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When she drags herself away and the door closes behind her, I take a deep breath and climb the stairs.
“Hey, sunshine. Can we talk?”
Astrid sets her book aside and sits up straight on the edge of her bed. “About what?”
Amelia’s hand rests on my back for a second, and then her fingers interlace with mine.
“My cancer is back. And this time, I’m going to have a special treatment called chemotherapy to slow its growth. And we don’t know if it will work, but we’re going to try.”
She frowns. “Are you going to die?”
Amelia squeezes my hand just before I release hers to make my way to Astrid. I kneel in front of her, resting my hands on her legs. “I don’t know, baby girl. And I know that’s not what you want to hear. I wish I could promise you more, but I can’t. But whatever you feel about my cancer is okay. If you’re sad or angry, that’s okay. If you feel confused or scared, that’s okay, too. I don’t want you to hide your feelings.”
Crocodile tears slide down her cheeks in a blink, and her lips quiver. “I d-don’t want y-you to die.”
I wrap her in my arms, kissing her head over and over. “I know,” I manage to squeak two words while I pray for time to slow down so I can just hold my little girl as long as possible.
Amelia sits next to Astrid and hugs both of us, her sobs leaking out despite how hard I know she’s trying to be strong.
Some things in life just hurt, and there’s no way to acknowledge them without the pain. Disease sucks. Dying sucks. And what hurts the most is knowing my part will be the easiest.
There’s nothing easier than not existing.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I FORGOT TO DREAM THIS BIG.
Scottie
“Ta-da!”Koen opens the bathroom door.
The tiled shower has been done for a month, but my big soaker was on backorder.
“Merry Christmas.” He takes Penelope from me.
She always looks extra small in his hands. And I love nothing more than seeing her nestled against his bare chest.
“Did you wake up early to finish this?” I step onto the tiled floor, my nightie soaked from leaky breasts. I know I smell of sour milk.
“I might have. So why don’t you take a nice warm bath while Penelope and I make breakfast and see if Santa came last night. Oh, and I got a late-night text from Price wishing us an early Merry Christmas. Evidently, I’m not the only one who didn’t sleep last night.”
I plug the drain and turn on the water to fill the tub next to a window overlooking our new wooded lot just a few blocks fromthe shipping container house we’re renting out as a vacation home per Price’s suggestion.
“I think his cancer’s back. I recently messaged him.”
“Is that what he said?”
“He alluded to it.” I peel off my nightie and hide in the toilet stall to remove my postpartum diaper, as I call it.
“Should we expect a guest soon who needs to walk in our grass and drink juice until he’s orange?”
I flush the toilet and step into the bathtub. My eyes nearly roll back in my head; it feels so good. “I’m afraid not. I think he’s staying for Amelia and Astrid.”
“Staying as in doing all of his rituals at home or staying as in …”
Dying. He won’t say the word, and he doesn’t have to.
I shrug. I can’t talk about this. “I’m starving.”
