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She pauses her cutting for a second before resuming. “How did I save your life?”
“The day we met, you performed CPR.”
“Stop,” she says. “I’m not doing this. You’re not going to make me laugh—not this time. It’s no longer funny.”
“It will always be funny, baby. All those years of watchingGrey’s Anatomypaid off.”
“Except you were breathing.”
I release her, but I don’t miss her tiny smile.
“It was the thought that counts. And our first kiss.”
“It was not our first kiss.” She eyes me (her expression at war with her emotions) as I ease onto the kitchen stool opposite her.
I try to hide my grimace, but I can’t. And that sucks because I want—Ineed—her to smile.
“When are you going to tell your parents?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. After the second opinion, I suppose. And after we talk to Astrid.”
She slides the chunks of pineapple into a glass bowl. I pluck one out and pop it into my mouth.
“What about work? Can you quit an investment firm when you’re one of the co-owners?”
“I’ll take a sabbatical.”
“A sabbatical until when?”
“Until I’m ready to return to work, or until I’m …”
Her crestfallen expression digs into my chest like the tip of a sharp knife.
“Ready to retire.” I give her a toothy grin.
“Don’t joke.”
“Laughter is the best medicine. In fact, I think we should wake Astrid and spend all day watching funny movies.”
“I don’t feel like laughing.” She snaps the lid onto the glass bowl.
“Fine. Then, let’s watch movies with people who die of cancer and see how Astrid reacts so we can gauge the best approach to tell her.The Fault in Our Stars. Sweet November. The Bucket List.What else?” I scratch my chin.
“STOP!” She hurls the bowl of pineapple across the kitchen. It hits the edge of the counter and shatters. “Stop…” her words fight through labored breaths “…joking about your goddamn awful prognosis.”
“Mom?” For the second time in less than ten hours, Astrid walks in on Amelia losing control of her emotions.
Amelia presses her palms to the side of her head and blows out a shaky breath. “Astrid. You might need to spend the weekend with Grandma and Grandpa Milloy.”
Astrid shakes her head. “What’s wrong?”
“Come here.” I hold out my arms and lift her onto the counter. “Sweetie, I’m sick.”
“I’m sorry.” She frowns.
“Yeah, me too.”
She touches her neck. “My throat’s sore.”
