I played Candy Crush as I waited in the hospital waiting room. It's only been thirty minutes, but time is steadily killing me, and I need to kill my boredom. I made three moves by tapping on a 'disco' sprinkled chocolate ball on my phone. I'm watching this while all the yellow candies on my phone are eliminated—one more move. I've got one more move, and it will either fail or succeed. I'm trying to concentrate and find a strategy, and I've now taken my last attempt, hoping to get to the next round. When I got rid of all the frozen boxes on my phone, excitement streaked through me like a comet.

"Aaren?"

I hear the voice of Dr. Fhassan, calling out for my attention. I saw him standing a few steps away from me, looking up from my phone. He signals for me to follow him to the office where my mother was.

I saw my mom weeping when I entered. All the excitement I felt recently from earlier suddenly disappeared. I went over and gave her a side hug, uncertain about what was going on. All I could do was support her and let her tears flow from the torrent of her emotions. I could see her fists clenched, not knowing whether she was trying to be angry or giving up any sense of hope.

Silently, I could hear her crying, suffocating with every breath she took hold of. I played through her hair with my fingertips, over and over and over, trying to ease the quiet battle that she's been fighting this entire time all by herself. What have they been talking about?

"Is something wrong with her?"

"I suspect her condition is getting worse. Over the next four to six months, we need to continue her medication. I'm sure we'll be able to find someone by then who will donate a kidney that matches her own."

As my mother's son, I am starting to feel helpless and somewhat useless.

Systemic lupus erythematosus is an autoimmune disease in which the body's immune system (which is the immune system of my mom) in some regions of the body mistakenly targets healthy tissues.

For over six years, she has been diagnosed with it, and now, it's just getting worse. People who have lupus will most likely die young because of kidney failure. Most of them, about ninety percent, do. My mom, hopefully, isn't part of that ninety percent.

We don't have a lot of money to afford her treatment, and even if we did, I know mom would turn it down if it came out of my savings. She would prefer to let me spend it on our rent, food, and expenses in our school.

Though, a kidney transplant would be the most effective treatment for her right now. Since no one seems to have to be a match for her, we have not found a donor for years.

Asking for help from our grandparents wouldn't help us much, either, because we have never met them, not even once, not even on special occasions.

All I know is that ever since mom decided to move out of their house and marry Christopher at the age of twenty-one, they have avoided engaging with mom's parents.

My aunt helps us out whenever she can, which is already a huge help. She pays a percentage of my mom's hospital bills, as well as for our education. As for rent, my mom still pays for it by working as a freelance ghostwriter online.

"I don't think we should do this. I can still manage," Mom said.

"Let's do it," I said, ignoring her response as I look at Dr. Fhassan.

I knew that keeping a piggy bank and saving would help me someday, and I think it's time I use some of my savings from the previous years, working as a part-time cash register at 7/11.

Dr. Fhassan nodded his head and continued, as he held onto the papers with my mom's medical record. I feel the hand of my mom, tugging my arm to get my attention. It hurts to see her hurt in that way.

"Please, Aaren. I'm fine."

"Mom, you wouldn't be here if you're fine. So please, stop worrying about it," I forced myself to look at her.

I turned my head away as soon as I could feel my eyes burning and my throat tightening. I could sense unwelcomed feelings about slipping. I blinked away the tears and forced a smile on my lips.

"You'll get better. You need to get better, okay?" I say to her.

I cupped both of her cheeks and pecked her forehead. When I brushed the tears away from her cheeks, her mouth tugged into a small smile.

"Come back within the next three weeks because we need to run some tests for her before she starts the treatment," Dr. Fhassan said.

He gave me a piece of paper with some prescribed medication on it.

"Go to the pharmacy for now and buy those medications for her. I need you to keep track and notice any changes if there are any," He added.

I nodded, thanking him for his time before my mom and I decided to leave his office.

❀

In less than fifteen minutes, we got home. It was a joy to settle back here in the town and neighborhood because they built a hospital near the area where we were that doesn't take us thirty minutes or so to drive to anytime an emergency happens.

Instead of letting her sleep once again on the sofa in our living room, I let my mom relax on her bed. As if waiting for our father to come back home from work, she still rests on the living room sofa. Six years have passed since he came home to us, but my mom still believes in him and is still desperately waiting for him, which somehow makes me disappointed.

