Page 41 of I’m Already Gone

“Okay, spill,” Ebony demands from her seat at the island.

My eyes briefly meet hers. “Spill what?”

She shakes her head slightly, a knowing look in her eyes. “Don’t play coy, Lily. You’ve been in that zone again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean,” she insists, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. “It’s your tell-tale sign that something’s on your mind.”

She knows me too well.

Baking, especially brownies, has always been my ritual for delivering bad news, a throwback to middle school when I had to tell her that her first boyfriend was caught kissing another girl behind the bleachers. We baked, we danced, we cried.

When I don’t respond, her shoulders slump. “What is it, Lils?”

I switch off the mixer and turn down the music, then take a seat across from her.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this, but every version in my head sounds wrong,” I begin.

“Say it however you want to say it, Lily,” she encourages.

I let out a breath. “I have cancer.”

A palpable silence lingers between us as my words sink in.

Ebony’s eyes begin to mist. “Cancer? What kind of cancer?” she asks quietly.

“Breast cancer, stage three. I start treatment tomorrow,” I explain. “I wanted to wait until I had all the details. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

After a long minute, she nods slowly. The tears that had been glistening in her eyes now spill freely, tracing paths down her cheeks. “I understand, and I’m so sorry, Lily.”

“I’m so scared, Eb. So scared,” I confess.

She’s out of her seat in a flash, rounding the counter and pulling me into a fierce, tight hug. Her voice, muffled against my hair, is a fierce whisper. “You will beat this thing. And you will not be alone. I am here for you. Always. Every step.”

“What if I don’t beat it?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Don’t let your mind take you there. Focus on fighting, okay? That’s what matters right now.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say, wiping away my tears.

“No, it’s not,” she concedes, sitting beside me. “Hey, remember when we were twelve or thirteen, and the older kids dared us to walk through that creepy, old tunnel by the creek?”

I sniffle. “Yeah, why?”

“I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out,” she says, holding up a hand before resting it on her lap. “Before we stepped inside, do you remember what you told me?”

“Yeah. I remember you were afraid of the dark.”

“Exactly. We didn’t know what the hell we were going to find along the way or waiting for us at the end. But you didn’t let me give up. You encouraged me and pushed me to keep going, even after I cried like a baby, begging you to go back. But you wouldn’t let me.”

“No, I didn’t,” I agree, remembering that moment as if it were yesterday.

“And we made it. Through rat shit and all,” she finishes.

We both let out a chuckle, a much-needed release from my news.

“All I’m trying to say is that you’re going to go through some tough storms, Lily. This is going to drain your energy and test your mental state. It’s going to fight you with every step you take.” She takes my hands, her grip firm, squeezing gently.