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“Birdie,” she says, Bo squeezing my hand under the table. “You are a better friend than one person deserves in a lifetime.”

I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know—but her twisted hands cut me off, clapping. With a grin, she declares, “Now enough of the mushy stuff, let’s eat cake!” earning a loud enough cheer from the kids and Bo.

With the attention off me, I slip away from the table, secret tears dripping down my face.

My eyes catch my dad’s before I go to the bathroom. He nods. He sees the same lie I do.

Bo and Veda never stop smiling as they share a big piece of cake.

I say good night to my dad as he gets in his truck and Veda and Huck settle into the minivan so I can drive them both home.

When Bo hugs and kisses me good night, guilt stings. Everywhere. I hate myself as much as I hate the cancer in Veda’s body.

She’s silent the entire drive.

“I wonder if Huck had fun tonight,” I say, numb, setting Huck off on a too-loud monologue about all the reasons he had fun, filling the quiet of the ride until I drop him off.

When I get Veda inside her house, I flip on her lights and glare at her, unable to decide if I want to scream or cry. “Want to tell me what that little speech was about?” I demand, hands on my hips.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Can’t a woman give a speech at her birthday dinner? I’m eighty for God’s sake!”

I huff out a breath. “I’m not playing this game, Veda. I want to tell Bo. Tomorrow. I can’t do this. The lying—it’s killing me!”

She looks at me, lips pursed, until she sighs. “Fine. We’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I say, softening, wrapping a hand around her arm. “I’ll be with you; I’m on your side.”

She smiles, just slightly, and nods.

“I meant what I said, Birdie. You’ve been a great friend to me.”

I look at her, trying to understand what she’s not saying, but I can’t.

Instead, I hug her. Tightly. “You’ve been a great friend to me too. We can figure everything else out tomorrow.” I pull back slightly, still looking at her, and add, “Just so you know, Veda, I’ll never stop loving him.”

She looks at me like she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. She’s quiet.

“Birdie?” I stop, turning to face her from the doorway. “You’re not horrible with the clay.”

I chuckle, hand on the doorknob. “Careful, Veda. Eighty might be the year you become tolerable.”

Her smile makes mine widen, then I lift my chin, pull the door closed behind me, and I step outside.

Driving home, the only thing I can think is—Bo’s finally going to know Veda has cancer.

Forty-two

I don’t sleep.

I stare at the ceiling—all night—thinking about Veda.

Bo.

Veda and Bo.

When the clock next to me says 4:12a.m., I get out of bed and start researching holistic ways to make these next months more comfortable for her. There has to be something other than copious amounts of marijuana and painkillers.

I print out twenty pages on self-massaging techniques, stretches, and some kind of mega green smoothie recipe that all claim to help. Organized, stapled, and in a folder on my passenger seat, my body buzzes with anticipation over how Bo is going to react as I drive to Veda’s.