14. Hunter

FOURTEEN

Hunter

Thursday, May 23

Hunter's Condo

9:27 pm

I lie back on my sofa and turn on the TV. After the day I've had, I should be unwinding, letting the tension drain away. But I can't. Not with the thoughts of her swirling around in my mind.

Once again, I glance at my phone on the table, the screen dark, my mother's name already pulled up. I've been staring at it for ten minutes, debating whether to make the call. I haven't talked to her for almost a week, avoiding it.

It's only 9:30 here, which means it's 7:30 back in California. She's probably still up, maybe watching one of those crime shows she's always been obsessed with.

With a reluctant sigh, I press the call button and bring the phone to my ear. Each ring makes my stomach tighten, and I almost hang up before she answers.

"Hunter?" Her voice is soft, and I can hear the surprise in it. She's probably been complaining that her surgeon son doesn't care about the fact that she is going through her cancer journey all alone.

"Yeah, Mom. It's me," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Just wanted to check in, see how you're doing." God, even I can hear the disdain in my words.

"Oh, I'm getting by," she says, the usual small talk beginning. I hear the familiar rattle of the ice in her gin and tonic. "Just had a quiet day. Went to see Dr. Malley for a check-up. You know, the usual."

I nod even though she can't see me, my professional curiosity already kicking in against my better judgement to stay the hell out of it. "How did that go? Anything new?"

She hesitates for a moment, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head. "Well, he mentioned something about trying a new treatment. Something a bit more aggressive. He said it might be necessary given… given the way things are progressing."

My heart skips a beat, and a familiar knot of anxiety tightens in my chest. "What kind of treatment?" I ask, my voice a little sharper than I intended.

"Something about a new combination of drugs," she replies, a hint of uncertainty in her tone. "He explained it, but… you know me, Hunter. I'm not as good with all those medical terms."

I close my eyes, trying to keep my emotions in check. "Mom, do you remember the names of the drugs? Or did he give you anything in writing?"

She pauses, and I hear her rifling through papers. "Let me see… I think I have it here somewhere… Ah, yes. Here it is. Something called brentuximab and… I can't pronounce this one… doxorubicin?"

My grip tightens on the phone, my mind immediately going into overdrive. Brentuximab and doxorubicin—of course, they're talking about more aggressive chemotherapy. I knew it. I knew this was coming, and yet hearing it makes my stomach do a somersault. I try to keep my voice steady, but the frustration is already bubbling up.

"Those are pretty standard for treating HL," I say, forcing the words out calmly. "It sounds like they're trying to be more proactive, which is good."

There's a silence on the other end of the line, and I can sense her hesitation, the weight of what she's about to ask.

"Hunter… do you think you could… maybe talk to Dr. Malley? You know, just to make sure we're on the right track?"

There it is. The very thing I didn't want to hear. The last thing I wanted to do. I swallow hard, my mind racing. I've been trying to keep my distance, to not get sucked into this, but now she's asking me directly, putting me right in the middle of it.

"I don't know, Mom," I say, my voice tight. "You're already in good hands. Dr. Malley knows what he's doing. You know how doctors get territorial over their patients and protocols."

"I know," she says softly, and I can hear the weariness in her voice. "But I just… I'd feel better if you talked to him. Please, Hunter. I'm scared."

Her words cut through me like a knife, and my anger threatens to overtake my attempt at goodwill—anger at her for putting me in this position, anger at myself for caring so damn much. I already had it in my head at least a dozen times to call him, but stopped myself. Now that she is asking, I might as well at least touch base with him.

Underneath all that, there's something else—something I don't want to acknowledge. Love. As much as I've tried to keep her at arm's length, she's still my mother. And she's scared.

"Okay," I finally say, the word spilling out of me like a reluctant child being pulled away by a parent. "I've got a full schedule but I'll try to reach out at some point over the next few days."

The relief in her voice is palpable. That twists the knife even further. "Thank you, Hunter. I know it's asking a lot, but… thank you." I want to remind her how she felt about my "interference" last time with my father, but that isn't necessary. We both know how that went down.

I resist the urge to just hang up and claim a bad connection. But I know I can't do that. "Yeah. Don't worry about it, Mom."

We exchange a few more words, the conversation winding down, but the tension doesn't leave me. When we finally hang up, I drop the phone onto the table and rub my face with both hands, trying to push back the frustration that's threatening to spill over.

This is not what I want, to be pulled into her care, to be the one who has to make these decisions. But now that she's asked, I can't refuse. It's a phone call. I've got this.

I stand up, the restless energy building in my muscles. I need to get out of here, to do something—anything—to clear my head. Without another thought, I throw on some shorts and a t-shirt, grab my running shoes and head for the door.

The evening air is still and warm, but cooler than the hot late spring day we had. The slight breeze against my skin as I start to run is exactly what I needed.

My feet pound against the pavement as the city lights blur around me. I push myself harder, faster, trying to outrun the thoughts that are chasing me. But no matter how fast I go, they're still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I'm angry—angry at her for asking, angry at myself for caring, angry at the whole damn situation. But more than that, I'm scared. Scared of what it means to be involved, scared of what it will do to me if I let myself get too close.

After my father died a few years ago, I knew that meant I should step up to take care of my mom. But a lifetime of pressure and disappointment from her isn't easy to erase. It's been a delicate balance for me: taking care of a woman that has never made me feel like she took care of me. Providing a roof over my head and food isn't the extent of good parenting.

But I can't run from it. No matter how fast or how far I go, it's still there, waiting for me. And I know, deep down, that I won't be able to stay detached as much as I would like to think I can. Not this time.

