“I’ll manage,” Mom said immediately.
“Mrs. Park, going through chemotherapy alone is not advisable,” Dr. Reyes replied.
“I’ve managed alone before.”
She had. My father had been dead for nineteen years, and Mom had built her life around needing as little from other people as possible. But this time, I refused to let her do everything alone.
“You’re staying with me,” I said.
“Sara.”
“You’re staying with us.”
“I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You won’t be.”
Then she asked the question she was really worried about.
“Gabriel?”
I told her I had already spoken to him. Technically, that was true.
Gabriel had not been enthusiastic.
“How long is she staying?” he asked.
“As long as she needs.”
“I just want to know there’s an end date.”
“She has cancer, Gabriel. I cannot give you an end date.”
Eventually he sighed and said, “Fine.”
So Mom moved into the first-floor guest room. It was directly across from the bathroom, which mattered because chemotherapy made stairs and long walks difficult. The room also had a window overlooking our backyard garden, which Mom loved.
