Page 20 of Fake Love

“You mean, you will move here eventually?” I ask, feeling a small smile on my face starting to form.

Maybe my plan of moving my mom here is working.

“Me? No. I mean when you meet a nice girl and give me a grandkid or two, then you will need a house.”

“Ma.” I whine. We have this conversation at least a few times a year. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

“And why the hell not? I may not be here in a few years. I have a right to see my baby happy, married and with a damn family before this horrible disease takes me away!”

It's the crack of her voice as she says that last sentence that makes me hate being in San Francisco.

My whole life, my mom has been the most important aspect of my life right next to baseball

Nora Bauer has been raising me on her own since my father walked out on us when I was not even one. For as long as I can remember, my mom has done everything to give me a good life. Everything included taking on two, sometimes three jobs to be able to pay for any activities that I wanted to do.

Baseball was supposed to be something that I did to keep me occupied and off the Chicago streets that tend to swallow people whole. I ended up loving it the second I learned how to properly throw a ball.

Every year, I would beg my mom to let me play and every year she would give me a smile and say three little words, “Anything for you.”

I was good. So good that I was offered a place on a travel team, which spurred the multiple jobs my mom took on. That was something I didn’t know about until I was around thirteen.

When I found out, I told my mom I was quitting baseball and that I would pick up a paper run or something. She sat me down that night and told me no. She told me that she saw how much I loved the sport, and I wasn’t going to give it up just because she was working a little more. I was going to play and that was that.

That was the day that I decided that not only was I going to play, but that I was going to play for my mom. I was going to play so that one day I could give her the life that she deserved. The life that she would have had if my dad wasn’t an asshole and walked out.

A comfortable one.

I’ve been able to do that.

I was able to give my mother, my best friend, the life that she deserves, but only in the material sense.

I’m not able to give her the most comfortable life she needs, not with brain tumors standing in the way.

Thinking of my mom’s prognosis is making my hands shake and wanting to reach into my pockets for something that I know isn’t there.

A shaky breath in my ear, takes me away from my urges and back to my mother.

“You will see it, ma. When it happens, you will be here to see it. I promise.”

I know that it’s not a promise that I should be making, but I have to have hope. I have to have faith that this isn’t going to be what takes my ma away from me.

“Hopefully you’re right.” She says, and if we were on FaceTime, I’d be able to see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Since the mood is already somber, I ask her about her appointment.

“What did the doctor say?”

She had her monthly check up this morning to see if there are any changes with the tumors.

“That’s actually why I called you,” she says, causing my stomach to do a few flips. Instantly my mind goes to the worst possible scenario.

She’s getting worse. I can just feel it.

“Is everything okay?” I try to keep my voice even but as I ask the question all my emotions are trying to seep out.

“There was no growth. The tumors haven’t grown for the third month in a row.”

For the first time in over a year, a wave of relief flows through my body. An organic feeling that I haven’t been able to get without the help of a white powder.

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