Page 1 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
Chapter 1
Holly
Todaywasoneofthose days where fate decided anything that could go wrong should.
It all started with the power going out. An inconvenience, sure, but with Mom’s rigid medicine routine, every second mattered. It was the entire reason I lived and breathed my schedule.
I scrambled out of bed when my phone screen stayed black and ran into the living room. The clock on the microwave flashed green digital numbers.Grrr! Swiping an applesauce pouch from the pantry, I rushed back down the hall and knocked softly on Mom’s white bedroom door. “Morning, Mom. How are you?”
I went to her bedside, where the thick green comforter dwarfed her petite frame, something I’d inherited from her. Mom barely reached five-one. I only had an extra inch and a half on her.
She grunted in her sleep.
I gently shook her shoulder. “Mom?”
“Hmm?”
No thanks to the stupid power outage, I was late in getting her to take her pills. “I’ll help you sit up,” I said tenderly. “You need to take your medicine.” I slid a hand under her shoulder, ready to assist her.
“Sleep,” she mumbled.
“After, I promise.”
I helped her sit up and handed her the applesauce before opening the pill sorter on the nightstand. One at a time, I put a tablet in her palm, and watched her bring the glass of water to her lips. When she’d finished the last one, she slumped back onto her pillow.
I kissed the top of her bald head, once a black mane of curls. “I’ll check in before I head to work. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I rushed to get myself breakfast and make some soft foods for Mom to eat later in the day. When I checked on her again two hours later, she was sitting up in bed, an audiobook playing on her phone beside her. She was too young to be so sick, fighting a disease. Too young to be a widow.
My brother and I were too young to become orphans.
It was all my fault, too. If I hadn’t gone off to culinary school in California, Mom would be healthy. She’d be managing the bank like normal. Maybe even dating since, before she was diagnosed, she mentioned getting back out there after Dad’s untimely death.
“Hey, you’re up.” I climbed on the other side of her bed—Dad’s side—and reached over to put my hand in hers.
She gently squeezed my fingers. “I’d slept long enough.”
Thankfully, Mom could still get out of bed without assistance. Of course, I’d do anything for her. If the time ever came when we had to help her like that, I would. I just hoped we wouldn’t have to.
“Are you hungry? I made pudding, soup, and banana bread. Does any of that sound good?”
Her hand waffled in the air. “A little. I’ll try some pudding.”
“Coming right up.” I scooted off her bed, going to the kitchen to dish up her food. When I brought it back to her, she took a few small bites but mainly just pushed it around the bowl.
“Is it gross?”
Mom’s taste buds had changed with chemo. She was as picky as a toddler now.
Her lips, the top one fuller than the bottom, curled up. “A little. There’s a metallic tinge to it.”
“Ew.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’m sorry. Do you want to try something else?”
“No.” She sighed. “I’m good for right now.”
I held back my frown, not wanting Mom to see how worried I was. She ate less than I liked. She needed to keep her strength up.
