Page 7

HARLOW

“Are you ever going to get that thing done, or do you just intend on staring at it for the rest of your days, wishing you were brave enough?”

I glance at the sketch tacked to my mirror before lifting my eyes over my shoulder to Brooke, who’s now made herself comfortable in my bed.

“Something wrong with your room?”

“Yeah, actually. It stinks of vomit.”

“So you thought you’d spread it to my bed, too? Great, thanks.”

“I’ve showered; you’re safe.”

That doesn’t exactly make me feel better, but I look back to my mirror to finish getting ready. My stomach bottoms out the second I remember what exactly it is I’m getting ready for before I have a chance to push it aside.

“I’ll get it one day,” I mutter, looking at the design I came up with a few years ago for the day I was brave enough to be inked.

After all the shit I did in my teen years, you wouldn’t think getting a tattoo would be all that wild, but every time I think about it, I chicken out.

I’ve even gotten as far as a waiting room a time or two, but each visit ended with me walking back out through the door with my skin as bare as when I walked inside.

“You’ve been saying that for years. Pull the Band-Aid off and just do it. I guarantee you’ll feel better after.”

“Says the expert,” I mutter. Her knowledge of tattoos is limited to the tramp stamp on her back.

“I’m too hungover to argue with you.”

“And for that, I’m truly grateful.”

“Bitch.”

“Yet still you love me.”

“That I do, sista. That I do. You look nice,” Brooke says, her eyes running the length of me.

“Dress for the news you want, right?”

“It’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure you’ve had your fill of bad luck over the years.”

“She’s been called in on a Saturday. Do you really believe that?”

Dread passes through her eyes, and my stomach twists. I’m about to be told that I’m losing someone else I love. They’re words that one should only hear once or twice in their lives, but for me, it’s a more common occurrence than I’d like to admit.

Brooke’s slightly green face pales. She knows I’m right.

“It will be what it will be. I’ve just got to do my best to support her through it.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

I shrug. I can see how Brooke might see it that way, but really, I’m the lucky one. My aunt is my lifeline. She came for me when I was at my lowest, and without her, I’ve no doubt that I wouldn’t be here right now.

Pushing from the stool I’m sitting on, I stand and pull my purse from the bed.

“Message me when you have news.”

I nod, my breath caught in my throat and move toward the door. I’ve got to be strong for her. She might be all I have in the family department, but equally, I’m all she’s got, and I need to be as strong for her as she was for me. It’s time for me to pull up my big-girl panties.

My aunt’s waiting at the window when I pull up to her home.

In seconds, she’s out of the front door and heading my way.

A weak smile graces her lips, but she’s just trying to put on a show for my benefit.

I can see how she’s really feeling in the depths of her dark eyes.

She’s terrified but doesn’t want me to know it.

“Good morning,” she sings in her usual cheerful voice which normally brings me joy, but right now, all I want to do is cry.

“Morning,” I force out through the lump in my throat.

“You didn’t have to come, you know. I’m a big girl; I could have gone alone.”

“No chance. We’re a team, remember? We do the hard stuff together.” I repeat the words she said to me time and time again in my late teen years.

She reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing tightly. “We both know what he’s going to say, and neither of us wants or needs to hear it. But …” She trails off.

“The unknown is worse than the reality.” She nods, a tiny smile twitching at her lips.

“Exactly. Let’s go and find out the reality. See what we’re really facing.”

My aunt was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was nineteen. I’d just managed to sort my life out and then hers was falling apart.

She’d saved my life, and now she was going to lose hers.

Tears burn my eyes as I recall that first appointment when we heard the bad news, and everything that was to follow.

The hospital appointments, the treatment, the sickness.

She handled it all with such strength. I already knew that she was one hell of a woman, but watching her kick cancer’s butt one day at a time was incredible.

I was so proud of her and inspired by her resilience.

She’d only recently lost the love of her life, and now she was fighting for her own.

It takes a really special kind of person to be able to get through all of that unscathed—not to mention picking up your wayward niece and bringing her back to life along the way.

I back out of her drive and force down my fear. There’s no point in jumping to conclusions. This is going to be bad, but we don’t know how bad. People live with returning cancer for years. Maybe she’ll be one of the lucky ones.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the scans show that your tumors are growing faster than we anticipated.

