My head snaps up and I blink over to him, the same sense of unease I felt last night in bed flares in my chest. “Why wouldn’t she leave her mom?”

“Well, how she’s...” Ansel’s words trail off and he glances nervously over to Oliver. “Shit.”

Oliver is a rock, usually completely unreadable, but I know him better than almost anyone. The way he shifts in his seat, he’s definitely uncomfortable. And then it all clicks, and before either of them have even said anything, I know.

Harlow mentioning that her mother wasn’t feeling well. Mr. Furley asking after Madeline. Harlow’s flashes of desperation and need for escape.

Harlow’s mom is sick sick. Not just with the flu, or a lingering cold.

“Jesus Christ,” I groan, pressing my hands to my face.

“Breast cancer,” Oliver says quietly. “I think... stage... advanced? She had surgery a couple of weeks ago, and is between rounds of chemo.”

“Stage three?” I guess.

He nods. “That sounds right. From what I hear she’s doing all right, for now.”

I can’t do anything but stare down at my plate, a familiar ache pulsing fresh in my chest. I’m not sure who I’m madder at: Harlow for keeping this from me, for telling everyone but me, or at everyone else for keeping her secret. I told her everything and she couldn’t even tell me this? The one thing I would have understood. The only thing I could have offered her.

I drop my fork and the sound rings through the restaurant, louder than the shitty rock song playing on the TV overhead, louder than the other customers. What little I’ve eaten sits heavy, leaden in my stomach, and I’m not sure if I want to throw it up or get the fuck out of here.

“Finn,” Oliver says, reaching out to grip my arm. “Look, I don’t know why she didn’t tell you, okay? But it wasn’t my secret to tell. I swear to God.”

“I know.”

“She had to have had her reasons,” Ansel says quietly.

“Yeah, thanks. That’s super comforting.”

“Think about this before you do anything crazy, okay? I fucked up so bad with Mia... just, hear her out.”

I stand, pulling out my wallet and tossing a twenty to the table.

“Where are you going?” Oliver says.

I shake my head. I can feel my pulse pounding inside my ribs, hear the rush of blood in my head. My heart hurts for her, but I’m frustrated and confused about why she didn’t just tell me. My face feels hot and I’m not sure if I want to find Harlow and ask what the fuck is going on... or if I just want to hit the road and drive.