Return To You - Leia Stone Page 0,83

But I do have an idea.

"I'll be right back," I tell her. I go across the hall to my closet and pull it open. I've done some shopping since I came home. Not a lot, but there is one dress that might work. It’s tight and stretchy, meant to hug the curves. I pull it from the hanger and return to my mom's room.

"This," I say, thrusting it into her hands. "Try this. It's a little casual, but you have that cardigan with the silvery sheen. Between that and some jewelry, we can dress it up and make it appropriate for a show."

Mom eyes the fabric in her hand. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, Mom. Try it on."

I turn away while she changes, pretending to sift through the jewelry box on her dresser. The sight of her body, changed as it has been by the disease ravaging her on the inside, would send me to my knees. I can't let her see me like that. She needs me to be strong.

When I hear the sound of a zipper, I turn back around. "That's perfect," I tell her, and I mean it. The silvery cardigan makes the mint green dress a little fancier. "Here." I hand her a pair of dangly earrings.

She takes them and turns away quickly. She wasn't fast enough though. I saw the shininess in her eyes.

The sight of her upset makes my own eyes burn with tears. "Mom…" I place a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay to cry. I cry all the time."

Every night, I wonder how much time I have left with my mom.

She swipes at her eyes. "What's the use in crying? I don't want to spend what precious time I have left moping around. It's such a waste, except I can't seem to stop."

She sounds like the mom I remember when I was younger. She may have relaxed a lot since then, but her pragmatism still exists.

I have an idea. "Do you want to make up a word? Every time you feel like crying, say the word instead. It will release the emotion without having to burst into tears."

She nods. "I like that idea. What's the word?"

I think about it, but it's a lot harder to make up a word when you're focused on making up a word. Instead, I say a word that I never say in everyday language. It's a little weird on its own, and doesn't have any strong connotation. "Marzipan."

Mom makes a face. "Marzipan?" She says it a second time, then a third. She nods. "I like it."

I help her finish packing her overnight bag and carry it to the front door. I try not to pay too much attention to the fact that we're fulfilling last wishes.

Marzipan.

Marzipan.

Marzipan.

"Just throw it on the ground, Mom." I point down at the concrete and back to the small card she holds in her hand. We'd barely made it twenty feet from the entrance of our hotel before a man on the Las Vegas strip shoved the card at her. It’s reflexive to take something being handed to you, and this happened to be an advertisement for an all-nude strip club. Not sure why, of the three of us walking together, the man chose to give it to my mom.

Mom looks down at the blond girl with the pouty lips and the bondage-style lingerie. "I feel bad throwing it on the ground. She doesn't deserve to be stepped on. And besides, it's littering." She sips from the straw of her hot pink yard cup. It's hard to take her seriously when she's drinking a daiquiri nearly as big as her. It’s taking three times as long to walk the strip because we keep having to take breaks for my mom to catch her breath, but she’s refused a wheelchair.

Owen and I share a grin. "Mom, look." I point at all the other cards on the ground. "It's okay."

Mom frowns, and holds the mostly-naked girl in her hand until she finds a trashcan and tosses her in. Headed to the casino at the hotel where the show is, it’s slow going at this rate, but that’s why we left early. When Owen asked my mom what she wanted to see, she told him she didn't care what it was, she just wanted the experience. With only a few days’ notice, there weren't a ton of choices, and we went with Cirque du Soleil. Honestly, I think she will love it.

Owen and I stop at a bar