As I round the corner, pushing myself to my limits, I finally let the anger out, the frustration spilling over into the pounding of my feet, the burn in my lungs. I run until I can't think anymore until the only thing that exists is the rhythm of my breath and the beat of my heart.

But when I finally stop, doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping for air, I know that nothing has really changed. The dilemma is still there, waiting for me. And no matter how much I want to, I can't run away from her and the fact that she is my mother and I have the tools to help her.

The run was brutal, just what I needed to push everything else out of my mind, even if only for a little while. Hands on my knees, hanging my head, trying to catch my breath, the weight of it all starts creeping back in—until I hear her voice.

"Hunter?"

I look up, my breath still ragged, and there she is. Frankie. The last person I expect to see, yet exactly who I need at this moment. The stress, the anger, the frustration—all of it seems to dissolve the second I see her standing there, illuminated by the streetlights.

She walks up to me, her eyes full of concern, but there's something else there too, something softer that I can't quite put my finger on. "You okay?" she asks, her voice gentle, soothing in a way that nothing else has been tonight.

"Yeah," I manage to say, straightening up, though my heart's still racing—and not just from the run. "Just… needed a good, hard run."

She gives me a small smile, the kind that makes pressure on my chest lighten. "Since we ran into each other at the park, I've been doing nightly walks. I've been loving it. Never thought I'd be the type to enjoy walking around the city at night, but it's my new thing."

I can't help but smile back, the tension easing out of my muscles just from being near her. "Glad to hear it. You look like you're enjoying yourself." My breathing is slowing enough that I can at least speak in complete sentences.

"I am," she says, then glances at me, her brow furrowing slightly. "But you look like you need to catch your breath," she says with a laugh. "Do you always push yourself that hard? Are you training for something?"

I shake my head, the words coming out automatically, even though my mind is still on that phone call with my mom. "No, sometimes I like to see what I can push my body to do. It's how I clear my head."

She nods, accepting the answer without prying, but I can tell she's curious. It's one of the things I like about Frankie—she knows when to push and when to give space.

"I wish I exercised to clear my head. I go the opposite direction and eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Going for a run sounds so much better for me."

"Don't worry, I do that, too. Speaking of, want to grab a beer with me?"

"Now?" She looks at her watch, as if she is Cinderella and she needs to get home.

"Sure. After a run like that," I say, shifting the conversation, "I usually like to grab a frosty one at the Back Forty right here on first. It's my reward. Want to join me?" I want to say that seeing her is my reward, but I resist.

Her eyes light up, and she gives me that smile again, the one that makes everything else fade into the background. "Sure. I'd love to."

The Back Forty Beer Company

10:52 pm

The dimly bar lighting feels all the softer sitting here with Frankie. Nearby tables occasionally erupt in bursts of laughter, blending with the clink of glasses and the soft hum of conversation.

Frankie and I have been here for a while, mostly making small talk, easing into our out-of-the-office relationship. A pleasant outcome has been the complete unraveling of the tension from earlier. It's easy with her, natural like we're old friends instead of awkward colleagues who slept together once.

I take a sip of my beer, glancing at her over the rim of my glass. She's pensive suddenly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. I wonder what's on her mind, but it isn't appropriate for me to ask.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, her voice soft but laced with something, letting me know we have crossed from small talk to a deeper subject.

"Of course," I reply, leaning in slightly, giving her my full attention. Whatever it is, it's clearly important to her.

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers wiping the condensation on the side of her glass. "How much do you know about Hodgkin's lymphoma?"

The question catches me off guard, but I manage to keep my expression neutral. "Quite a bit, actually," I say, trying to gauge where this is coming from. "It's a type of cancer that affects the lymphatic system. Why do you ask?"

She sighs, her eyes dropping to her drink. "Someone close to me… they were recently diagnosed. I've been trying to learn more about it, to understand what they're going through, the prognosis."

I nod slowly, empathizing with her all to well. Of all the things she could have asked about… "I'm sorry to hear that," I say, my voice sincere. "It can be a lot to take in. But the good news is that treatment for Hodgkin's has come a long way. The prognosis can be very positive, especially if it's caught early."

I leave out the fact that there is this newer, more stubborn strain out there. It is rare, and the chances her friend, or loved one, has it are slim. No need to add to her worry.

She looks up at me, her green eyes searching mine, and I can see the concern there, the fear she's trying to hide. "Yeah, that's what I've been reading," she murmurs. "But there are so many variables, you know? I guess I just want to understand as much as I can about it."

I want to tell her about my mom, to let her know that I understand exactly what she's going through. But something holds me back. Maybe it's the part of me that doesn't want to open that door, doesn't want to admit how close to home this hits. So instead, I offer what comfort I can.

"It's normal to get overwhelmed with all of it," I say, keeping my tone even. "But you don't have to have all the answers right away. Just being there for them, supporting them—that's what really matters."

She nods, taking in my words, and for a moment, we just sit there in silence, the noise of the bar fading into the background. I can tell this is weighing heavily on her, and I want to do more, say more, but I don't. We both bask in the comfortable silence instead.

"Thanks," she says quietly, finally looking up at me again. "It helps to talk about it, even if I don't have all the answers."

"Anytime," I reply, meaning it. "And if you ever need to talk more… you know where to find me."

She smiles a small, genuine smile that sends a warmth through me. One that I haven't felt in a long time. For the second time tonight, I have to admit something I have been running from: it feels good.

"Geez," she says suddenly. "I didn't realize how late it was. I probably should get going." With that, she turns up her glass and drains her beer.

Damn. Her hotness level just went up another notch.