Page 45 of Threads That Bind Us
Charlie’s hand freezes on my hip, the soft touches suddenly still. I try to turn, to figure out what’s wrong, but he holds me in place, fingers digging in softly.
“Wouldn’t want them to wound your pride,” he says, his voice a little harder than before.
I want to argue, but what the hell do I even say? He might be right.
The staff dissipates, and Dr. Mya leads Ana back to the treatment area. She looks back at us, bag slung over her shoulder, and she smiles like she really is happy.
Ana’slast appointment goes by quicker than any have before. When she returns from the treatment area, a radiation tech holding her hand and her jacket already around her shoulders, I can see it in her eyes. She made it. And even though we’re not out of the woods yet, the feeling of relief is overwhelming.
People keep coming by, wishing her luck with her scans, making jokes about how they hope they never see us again. Charlie gets a few more lingering glances, but each time hishand finds its way around my shoulders, or onto my knee, and I curse myself for feeling comforted by the motion.
She’s chatty the entire ride home, telling Charlie and me about the playlist that one of the nurses made for her based on the music she played during treatment. She’s still exhausted, and based on Dr. Mya’s latest message, she likely will be for weeks, but she seems hopeful.
Traffic is light, and we make it back relatively quickly. When we walk through the front door, Charlie turns to take Ana’s coat.
Ana hovers in the entry a bit, rocking on her heels, and I realize that this is the first time we’ve walked into this house as ourhome. In the apartment, she’d kick off her shoes and launch herself onto the couch, or claw through the pantry for cheese crackers. But neither of us knows how to act.
Charlie must have been prepared for the awkwardness, because after hanging up our coats, he turns to Ana.
“This isyourhome now, okay? Leave your shoes in the hallway, decorate the walls, do whatever you want. Both of you,” he says, glancing at me. “I know it’ll take some getting used to, but I want you to be comfortable here. So, I’ve got a little surprise.”
Ana looks to me, but I’ve got no answers for her, so I just shrug and let Charlie lead us down the hallway. When we land in front of the door to Ana’s new room, Charlie steps back and urges her forward.
“Go ahead.”
Ana cracks the door open, leaning in hesitantly. But all nerves seem to disappear as she sees what’s inside.
It’s the same bed I slept in on my first night here, but the olive green sheets have been replaced with pale blue ones. Pictures that used to be pinned to her bedroom wall with thumbtacks—of her softball team, of her and Gray in cosplay, of school events and championships—are hanging in frames abovea small desk. But it’s clear what the star of the show is by the way she beelines to it.
There’s a second desk on the wall across from her bed, quite a bit bigger than the other one. Small rolls of fabric are stacked in open shelves under the tabletop, and books on costume design and fashion are lined up in color-coordinated rows along the back. Gold fabric shears, black charcoal pencils, rotary cutters, and other tools of the trade sit in pretty acrylic containers. A peg board hangs precisely on the wall.
But nothing stands out more than the shiny new sewing machine sitting in the center of the desk. It looks professional grade—dark blue and massive, with a fancy computer screen on the front. It’s way nicer than the one Ana uses at the public library, or even the one Gray has.
“Holy shit,” Ana whispers, running her shaking hand over the top of the machine.
I should tell her not to say shit, butholy shit. I’ve looked up how much these things cost, and it’s in the hundreds, maybe thousands. This is way too much.
But as I watch Ana sit at the chair in front of the desk, peeking under the table and searching through the swathes of fabric, I can’t chastise Charlie about how much he spent. Because if I’d been able to, I would have done the exact same thing.
“This is really mine?” Ana asks, swiveling around in her chair. She looks on the edge of tears, which has me swallowing back my own.
Goddamnit, I cry a lot lately.
“All yours, kid,” Charlie says, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam. “We’ve got to get your applications ready, right?”
Ana smiles so wide it’s got to hurt her cheeks. She spinsaround in a circle in the chair, the joy radiating from her like sunshine.
“Thank you, Charlie,” she says, but Charlie shakes his head.
“Thank your sister. She’s the one who made this happen.”
Sometimes when I look at Charlie, I can’t read a thing. He’s so disciplined that every emotion is locked in some sort of safe I can’t crack. But there are moments like this where it seems like he’s unlocked it for me, letting me see everything written there.
An inside joke, a thank you, a gift. A moment where we’re on the same team.
Ana collides with me, and I avoid touching her left side as I hug her back.
“Thanks, Ginny,” she whispers into my shoulder. “For everything.”