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“It’s nothing,” I mutter, finally lifting a forkful of cake to my lips.

“My dear, anything that makes you blush like that certainly isn’t nothing.”

“Perceptive much?” I grumble, making her laugh. “Brooke dragged me out last night and?—”

“You met someone?” Her hopes rise along with her voice. She’s been desperate for me to put myself out there—almost as desperate as Brooke has been, although I think their reasons might be slightly different.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Really?”

Rolling my eyes at her persistence, I give in, knowing she’s desperate for something to think about other than the appointment we just left.

“There was just a guy I was dancing with. A British guy.”

“Ohhh … a British guy. You know what they say about those?” She winks, and my cheeks flame once again.

“Err … no?”

“Me neither, but any man who turns your cheeks that color is worthy of a little of your time. So, when are you seeing him again?”

“I’m not,” I mutter, focusing on my now half-eaten cake.

“He didn’t give you his number?”

“Yeah, he did. I’m just not looking for anything right now.”

“Harlow, the best things don’t appear when we’re looking for them. They usually hit you upside the head when you least expect it.”

“I know.”

“So, call him. He might be the perfect distraction.” She winks, and I pray for the floor to swallow me up. My aunt isn’t na?ve to my past—she actually found herself dragging me from the situations I got myself into more than once, so she knows exactly the kind of distraction I used to rely on.

“I don’t need a distraction.”

“Harlow,” she sighs. “Stop being so afraid. Meeting this guy again, going on a date, spending time with him is so far from anything in your past. A distraction can come in many forms. You’re a different person now.

You’re strong. You know what you want from life.

You make good choices. But you’re letting your fear get in the way of really living your life.

How many guys have you turned down over the years? ”

“A lot,” I mutter, not all that happy that this has turned into a Harlow therapy session all of a sudden. Shouldn’t I be supporting her right now?

“Love is worth being brave for. Trust me.” Her eyes go all soft as she thinks about my uncle. He was the only man she ever knew, and their love was unbreakable to the very end.

“I’m not sure this is?—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t call him and find out. Sure, there’s a chance you’ll meet a few frogs along the way, but some lucky people like me find their prince right away.”

“I’ve already done the frogs. They’re what I’m afraid of.”

“Different kind of frog, Lo.”

I think back to the guys of my past, and I can’t deny that what she’s saying isn’t true. Corey is totally different from the wastes of space I remember, who only wanted me for one thing while I craved the mind-numbing bliss they offered in return. My stomach turns over with disgust.

I mull her words over as I finish off my cake. As much as I hate to consider that she might be right, it’s better than thinking about our reality. In a few weeks, she might not be here to give me any advice, so I’d better enjoy it while I have it.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good, because it’s time you started doing something for yourself for a change. You spend too much of your life supporting everyone else around you.”

“It’s what I enjoy.”

“I know you do, and I know it makes you happy. But you’re important too.”

She yawns, and it’s the perfect reminder of what the biggest issue is right now.

“I should get you home.”

“I’m sorry, I?—”

“Don’t. Don’t ever be sorry. None of this is your fault.”

“I know. I just hate that I’ve put that look in your eye once more.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m stronger than I look, it seems.”

“That you are, girl. That you are.”

We pay our small bill before heading out to find my car.

“I could do with a few groceries, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it,” she admits, resting her head back the second she’s in the seat, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll run in. Unless you’d rather go straight home.”

“I can wait in the car. I don’t want you doing more than necessary.”

I want to tell her that it’s the least I can do, but she looks too tired for the inevitable argument that would follow.

“As long as you’re sure. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” she argues, but I can see in her eyes that it’s all lies. She quickly lists off a few things she needs before resting back once again and closing her eyes.

I look over once we’re out on the freeway, and she’s already asleep.

My chest aches with the knowledge that she’s in constant discomfort, yet to an outsider they’d never know.

She appears so strong, so healthy, especially with her perfectly applied make-up and styled hair.

Underneath all of that is just a shell of a woman.