That will account for the symptoms you’ve been complaining of.

The headaches, the dizziness, the confusion, the seizures.

” I turn to look at my aunt, my eyebrows raised in accusation.

All the while, my heart is shattering in my chest.

“You didn’t tell me?—”

“I didn’t want to worry you unduly.”

“Unduly? I’m thinking it was kind of important.”

“It is what it is. There’s nothing you could do to fix it.”

“Maybe not. But he can,” I say, gesturing to the doctor watching our exchange. “So, what next? What’s the treatment plan? What’s the prognosis?”

He swallows before opening his mouth, and my body turns to ice. “Well, we can discuss treatment options, most likely radiation. But you’ve already indicated on a number of occasions that you don’t want any more treatment. Is that right Mrs. Winslow?”

“But that was before. When you thought it was all over. You can’t still?—”

“That’s correct.”

“No, no. It might help. It might give you more time,” I beg, reality fast slipping away from me.

“More time for what, Lo? To be ill and have to be looked after by you, carers or nurses? If this is my time, then I want to go out with dignity.”

I blow out a long breath, trying to absorb what she’s saying. What she’s always said. “I know you do.” I take her hand in mine and squeeze. It takes every bit of strength I possess to say it, but I meet her eyes and allow the words to pass my lips. “I’ll be there for you, whatever you decide.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her own eyes full of unshed tears.

“So, the prognosis?” I ask again, turning to the doctor.

“It’s all a guess at this stage, but at best I’d say a couple of months. At worst …”

“At worst?”

“Weeks.”

“Fucking hell,” I say on a sigh, my body desperate to curl up into a ball in an attempt to block everything out.

I don’t hear another word the doctor says. The only thing filling my ears is my blood racing through them, and my pounding heart that sounds like a drum.

I’m going to lose her, too, and then who do I have?

When it’s time to leave, my aunt places her hand on my shoulder. I flinch at the contact, so lost in my own world that I wasn’t even aware the appointment was over.

“Come on, Lo. I think we should go and get cake.”

A sad laugh falls from my lips, but I can’t deny that eating my weight in cake right now sounds appealing.

She slips her hand into mine, and together, with our heads held high and tears in our eyes, we walk toward the car.

I drive us to our favorite place on autopilot, a little cake shop on the Malibu coastline.

It’s run by an old English couple, and it’s the quaintest place I’ve ever seen.

The homemade cakes are displayed on towering stands and the tables are covered in tartan cloths with small vases of fresh flowers.

My aunt orders us our regular: a pot of English tea for her and a large cappuccino with an extra shot for me, along with two huge slices of cake.

I poke my fork into the soft sponge, not really having the stomach for it now that it’s in front of me. The silence between us is heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable as we both attempt to come to terms with what we’ve just learned.

My uncle always promised that, should anything happen to him, my aunt would be looked after.

He certainly pulled through. When I took her to her first appointment all those years ago, I was floored by the hospital she directed me to.

It was a million miles from any I’d visited in my past. But sadly, it seems it doesn’t matter how much money you have or how incredible the doctors who treat you are.

Cancer doesn’t care.

It doesn’t give a fuck what kind of person you are and what you can offer to the world. It just shits all over you and wipes you out before your time, leaving your loved ones behind, trying to figure out how to move on.

My lip trembles as I think of my future with no family.

“Everything will be okay, Lo.”

“I know,” I lie. “I’m just going to be alone. You’re my last—” A sob bubbles up my throat, cutting off my words.

“Family isn’t just blood. You’ve got Brooke and her parents.”

“I know, but?—”

“No buts. I’m not going to lie and try to tell you that the world hasn’t handed you a pretty fucked-up few years, but you’ve gone through worse than this and you’ve come out the other side stronger. It’s time, once again, to move on, to create your own family, and to think about your future.”

At that moment, the song that was playing softly in the background comes to an end, and a male British voice fills the space. I’m immediately taken back to last night when Corey was whispering in my ear. My skin pricks and my cheeks heat.

“Lo?” my aunt asks, not missing my reaction.

Shaking my head, I drag myself back to my miserable here and now instead of the small escape I allowed myself last night.