After I left the house and headed elsewhere, I waited for her to fall asleep first. Sometimes, every time I drive alone at night with no destination in sight, I find it soothing. I would always catch myself going to another town, and then, when it was six in the morning, I would head back home. It's the one thing I know that gives me comfort because I haven't felt that from anyone else in such a long time.

As I gripped the steering wheel firmly, my knuckles started to turn white. My view was straight ahead, riveted. Down, on this road somewhere, takes me somewhere, a spot I will never know I was looking for until I was there; present. My right knee is urging the gas pedal to gain more power. And, all of a sudden, I run to the brake with my foot.

As soon as I arrived at the flower fields, I got out of the car. This was the spot my mom and I used to go to every spring. She would take a snapshot of me and my brother, Jonathan, every year and insert those images into one of those remembrance books. I do not know why she takes a photo of Jonathan and me every year when we visit. Maybe she wants to remember how we used to be so tiny?

Carlsbad Flower Fields is closed. It opens only from March to May.

No matter how ill she was and how sick her illness made her tired, my mom has never stopped going here every single day.

I look outside at the sign as I sit on my car's hood. I think of those days when my father used to race across this field of flowers, chasing my mother and me. I remember that we were nearly thrown out because I had the flowers ruined. Jonathan disliked the flower fields because he thought they were too colorful. I don't know why Jonathan despised bright things. He prefers one or three shades, all blended in a portrait, but he doesn't want to see more than four colors in one.

As for me, I like whatever my mom likes. Whenever my mom does something, mainly when I was a kid, I just bandwagon the entire time. I will try to prepare dinner, too, if she were to cook food for us. But it was only because I got busy hanging out with my friends that I stopped doing it, and who knew years ago that those were going to be our last days of seeing each other?

Who knows, however? This could be for the better. Since I can't even go out after school because I have a responsibility to support and take care of my mother at home, I can't make friends anymore.

"Aaren?" I see a man holding a black bucket in the distance. I narrow my eyes and see the guy approaching me, "Aaren! What are you doing here? You do know that this place doesn't open until next year's spring."

"Mr. Brady! How are you?" I asked.

One of the gardeners who take charge of the flower fields day and night is Mr. Brady. Usually, he sits inside the booth, so you'll see him outside, loading the flowers with a bucket of water. He remembers me only because he sees me coming in and out of this place every year.

"I'm doing great! How are you? How's your mother?"

"I'm great. My mom is at home, resting. We just got out of the hospital earlier for her monthly checkup. I drove my mom home first before I decided, out of nowhere, to go here."

Mr. Brady is one of the people who look so mean and acts so mean. When, in reality, he's nice. He's the one who nearly booted me and my family out of this place. Mr. Brady and my mom relate to each other since they have the same passion for planting flowers.

"So, are you still living out of this town?"

"We just moved back here months ago. It's good to be back here in this place after so many years," I say, chuckling to myself.

"I believe that once you live in Carlsbad, it'll be harder for you to leave. How can you even leave this beautiful town?" He laughs.

For many years, since its first opening, Mr. Brady and his wife have been supporting the owners of this place. I've heard so many stories about the Ecke family owning this property, and this place is still filled with visitors from all over the world every year.

"I have to go, Mister Brady. It was nice seeing you. I'll see you back in spring, okay?" I say to him.

I watch him bid adieu to me as he smiles and walks away. As I put the keys into the ignition, I unlocked the vehicle and jumped inside, starting the car. I rolled the window down on my side and let my skin be fanned with the early autumn night breeze.

All I needed to know when my father left us for his new family was why. Why did he abandon mom for another wife? Why would he abandon Jonathan and me? Has our family never been perfectly enough? I could think inside my mind a million, endless questions, knowing that these questions will never be entertained since they will never have an answer to them.

I took the phone out of my denim pocket while I pulled the aux cord out and plugged it into my phone. I scrolled through my playlists of music and played something indie, which matched my mood and vibe.

I started driving out of the parking space of Carlsbad Flower Fields. I rolled my window down and stick my head out.

"Good luck with those flowers, Mister Brady!"

Mr. Brady turns his head back to look at me and smiles as he waves another goodbye.

"And you enjoy your stay here in Carlsbad. I hope you won't get to leave again next time!"

When I stick my head back into the car and roll up the window, I laugh softly to myself. I turned up the volume and hit the road again, but I'm choosing the route that will take me back home this time.