Return To You - Leia Stone Page 0,76

I'm on my side, bringing my hand up and palming the fabric of his shirt over his heart. "Can you talk about it?"

His gaze flickers over to me, then back up. I watch his eyelashes as he blinks four times in rapid succession. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head.

"Is there anything I can do for you to make you feel better?"

He rolls over onto his side, facing me. He looks at me, his eyes an ocean of anguish. There is apology in his expression, sown into the squint of his eyes and the pleat of his lips. What is he sorry for?

Insecurity snakes in, starting in my heart and slithering out like spokes on a bike tire. Has Owen changed his mind about us? Is this not what he wants?

I should ask him, but I know I won't. When it comes to Owen, there is still a young girl inside me nervously biting her lip, uncertain of her place in the world. I may have grown into a woman, but Owen has a way of stripping me bare and exposing my heart. Will giving it to him again lead me straight into disaster?

"Mom?" I stick my head in her bedroom door. She's sitting on the end of her bed running her hand over her freshly shaven head.

“Oh.” Seeing her without hair startles me. It’s been slowly thinning, even with the use of the cold cap, but I didn’t want to say anything to make her uncomfortable, and now … it’s gone.

She gives me a small smile. “It’s been falling out in chunks. This is easier. I think it looks kind of punk rock, no?”

I choke back the sob that wants to escape me and nod. “Totally punk rock. We should book your skull tattoo later.”

That causes her to genuinely smile before nodding her head. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

It's chemo day. I can't tell if the treatment is working, and that bothers me. It's not like a skin rash that we can apply cream to and watch it disappear, or a bruise that changes color and eventually fades away. No visible progression.

Mom nods at my question, yawning as her head bobs up and down.

"How can you be tired? You slept in today. It's like you're a teenager." I smile teasingly as I grab the bracelets she always wears from her nightstand and hand them to her. "Good thing I don't do to you what you used to do to me when I slept in."

She winds her hand through the bangles. "I was tough on you, wasn't I? Probably a little tougher than I should've been." She pushes the hair back from my shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the skin left bare by my tank-top. "I was trying to be both mom and dad. I made mistakes."

Her admittance takes me by surprise. And as nice as it is to hear, it makes me uncomfortable. It's hard hearing your parents are faulty. It humanizes them. And I was only joking so I’m thrown by this serious admission.

"I can't imagine how difficult it was to be a single mother. You did a great job, Mom."

She nods once, acknowledging my words. "Let's go."

As she steps around me, I feel a squeeze of my hand.

On the drive to the hospital, Mom listens to the kind of music you'd hear during a spa treatment. It makes me think of white sheets and heated massage tables, aromatic body scrubs and the padded footfalls of technicians.

Oh, how I miss the spa days in Manhattan with my roommate. Now I was doing my own pedicures to try to make my savings account stretch out until I found a job.

My mom places a hand on my arm as I steer the car toward the parking lot.

"Just drop me off up front, hon."

I look in the rearview mirror and let the car slow to a crawl. "You don't want me to walk you in?"

She bats a hand in the air. "I'm perfectly capable of walking in by myself. You go do whatever it is you need to do and just pick me up after."

"Are you being a teenager? You're embarrassed of me so you want me to drop you off where your friends can't see you with me?" I crack a smile to let her know I'm joking.

She laughs. "Precisely."

I do as she asks, rounding the circular driveway and stopping the car at the entrance. "I'll pick you up here when you're done."

She gathers her bag and pauses with her