16 Things I Thought Were True Read Online Free PDF Page B

then she sniffles. “I’m scared, Morgan,” she whispers. I reach for her hand this time and squeeze, trying to forget my own pettier problems.
    â€œYou’re going to be all right,” I say, but it’s hard to make my voice sound convincing when I don’t know. She’s been a smoker as long as I’ve been alive. And she loves wine and hates exercise. “You have to make changes. You will make changes,” I say.
    â€œListen to you, acting like the mother.” She tries to giggle but it turns into a sniffle. I reach over to the table beside her bed and take a Kleenex from the box and hand it to her. She takes it and loudly blows her nose. “I wish you had more friends to talk to,” she says with another little sigh. “In case something happens to me.”
    â€œYou’re going to be fine,” I answer automatically. “And I have friends.”
    She narrows her eyes. “I mean real ones.”
    Now this, this is the familiar script. I sit up straighter and hold in my comebacks. My online friends are real. No matter what she thinks.
    â€œYou’re going to be okay, Morgan,” she says.
    I swallow and swallow again and breathe deeply, suppressing my urge to make this about me, to ask if I came with a money-back guarantee—or if a dream told her that. But this isn’t the time or the place for old arguments.
    â€œI’m not going to make it,” she whispers.
    â€œMom. You’ll be home before you know it.” I wiggle myself a little closer to her on the bed, so my knee touches her hip. It’s bony. She’s always kept herself so thin. “You’re going to be fine.”
    â€œNo.” A single tear plops out of her eye and runs down her cheek.
    My heart beats faster, and for a moment, I have an urge to throw up. She’s not going to die. She’s scared. She’s going to have an operation and she’s being melodramatic. I close my eyes and fight an instinct to flee the room, run to my phone.
    â€œYes,” I say softly.
    I stare down at her hand and notice age spots. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer to God. We’re not always on great terms, but I hope He’s listening.
    â€œI owe you some explanations,” she says.
    I open my eyes, and she’s staring at me so intently, I frown.
    â€œMom? You don’t owe me anything,” I say quietly. “And even if you did, you’ll be home soon and can tell me then.”
    Frrrrrrrrrrapppppppppp .
    There’s a loud sound from the bed across the room. I turn my head, startled, and realize the old man across from her farted. It’s drawn out and loud and travels through the privacy curtain to us. Mom and I stare at each other for a second and then we both start to laugh. The old guy snorts.
    â€œSorry ’bout that,” he calls out. “Damn medication.”
    Mom and I laugh softly, but it dwindles quickly, and the room is quiet again, except for the whirring.
    â€œI’m sorry for so many things,” she says. “For not telling you…” she continues, in a quieter voice.
    My entire body goes stiff, on full alert. I don’t move. I can’t move.
    â€œI should have told you I love you more.” She wipes away a tear, and my own eyes fill up. I’m not used to this person; it’s much easier dealing with the less helpless version of my mom.
    I rub my eyes and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “I know you love me,” I say softly. The words taste foreign in my mouth.
    In the back of my mind, I’m composing a tweet to make this funny somehow. Hashtag #awkwardparentmoments. It would probably trend on Twitter. I want to laugh at this to make the whole situation less real.
    â€œDo you?” She stares intently at me, not blinking. “I’ve never been, you know, good at expressing things. And with you, you’ve always been so self-sufficient. You were an old soul, even when