didn't disagree with her. I knew what she was saying. Maybe things lined up for reasons we didn't know about. We hadn't planned on meeting in line at Mesa. We hadn't planned on me playing ball at USD. Things happened and sometimes you weren't sure why. We hadn't planned on her going back to State. Maybe the timing of this wasn't a coincidence. Maybe we'd only focused on the negative aspects while we'd ignored the positives.
“Okay,” I said. “So we're having a baby?”
She smiled, tears leaking out of her eyes, then shook her head. “I didn't say that. It was just something I thought about today. And I didn't cancel the appointment on Wednesday. It's still there.”
I took both of her hands and held them in mine. I looked at her for a long time.
“Abby, I love you,” I finally said. “And I'm going to be okay with whatever we decide. I really will be. Because it's me and you.” I paused, my eyes still locked on hers. “But we have to make a decision. Sooner rather than later. Because the longer we wait, the more complicated it's gonna get.” I squeezed her hands, smiled at her, tried to reassure her. “So we have to decide. And then live with it. And we'll be okay. I promise.”
Something flashed through her eyes that I couldn't read, but she went somewhere else for a moment and I wondered what she was thinking. But then she was back, her eyes focusing on me.
“I know,” she said. “I will.” Then she shook her head, irritated with herself. “ We will.”
TWENTY-THREE
ABBY
“You're still here,” I said, surprised to see my dad at the office. “I figured you went home.”
I'd left West's because I still had work to finish at the office. And because I needed to think about what he'd said. He was right. We needed to make a decision. He'd made me think of Annika and how she'd waited so long the first time. I didn't want to be in that same position. We had to decide and live with the fallout, whatever that ended up being.
My dad sighed and leaned back in his chair. He removed his reading glasses and set them on the desk. Both of my parents had started wearing them within the last couple of years and it still freaked me out a little. They were like these visual reminders of their mortality. “Just wanted to finish up a couple more things.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“And I'm sorry I jumped all over you earlier today,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I was upset and taking it out on you. So I'm sorry.”
I sat down in the chair across his desk. “It's okay.”
“Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “We've got enough going on. I don't need to make it worse by chewing out my daughter for something that isn't a big deal.”
“It's okay, Dad.” I hesitated, debating whether or not I should bring it up. “Mom told me,” I finally said. “About the bloodwork.”
He took a deep breath. “Yep.”
“She was doing her thing,” I said. “Acting like it wasn't any big deal yet and that it would be fine.” I paused. “What do you think?”
His eyes were studying the ceiling. “I think I hate cancer.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“And I think this is what we get for being conservative with her treatment,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He sighed again and his eyes drifted from the office ceiling to me. “We had a choice with the first go-round. Treatment, I mean. We chose the least invasive method available.” His mouth tightened into a fine line. “We knew the risk in doing that. Now we're having to deal with it.”
“But the doctors said there was a good chance the treatment would work,” I said.
He shrugged. “Sure. But they were also very clear. There was a chance that it wouldn't work.” He paused. “So, here we are.”
“Mom talked about a mastectomy,” I said. “That she's considering it. That would be a good thing, right?”
“I honestly don't know,” he said, the lines deepening around his eyes. “If the cancer is back and
“Okay,” I said. “So we're having a baby?”
She smiled, tears leaking out of her eyes, then shook her head. “I didn't say that. It was just something I thought about today. And I didn't cancel the appointment on Wednesday. It's still there.”
I took both of her hands and held them in mine. I looked at her for a long time.
“Abby, I love you,” I finally said. “And I'm going to be okay with whatever we decide. I really will be. Because it's me and you.” I paused, my eyes still locked on hers. “But we have to make a decision. Sooner rather than later. Because the longer we wait, the more complicated it's gonna get.” I squeezed her hands, smiled at her, tried to reassure her. “So we have to decide. And then live with it. And we'll be okay. I promise.”
Something flashed through her eyes that I couldn't read, but she went somewhere else for a moment and I wondered what she was thinking. But then she was back, her eyes focusing on me.
“I know,” she said. “I will.” Then she shook her head, irritated with herself. “ We will.”
TWENTY-THREE
ABBY
“You're still here,” I said, surprised to see my dad at the office. “I figured you went home.”
I'd left West's because I still had work to finish at the office. And because I needed to think about what he'd said. He was right. We needed to make a decision. He'd made me think of Annika and how she'd waited so long the first time. I didn't want to be in that same position. We had to decide and live with the fallout, whatever that ended up being.
My dad sighed and leaned back in his chair. He removed his reading glasses and set them on the desk. Both of my parents had started wearing them within the last couple of years and it still freaked me out a little. They were like these visual reminders of their mortality. “Just wanted to finish up a couple more things.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“And I'm sorry I jumped all over you earlier today,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I was upset and taking it out on you. So I'm sorry.”
I sat down in the chair across his desk. “It's okay.”
“Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “We've got enough going on. I don't need to make it worse by chewing out my daughter for something that isn't a big deal.”
“It's okay, Dad.” I hesitated, debating whether or not I should bring it up. “Mom told me,” I finally said. “About the bloodwork.”
He took a deep breath. “Yep.”
“She was doing her thing,” I said. “Acting like it wasn't any big deal yet and that it would be fine.” I paused. “What do you think?”
His eyes were studying the ceiling. “I think I hate cancer.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“And I think this is what we get for being conservative with her treatment,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He sighed again and his eyes drifted from the office ceiling to me. “We had a choice with the first go-round. Treatment, I mean. We chose the least invasive method available.” His mouth tightened into a fine line. “We knew the risk in doing that. Now we're having to deal with it.”
“But the doctors said there was a good chance the treatment would work,” I said.
He shrugged. “Sure. But they were also very clear. There was a chance that it wouldn't work.” He paused. “So, here we are.”
“Mom talked about a mastectomy,” I said. “That she's considering it. That would be a good thing, right?”
“I honestly don't know,” he said, the lines deepening around his eyes. “If the cancer is back and
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