“Yeah,I know. It’s okay.”
“So,are you happy to be home?”
Isnorted as she struck that nerve. “Oh, thrilled.”
“Oh,come on. You don’t plan to be there for long, you said so yourself. It’sgonnabe fine.”
“Yeah,”I snickered. “That was before I was actually here.”
Mollysighed into the phone. “The time’sgonnafly.”
“Or,it won’t.” Looking around the room, I felt zings of angry adrenaline pumpinginto my veins. “God, I shouldn’t be here, Molly. I already feel like I need toget the fuck out of this house, and I got nowhere to go right now. I should beon the road. I should be …” God, my mouth was moving a mile a minute.
“Chad,”she spoke calmly. “Youwannatake some deep breaths?”
“Idon’t needdeep breaths,” I snappedbitterly. I squeezed my fist and pushed it into the bed. “I need to get thefuck out of this room.”
“So,go for a walk. Blow off some steam. You might bereactin’to the steroids.”
Iscoffed angrily. “I don’t have fuckin’‘roidrage, Molly.”
“Ididn’t say that.” She sounded like she was talking to a child. “I’msayin’, you have a lot to be angry about right now, and thedrugs you’re on aren’thelpin’ any. So, just try tocalm down.”
Myeyes brimmed with tears. Jesus. Was I reallygonnacry over this shit? “I don’t need to calm down,” I insisted weakly, but mybeating heart said different. That thing told me I needed to chill before itburst. I sniffed and shook my head. “Jesus, Molly … I feel like I’mcrawlin’ out of my own fuckin’ skin.”
“Iknow, sweetie. But hey, you know what I’mgonnado?”
“What?”
“I’mgonnasend you some yoga poses to do, okay?”
“Oh,Christ, Molly. I’m notdoin’ any fuckin’ yoga.” Itried picturing myself in those leggings she wore. They looked fine on her, butonme?The image in my head wasn’t pretty.
“No,no. Hear me out,” she giggled lightly. “I was reading about yoga for ulcerativecolitis, and it’s not a cure, obviously, but it might help to alleviate somesymptoms. Or at the very least, it’ll help to keep you relaxed. Stress canaggravate the disease.”
Irolled my eyes shamefully. She was only trying to help. “Okay,fine.”
“Really?You’ll actually do it?”
“Yeah,I’ll do it. But Iain’twearin’those tights.”
Shelaughed. “You can wear sweatpants. That’s okay.”
“Thanksfor your permission.” I found myself laughing, and felt the anger subside alittle.
“Iwas also looking into some dietary options for UC …” She went on, explainingall the websites she’d found. Menus and suggestions. The limitations I shouldtry to put on myself, to see if it helped at all. And I just felt my smilespread and the tears in my eyes build. Because while I was angry, and while mymom was in denial, Molly was accepting. She was helping and doing whatever shecould to make this easier for me. Even if it all turned out to be hippy-dippygarbage, I could still say that she tried.
Iloved her for it.
Ormaybe I just loved her.
“When’dyou have the time to look into this stuff?” I asked lightly, palming the backof my head.
“Whileyou’ve been on a plane. I had to do something to avoid these guys. They weretrynarope me intowatchin’Beacheswith them.”
“Beaches,huh?” I grinned at the ceiling.
“Oh,yeah. They went through a whole box of tissues,” she teased, and I heardGreyson shout, “Hey! Come on, don’t tell him that!”