Every time I see her, a little more of her spark has gone, and it kills me.

I hate to imagine what the next few weeks—couple of months, if we’re lucky—might be like as I watch her lose her fight against this disease.

I grab all the items my aunt asked for before adding a new bottle of rum, some cola, and a bar of chocolate to the cart and heading to the register. That’s my night sorted.

“You should call him.” My aunt’s words ring out in my mind as I join the line, and my stomach twists uncomfortably. He’s probably forgotten all about me by now. For all I know, he found a replacement the moment I left and spent the night with her instead.

Pushing aside the thought, I pay for our groceries and head back to the car.

The rest of the ride is in silence, and I’m glad.

My head is spinning with everything the doctors said alongside my aunt’s advice.

I know she’s right. I need to stop worrying about everyone else, but that’s easier said than done.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve put myself last. For a long time, it was easier to focus on others and their issues than it was to think about my own disaster of a life.

After helping her in, I put the few groceries away while my aunt changes and settles herself on the couch.

“Would you like me to stay?” I ask from the doorway.

“No, no. You get off and enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not sure I’m really up for it.”

“Harlow,” she says on a sigh. “Take it from someone older and possibly a little bit wiser. Life goes by in the blink of an eye. It’s too short not to enjoy yourself.

So put on your dancing shoes and drag Brooke out for a night of fun, if you’re still insistent that you’re not going to call your mystery man. ”

I nod, her hopeful expression too much to deny. “I’ll see what I can do.”

My aunt smiles, but I’m not sure if she believes me or not. Honestly, I don’t believe myself either.

“Just don’t waste time, Lo.” I drop a kiss to her cheek and promise to call her in the morning, leaving her house with a heavy heart, wondering how many more times I’m going to get to do so.

Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to give in to them until I’m in the safety of my car.

The second I close the door behind me, everything I’ve kept bottled inside since walking out of the doctor’s office explodes.

I cry, sob, and wail for everything I’m about to lose. My aunt is all I have now. She’s picked me up time and time again, and I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.

I sit there for the longest time, trying to imagine what’s in the future for us and how my life is going to change once again when the time comes to say goodbye to her.

Movement in her living room window catches my eye and forces me to turn the engine on and pull away from my parking spot. The last thing I need is her knowing how much this is ripping me apart. I can’t imagine how she’s coping; she doesn’t need to be worrying about me as well.

I slam my foot down on the accelerator and speed off down the street. The bottle of rum and the chocolate call to me from the trunk, and I fully intend on pulling on some yoga pants and sitting my ass down on the couch with both at the first possible opportunity.

I pull up on the driveway to the house Brooke and I share and let out a large sigh.

I wipe any remaining tears from my eyes, although I know it’s pointless.

The second she sees the redness surrounding them, she’ll know.

She always does. That’s the thing with us; we might be polar opposites with everything, but our connection runs deeper, stronger than any differences in opinion or taste.

With my grocery bag of goodies in hand, I push through the front door. She’s there immediately.

A sob erupts from my throat, and she rushes for me. Somehow, she takes the bag from my hands before it crashes to the floor and pulls me into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers in my ear as she holds me.

“She … she might only have weeks, B.”

“It’s going to be okay,” she soothes.

“How?”

“Because it will. You’re stronger than this.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not a choice right now. She needs you, and I know you’ll do everything you can for her. But I’m here for anything else you need. I know you’re freaking out that she’s about to leave you alone, but that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got my parents. We’re all here for you.”

“I know you are. She’s just?—”

“I know, but she needs to know you’re okay. That you’re going to be okay. She’ll never tell you, but she’s terrified too.”

I pull out of my best friend’s arms and narrow my watery eyes at her. “She called you, didn’t she?”

“Of course. Come on.”

I follow her through to the kitchen where I find a big glass of rum and Coke already waiting for me. I should have known that Brooke would have seen the empty bottle and been on top of it.

“Thank you,” I mutter, happily accepting the glass as she passes it over.

“Drink that and then go and sort yourself out. We’re going out.”