not now.
Emma could wait.
Right now, my mom needed me.
She’d been preparing casserole—judging by the ingredients left on the counter. I picked up where she left off, making sure the dish turned out right. I decided to also prepare some soup, something warm and gentle for her throat.
Then I checked the fridge. There were a few oranges left, along with some fresh strawberries. I washed and sliced them, arranging them on a small plate. The distraction was working. For the first time in hours, I wasn’t obsessing over Emma. I wasn’t checking my phone every thirty seconds.
I was just… being present.
I smiled, remembering how my mom used to care for me whenever I was sick. She never left my side—not even for a minute. She'd stay up all night if I had a fever, holding my hand and brushing my hair back.
A mother’s love… it’s the one thing I’ve always known to be constant. Even if my parents weren’t always home, even if their jobs took them away for days, their love never faded. It was always there, always real.
Once everything was ready, I poured a glass of water and headed to the bottom cabinet. I pulled out a small vase and chose three flowers from the bouquet Dad brought yesterday. He always brought fresh flowers home—said they brought light into the house. I smiled at that.
Arranging them carefully, I placed the vase on the tray beside the food and medicine.
Then, carefully, I walked to the master bedroom.
My mom was still asleep when I entered. I placed the tray on the bedside table, then gently sat beside her and stroked her arm.
“Mom,” I whispered. “Wake up. I made you something.”
Her eyes fluttered open, dazed at first, then softening as she saw me.
“Wow, honey… you didn’t have to do all this,” she said, sitting up slowly.
“I know,” I said with a smile. “But I wanted to.”
She looked at me for a moment, eyes misty. I could see how tired she was. She reached out and stroked my cheek.
“Let me feed you,” I said, reaching for the tray.
“What? No— I can feed myself.”
“I know you can,” I said, gently. “Just let me. Please?”
She sighed, then gave me a nod of surrender. “Fine.”
I carefully spooned soup into her bowl and began feeding her in slow, patient intervals. As I did, I told her random stories from school—about Sam, about our group project in English, even the disaster that was cafeteria lunch.
We hadn’t talked like this in a long time. I could see it on her face—how much she missed it. Even sick, she smiled. She laughed. And it made me feel warm in a way I hadn’t felt all day.
“I missed you, Mom,” I said softly once she finished her meal and took her medicine. I leaned into her side, hugging her.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry we haven’t been around as much lately,” she said, her voice tinged with guilt. “Your dad and I… we try, but work’s been—”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said, lifting my head. “I understand. You and Dad need to work. I’m fine.”
She smiled at me and hugged me tighter.
“Well, just remember something, alright?” she whispered.
“What is it?”
“No matter what you’re going through… whatever it is—you can always talk to me. I’m here, Jennifer. I’ll always be here.”
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.
Those words.
They were everything I didn’t realize I needed to hear. And they made it ten times harder not to cry.
I didn’t reply. I just rested my head on her shoulder again.
She must’ve noticed the way my breathing changed, or the way I sniffled quietly, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t press.
She just held me.
And we stayed like that, tangled in silence and soft comfort, until sleep claimed us both.
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