Page 70 of Becoming Us
Dad exhaled. “It’s Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”
“What’s that?” It came out in a whisper, but he still looked right at me.
“Is that cancer?” Diego asked, alarm lacing his voice.
Cancer.
No.
Dad’s eyes stayed on mine. He gave a short, sharp nod. Then looked away.
No.
“They’re still running tests, trying to determine the best treatment—” he began.
But then it started.
A barrage of questions.
What stage? Is it spreading? Are you getting chemo? Surgery?
Until I couldn’t hear a thing.
The world shifted sideways. Sound became underwater static. Time bent and slowed.
My brain latched onto one word. One unbearable word that seemed large enough to rearrange the universe.
Cancer.
I bit my tongue. Hard. I wouldn’t cry here. Not in front of them.
Pretend you’re listening. Pretend you’re still in the room.
Minutes passed. Or hours. I couldn’t tell. The walls felt too close. My skin too tight.
Just breathe. In. Out. And for fuck’s sake, don’t lose it.
The edge of his desk was chipped—small, almost imperceptible. The wood splintered just enough to catch the eye. I stared at it, counted the lines.
Then Dad spoke again. “That’s all we know right now. I wanted you to hear it from me. I’ll update you as we learn more.” His eyes found mine once more. “Do you want to ask anything?” The question was meant just for me.
But I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even tell if I was still breathing.
I shook my head.
“Well,” he said, “if you do…I’m here.”
A sob cracked the room.
We all turned. Ilana had crumpled forward, her hands pressed to her face as she broke down.
Who was going to fix this?
Dad was the one who fixed things.
Who was going to fix it now?
“Noah?”
