Chapter 23

Mom isn’t taking her pills. I feel stupid for not realizing this sooner, but the thought dawns on me the next day when I hear her groaning in the bathroom. I don’t know what to do. I’ve kept everything as stress free as possible since she came home. I’ve cooked every colitis food on the list. I’ve cleaned, folded loads of laundry, forced Ethan to mow the lawn, and generally behaved like a model daughter. I’ve even pushed all thoughts of Liam and our mistake out of my mind, just in case stress spreads through osmosis. But I’d stopped monitoring her medicines because—well, because she’s an adult. And I thought her stay in the hospital was all the convincing she needed. But apparently it wasn’t. When I realize she’s been in the bathroom for more than an hour I sneak into her bedroom and open her dresser. The pill bottles are neatly lined up. And they’re completely full.

What else am I supposed to do? I’ve already argued with her, Ethan has warned her of her imminent death, and there’s even the looming threat of my father coming to take over if she doesn’t get well.

When I confront her about it, she lies. “I’m taking my meds,” she insists doggedly. I have to bring out her untouched pill bottles before she finally admits the truth.

“Have you read about the side effects?” she retorts when she realizes I’ve backed her into a corner. “They’re worse than any of my symptoms.”

“They’re possible side effects,” I point out. “They have to list even the rarest ones. You of all people should know that, Mom. And colitis can get really serious. Don’t you remember what Ethan told you?”

She shrugs. “He was just parroting medical textbooks like he always does. And you know who writes those textbooks?”

I throw my hands into the air in frustration. “The same doctors who are trying to cure you?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Yeah. By scaring me into buying their product. I don’t need them, okay? I’m getting better on my own.”

She isn’t though. Anyone who knew her before she got sick would barely recognize her now.

“I don’t understand,” I complain to Ethan. “It’s just medicine. But the way she’s carrying on, you’d think the doctors were trying to poison her. I don’t know what to do.”

“Should I explain the pharmacology to her again?” he suggests, glancing up from his computer screen. “I have these diagrams.”

“That’s not going to help. This block is all in her mind. It’s like she thinks she’s lost control of her life or something. And I guess this is how she’s trying to get it back. By being stubborn.”

He wrinkles his brow and nods. “Are you analyzing Mom?”

I sigh and flop down onto his rug. “Are you going to tell me to stop like everybody else does?”

“No. I like it when you do that.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I understand how her colon works. And what the medicines do. But I don’t understand what Mom is thinking. I need you to tell me.”

I love his honesty, but even more, I love that he still needs me a little. “Okay,” I say. “But only if you promise to tell me how her colon works.”

His face brightens. “Do you want to see my diagrams?”

It isn’t really a question. He goes on for an hour, maybe more. By the end, my mind is bursting with information about the large intestine. But I don’t care. I’ve finally made my brother smile, and that’s the only thing I needed.

“I saw that you ate some pumpkin muffins,” I say after he finishes his lecture.

He nods. “I ate ten. Next time, more chocolate chips please.”

I grin. “Noted.”

“What did you do, Rain?”

“Excuse me?”

He shuts his laptop and looks a little past me, somewhere between my shoulder and the colon poster. “What did you do wrong?”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

He sighs a little, and I can’t help smiling at his frustration. It’s pretty similar to mine when he doesn’t connect the dots.

“You always make my favorite muffins before you apologize for something,” he explains. “So I want to know what you did wrong.”

The realization that he’s right makes me laugh out loud. The unexpected sound startles him, and he jerks his head around to stare at me. “What’s funny, Rain?”

“It’s weird. I never noticed that before,” I tell him. “I just thought baking was a stress reliever. Isn’t it funny that you understand me even when I don’t understand myself?”

He doesn’t answer, and I’m not sure if he gets my explanation. “And I’m sorry that I don’t always understand you,” I continue when he doesn’t respond. “I guess that’s what I’m apologizing for.”

I’ve really confused him now, but he doesn’t seem frustrated by my vague reply. Instead, a mischievous smile dawns, and he ducks his head. “I hope you never understand me,” he says after a moment.

I blink at him. “Why would you say that?”

His smile widens. “Because I like pumpkin muffins. I don’t want you to stop making them.”

I cross my arms and pretend to pout. “Ha. Is that right?”

He nods and types something into his phone. “Mehr Schokoladenspäne bitte,” he declares.

“What?”

His eyes are shining with suppressed laughter. “It’s German. More chocolate chips, please.”

I toss a pillow at his head, and he responds by whacking me across the back with it. He’s a bit too enthusiastic and knocks me on my side, but we’re both laughing at his joke, and it’s the warmest sound in the world.

“You’ve been stuck in Germany for a long time,” I observe, after our laughter dies down. “But you’re finally learning German, aren’t you?”

He shrugs and leans back against the wall. “It’s just Google Translate, Rain.”