Page 7 of Devoted

“Clearly you all surround yourself with some intelligent women,” I say nonchalantly, keeping the fact that I already crossed paths with her to myself.

“Damn right. My wife is a math teacher. The woman may not be able to remember if she locked the car doors, but she can solve the shit out of some calculus,” Kane jokingly adds while the other guys just shake their heads.

“What about you?” I throw my chin towards Luke, curious if all of these guys are locked down.

“Nope. Not seeing anyone. I’m a single dad, so dating is tough,” Luke answers.

“That and he just hired a smoking hot nanny, so he’s probably pining after her,” Cash interjects as Luke throws him a daggered stare.

“No. I’m not. I’m not gonna be that guy.”

I just shrug. “Why not? If she’s the right woman, who cares?” I guess my easy-going demeanor towards dating is warranted since I don’t really date seriously. But I still believe that if two people are right for each other, why does it matter how they get together?

My job doesn’t necessarily lend me time to dedicate to a relationship though. It’s easier for me to just get what I need from a woman and vice versa than to commit. I’m always honest about it beforehand, but that’s just how I choose to live my life.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he answers, and I sense there’s far more to this guy’s story than he’s alluding to. Being one who’s also keeping personal details close to the belt, I let him drop it.

“Well, I hate to meet you all and run, but I have somewhere I need to be.” Standing from the table, I grab my cup as all the men rise as well.

“It was good to see you, man. Hey, let me get your number so you can come hiking with us or hangout sometime,” Cooper suggests, fishing for his phone from his coat pocket.

“We also have these lovely brotherly coffee dates,” Cash adds mockingly.

“Shut up, Cash,” Cooper scolds. “We do meet for coffee occasionally too, so if you’re free, you’re welcome to join.”

“I appreciate it. It’s nice to see some familiar and new faces in town. I’m here to stay for a while at least, so the company would be nice. My cousin Ethan lives here too, so maybe I’ll get him to tag along as well.” I rattle off my number and Cooper and I exchange contact information. “See you around, guys,” I say as we all shake hands and I move back to the door to exit the coffee shop and head for my car.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway of the house I grew up in, the yard still blossoming with shrubs and flowers, courtesy of my mother’s green thumb. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning in the middle of March in Emerson Falls, Oregon, so of course I find my mother on her porch, watering a few of her flower pots. And if I know her as well as I should, she’ll bring them back inside tonight so they don’t freeze when the temperature drops.

As I exit the car and close the door, she turns to acknowledge me over her shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite son,” she teases.

“I’m your only son, so I’d better be the favorite.” I make my way up the driveway, noticing how much greyer her hair has gotten in the past few months. My mother gave up trying to cover the grey years ago and just decided to embrace it. “Getting older is a privilege, not a right,” she’d tell me every time I would complain about something related to my age. Never did I believe that something would threaten the span of her life this harshly.

It’s funny. I see people on the verge of death every day in my line of work, loved ones desperate for us to save the lives of the people they cherish. I do my best to bring people back to life, or grant them relief when they’re in pain.

But it’s ironic how I never imagined I’d be the one about to embark on the fight of a lifetime with my own loved one—my mother.

“We need to get going,” I announce when I arrive at the top of the porch steps, the dark brown paint chipping away beneath my feet. As I assess the house, I realize the place needs work and instantly add it to my list of things to get done now that I’m home.

“The cancer isn’t going anywhere, Brooks. Give me a minute with my plants, will you?” Her tone is chastising, but I know it’s her way of dealing with her reality. I’m reminding myself not to take it personally.

“I’m aware, Mom. But Dr. Lexington made this appointment with us as a favor to me. I don’t want to be late and make the wrong impression, especially since I haven’t even started my job yet.” When I called the hospital to check for an open position, a colleague of mine said he knew the head oncologist at Emerson Memorial. Before I even went through my interview, I spoke with Thomas Lexington and explained the situation to him regarding my mother. Once we met, we developed a plan to adhere to in the next few months, and then I secured a job in the ER. This way, I’m as involved in my mother’s care as I can be, needing every ounce of control I can scour in this situation.

My mother rises from the ground and dusts her hands off on her sweatpants, leaving wet handprints behind. The soft brown eyes I inherited from her peer up at me and she flashes me that motherly grin—the one that tells you everything is going to be okay because it’s coming from your mom, even though you know deep in your bones that neither one of us can anticipate what’s going to happen in the next few months.

“Let me go change really quick and we’ll be on our way.” My mother enters the house through the screen door as I follow, surveying the living room of my childhood home. Almost everything is the same except for the dark grey couch I bought her for Christmas last year. I couldn’t believe that she still had the same one from when I graduated from high school, and when I sat on it and a spring almost skewered my asshole, I felt it was time for an upgrade.

Pictures of my adolescence adorn the walls and sit atop furniture placed against the cream-colored walls, and live plants fill in any empty space you can find. My mother has lived alone since I left for college, so apparently her affliction for plants helped fill the void.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she announces when she comes down the hallway, looking comfortable in light blue jeans, brown boots, and a thick brown coat that’s buttoned up to her neck.

“It’s not snowing outside,” I tease her as we lock up the house and walk back to my black SUV.

“I’m aware. But I’ve been unusually cold lately, so better to be prepared.” The sad part is, that will only get worse once her treatment starts.

When we arrive at the hospital, I guide her inside, heading straight for the oncology department.

“I’ve never understood how people navigate these places. Every hallway looks the same.” She shakes her head as I hold her hand and lead her through the maze. I felt the same the first time I worked in a hospital during med school for an internship. But after a while, you just get used to it and the entire layout makes sense. Then before you know it, you’re running through the halls like a character in a first-person shooting game, looking over your shoulder every time you make a turn and not thinking twice about which direction to head in next.

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