unsure and fragmented. “We’re going to fight this, Ellie, I swear. You, your father, and me. We’re going to fight back.”
I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to run. I wanted to stand up and dash out of the room, out of the house, out of that reality. But, the way Mom’s eyes stared into mine. The way I could see how she was hurting. The way every inch of her body shook from fear and pain.
I couldn’t leave her.
Not like that.
I leaned toward her on the couch and wrapped her with my arms. I burrowed myself into her, placing my head against her chest, hearing her heart beat wildly. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as tears burst from my eyes and sadness overtook me. I didn’t know what more I could do, so I just held her tighter and kept repeating the words. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
She pulled me tighter, and held on as if she wouldn’t ever let go. Then, Dad’s arms wrapped around the two of us, and we all held on for dear life.
Our tears fell in sync, and we stayed locked together as one unit.
As the hurt kept hurting, Mom placed her lips against my forehead and softly spoke words that made me cry even harder. “I’m so sorry, Ellie.”
But everything would be okay, because we were going to fight it.
We were going to fight it together.
And we were going to win.
1
Eleanor
June 21, 2003
Everything I knew about life, I learned from Harry Potter.
I called him the greatest teacher of life lessons, and I swore up and down that he’d saved my life countless times. When I was upset, I wrote spells to turn people into rats, slugs, or toads.
Needless to say, my people skills were lacking, which was fine, because I was really great at avoiding humans—well, at least until I was forced to interact with them.
“You’re grounded from your room,” Mom stated as she stood in my bedroom doorway rubbing her palms against her face. She’d tossed her brown hair up in a messy bun, and her painting apron was tied around her waist, hiding her Pink Floyd T-shirt. Her neon-green Chucks were covered in paint, and her pink thick-framed glasses sat on top of her head as she gave me the brightest smile.
She’d been painting all day in the garage, because the weekends were when she could let loose and dive into her love for art. During the week, she was just your everyday friendly nanny, saving kids from lives of dullness. On the weekends, though? She let her hair down.
It had been two months since her cancer diagnosis, and I loved whenever she was painting. As long as she was painting, I felt like things were okay. As long as she was still herself, every day was easier.
And for the most part, she was herself. Sometimes she was tired, but still, she was Mom. She just took a few more naps than normal.
I narrowed my eyes, looking up from my novel. “You can’t ground people from their bedroom.”
“Yes, you actually can. Your father and I talked it over, and we are grounding you from these four walls. It’s summer vacation! You need to hang out with your friends.”
My eyes darted from her to the book then back to her. “What exactly do you think I’m doing?” I loved my mother to death. Out of all mothers, she was top of the line, but that afternoon she was being completely inconsiderate. It wasn’t just any summer day, after all. It was June 21, 2003, the day I’d been counting down to for the past three years.
Three. Long. Painful. Years.
She was truly acting as if she didn’t recall that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix had released that day. The fact that she even had the nerve to speak about anything other than Harry, Ron, and Hermione was mind-blowing.
“Eleanor, it’s your summer vacation and you haven’t even left your bedroom yet.”
“That’s because I had to reread the first four Harry Potter books in order to prepare for this one.” Truly, she should’ve understood. It was like back in her day if a new Black Sabbath album came out and, instead of letting her listen to it, Grandma told her to go pick up milk from the corner store.
Totally uncool.
Black Sabbath > milk.
Harry Potter > social life.
“Shay said there’s a party happening tonight,” Mom commented, plopping down on my bed. “There will probably be pot and alcohol,” she joked, nudging my arm.