I am soooo sorry. Work got nuts again, and once I had a chance to sit down and write I really struggled with this chapter. I will also that that initially there was more to this chapter, and in fact I'm still in the process of writing the rest of it, but then I realized I was already at 10 pages and that felt excessive. So I decided to cut it roughly in half and post this part of it while I finish up the rest!
By the time mid-September rolls around, it's getting harder and harder for Mal to lie to himself.
He's gone home every single weekend, and thankfully Ken has stopped teasing him about it. He goes even when he's exhausted, when there are important assignments due the next week, even when Cynthia can't pick him up from the train station. And over the weeks, he's watched his mom grow smaller and weaker.
A hospital bed had been delivered and set up in their living room a few weeks back. At first their mom had tried to argue with them about it and insist she could still climb the stairs. A week later she hadn't argued at all as they helped her set up pillows and blankets on the hospital bed.
Cynthia began looking more and more lifeless each he saw her. He knew she knew he would take some of her burden if he could. But both she and their mom insisted his focus should be on school right now, and that they could handle everything themselves. It didn't stop him from worrying about them any less. In fact, it had the opposite effect, until he felt almost as anxious as Cynthia always looked.
He always felt as if he was teetering on the edge of a blade, trying to balance between his schoolwork and his family. On the one hand, he knew he needed to get at least decent grades. That was the whole point of going to school and pursuing his goals. He needed to prove to his professors, and to himself, that he could accomplish something. But on the other hand, he also knows his mom isn't getting any better. That, and-
"Mal?"
He turns his head in the direction of his mom's voice. Truthfully he's a bit surprised she's awake. These days she spends more of the day asleep than not, really only waking to eat or shuffle slowly to the bathroom. And even then, she's usually asleep again within minutes. In theory it would give him plenty of time to work on school assignments while he's at home, but in reality he's always much more preoccupied with watching her breathe and making sure she doesn't stop.
"Yeah?" he asks, standing up from his seat and walking over to her bed. She winces as she turns her head to look at him, so he bends down so she doesn't have to move as much. He wants to reach out and take her hand, but it's so small and skeletal and looks so fragile that he's scared to do so. He settles instead for resting his arms on the mattress.
"I need to ask for a favor," she rasps. She smiles at him. Or at least, he thinks she does. It barely resembles the smile he's know his entire life, but he thinks it's the closest she can get these days.
"Anything," he says.
"Can you get me another blanket from upstairs?" she asks. "I don't know why we put the bed over in this corner. The vent keeps blowing on me. It's relentless."
"Of course," he says, standing. It's something else he's noticed the past few weeks. It doesn't matter that it's actually fairly warm in the house. His mom is always cold.
He takes the stairs two at a time, then stops in front of the linen closet. She hadn't really specified which blanket she wanted, and he doesn't think it'll really make much of a difference. He always thought it was ridiculous they had so many blankets around the house, but now he's glad for them. He grabs a soft fleece blanket from the shelves and heads for the stairs again. He remembers it from when he was just a kid. They all used to curl up under it on the couch on cold nights and watch movies as they sipped hot chocolate. In fact, he's pretty sure he recognizes a few stains as ones he made when he spilled. It reminds him of better, happier times.
"Here, Mom," he says when he's back at her bedside, draping it over her. He tucks it snugly under her chin, but she throws it back a second later and pats the bed.
"Sit with me," she says. He thinks briefly of the paper he's supposed to be working on, but quickly pushes it out of his mind. He's got no interest in it anyway, so he perches gingerly on the edge of her bed. "What's new?"
"Not a lot," he says truthfully. "Took a couple of quizzes last week, but we're still waiting to get our grades back. And I've got my first paper due next week, but I'm going to try and start it early so I don't end up scrambling to get it done." His mom nods.
"How's Natara doing?"
His eyes fall to his lap as his mind wanders to Natara's latest letter, tucked somewhere in the corner of his desk at school. He'd received it almost two weeks ago, but he hasn't responded yet. He rationalizes it by saying he has a lot on his plate, he doesn't have any real updates, he doesn't want to worry her about him or his mom. None of it isn't true. So he hasn't written back, or called her. She hasn't either, though.
Maybe he should call her, he thinks. Maybe it would be good for him. Just being able to hear her voice sometimes made everything seem less troublesome. And it is the weekend, maybe she wouldn't be busy.
He's brought back to the present by the feeling of his mom's hand on his. He looks back at her, at her half smile that tells him she knows exactly what he's been thinking, and he sighs.
"Why are long distance relationships so hard, Mom?"
"Any relationship that lasts longer than a breath mint is going to have its challenges, long distance or not," she says gently. "It takes effort, and you have to ask yourself if it's worth it. And the most important part of that is you have to be honest with yourself. It's okay if the answer is no, but in that case the other person deserves to know that."
"I know," he says. "And she's definitely worth it. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. But we're both always so busy, and I don't know what I can do about it."
"All you can do is your best. That's all anyone can ever ask for."
Mal heaves a sigh. For just about as long as he can remember, his best has never felt like enough. His teachers would always push him to do more, even if he couldn't. He vividly remembers the arguments with his parents about his grades in middle school and early high school. Even now, it feels like his best is still falling short.
"Why don't you spend a few weekends at school?" his mom suggests. "I know it can't be easy travelling back and forth every week."
"I don't mind travelling. You know that."
She smiles at him again. "I do know that. But I also know you're missing out on the whole college experience."
"I wouldn't go that far. I'm getting plenty of college experience."
"How about just a few weeks? Give yourself a chance to hang out with your friends on the weekend and have some fun. Maybe you could even invite Natara to spend the weekend, or you could go visit her."
"But-"
"No buts," she interrupts. "It's not like you're doing much here. We'll be fine. You should go enjoy your freshman year."
Mal shakes his head, knowing arguing with her would be a lost cause. "Just a few weeks," he says. "But after that I'm coming home again."
