Page 88 of Still Yours
I brush Carly’s shoulder during my escape, giving her a chance to glide her hand down my arm in support. I’m thankful she’s here as much as I hate that we’re observed by a crowd. Stone’s worked hard to keep his mother’s sickness out of the media, and it’s not that these carefully picked close friends would leak her condition to the press, but no one knew how badly she’s declining. Not even them.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
I sprint up the stairs and push Mrs. Stalinski’s door open. It’s about memories now, more for Stone than for Mrs. Stalinski, but benefiting them both.
“Mrs. Stalinski,” I whisper into the darkened room.
“Noa.” Her croaky voice comes from the vicinity of the bed. “How many times must I tell you to refer to me with less formality?”
I crack a smile. “The first time I met you outside of a school environment was as Stone’s girlfriend. It was terrifying, and I wanted to do anything to make you love me. It’s ingrained at this point. Unless you’d prefer ma’am?”
“You insolent child,” Mrs. Stalinski mutters, but I hear the smile in her voice. “Call me that and I’ll whack you with this lamp.”
“Speaking of, can I turn it on?”
Her voice becomes tired. “I suppose.”
I flick the switch, bathing her exhausted form in a golden hue. Chronic pain has a way of leeching all life from a person. But she lays above the covers in a festive tunic of gold, red, and white, with comfortable black leggings underneath. She’s capped off her outfit with a matching scarf tied around her head to hide her thinning hair. I note the blush she’s applied to her cheeks and the gloss on her lips.
Mrs. Stalinski was ready to come join the party. She wanted to. Now, she can’t, but I’m here to remedy that.
“How is it going downstairs?” she asks. “I hear Rome’s deep baritone and a posh, obnoxious male voice sounding suspiciously like Stone’s greedy sidekick.”
“Aaron?” I laugh. “Yes, he was the last one to arrive. Everybody’s here.”
“That’s good. It’s good for Stone to be surrounded by people he loves and trusts.”
“I agree.” I perch on the edge of the bed. “And you deserve the same.”
“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Stalinski lays her hand on mine. “I appreciate the effort and how hard you’ve worked for this—allbecause I asked you. But as much as I try, I cannot get out of this bed.”
“I know. Which is why I’ll bring everyone to you.”
Mrs. Stalinski stares at me in confusion.
“I saw TV tables in the garage when I was helping Rome put an entire butchered deer in your freezer.”
Mrs. Stalinski nods, unfazed by Rome’s gift. Rome’s and Stone’s antics and strange decisions have stretched long and wide into Mrs. Stalinski’s life.
“I’d love to bring the feast to you and all the people who love you. We can fit in this room, easy. If you’re up for it.”
Mrs. Stalinski scans the room with a frown. My heart sinks.
She won’t agree. It’s too much on her. I’m fully aware it’s a lot to ask and will deplete the little energy she has on reserve, but I’m not sure how many holidays she has left. And when it came to my mother, spending the holidays with me, her only family, was so important to her toward the end.
“Stone bought me this house because of the size of the main bedroom. Have I ever told you that?” she says.
I shake my head.
“I always thought this room was better served as a rich bitch’s ballroom. Send them in.”
My smile reaches my ears. In a burst of affection, I lean forward and kiss her cheek.
She uses my momentum by catching my hands, bringing them to her heart, and squeezing hard.
It stalls my retreat, and I look down into her watery eyes.
“Thank you for this, my dear. I love you. If I’ve never told you that, then that is my mistake.”
