Chapter 46
Price
I stay.
Three work days turn into four—ten-plus hour work days. I could quit and stay home, but it wouldn’t matter. My home is not my refuge. It’s a fortress of the excess that no longer serves me.
Amelia and Astrid settle back into the pre-cancer routine.
Eight hours of sleep turns into six, sometimes less, because my wife is a night owl who likes to binge TV shows, and sex takes place after those shows. And if sex doesn’t happen, then she assumes something is wrong with me.
Reassuring her I’m fine is a full-time job, much like doing things to actually be fine was a full-time job. And if I hint that I’m not fine, her answer involves a trip to the doctor. I could leave again … but I need my wife and daughter. So, I’m letting this play out, trying to stay positive and not feel burdened by the stress.
By Thanksgiving, we’re celebrating the holidays and one-year post-diagnosis. By all accounts, I should be dead.
“They’re gone.” Amelia dramatically wipes her forehead and leans against the front door after my parents, her dad, and my sister leave. “What’s that look?” Her smile dies when I sit on the stairs.
I fold my hands between my spread legs. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
She frowns. “Haven’t been feeling well as in?—”
“I think the cancer’s back.”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have skipped your last appointment. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”
“Babe, if it’s back, it’s not because I skipped an appointment.”
She kneels on the floor before me, pulling her hair over one shoulder before resting her hands on my knees. “I’ll go grocery shopping and get you everything you need. It’s the holidays; I think you can take time off work. Whatever you need.”
I cover her hands with mine. “We need to leave Philly. I can’t do this here.”
The lines along her forehead intensify. “You want to move,” she murmurs, eyes glazing over like they did at Scottie’s wedding when I suggested it.
“Move where?” Astrid says.
I glance over my shoulder while she descends the stairs.
“Nowhere. Dad and I were talking about something else,” Amelia stands, brushing off the knees to her gray slacks.
“I don’t want to move.” Astrid wraps her arms around me. “Casey moved last year, and now I only have two friends left.”
Amelia presses her lips together, eyeing me like I’m the bad guy.
“Sometimes people move, and they make new friends, maybe even more friends.” I kiss her hand before pulling her down to sit on my lap. “Life is an adventure. Don’t you think a new adventure would be fun?”
Her lips corkscrew to the side while her nose wrinkles. “I like it here.”
“We’re not going anywhere anytime soon, sweetie.” Amelia rests her hand on Astrid’s head while passing us to climb the stairs. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”
Over the next few days,Amelia hovers, picks at her nails, and suggests I call the doctor. I feel her internal struggle but don’t know how to ease her mind. And I know the doctor will not give her the news she wants.
Despite my efforts to take care of myself, I can’t meditate. My mind won’t settle. Six inches of snow make it impossible to walk in the grass. And Astrid’s activities are in overdrive instead of slowing down for the holidays. The hustle and bustle of life isn’t ideal for healing cancer.
Three weeks before Christmas, I get a video call from Koen while we eat dinner.
“Christmas came early,” he says, giving me a toothy grin before flipping the camera to Scottie sitting in a rocking chair with a baby pressed to her chest sleeping.
“Did she have the baby?” Amelia stands bent over behind me. “Oh my goodness,” she draws out the words in a half squeal. “How precious.”
“Congratulations,” I smile because I couldn’t be happier for her. “Did you name him Price or Henry?”
Scottie kisses the baby’s head and grins. “We named her Penelope Ann Sikes.”
Amelia squeezes my arm, a silent reminder that I suggested we have another baby; that was also when I suggested we move as far away from modern civilization as possible.
“How’s the house coming along?” I ask, noticing a plastic wall in the background.
Scottie eyes Koen, and he quickly flips the camera around to himself again. “Let’s not talk about that. My brother met someone and knocked her up, so?—”
“Got her pregnant,” Scottie corrects.
“That’s what I said, darling. I’m going to give Price a tour. You just keep being amazing.” He blows her a kiss while walking toward the plastic. “She got a little high maintenance,” he whispers, sliding through a slit in the plastic wall, “during the last month. I thought she was going to kill me. I’m talking about a version of Scottie I never knew existed. I haven’t picked up a hammer in the past month.”
“Hormones. Settle into that, buddy.”
Amelia sits back in her chair, giving me the stink eye while taking a bite of salmon.
Koen nods slowly. “For sure. But I’m close to finishing. If my brother can give me a hand with the rest of the cabinets in the closets, I bet I can have everything done by February. How are your holidays going? Are you feeling good? Scottie’s been dying for an update, but she knows you’re probably sick of people asking you that.” He moves the camera around to show me the turquoise tile shower and marbled vanity, before moving into the closet that needs cabinets and has a temporary closet rod with clothes against one wall.
Amelia squeezes my shoulder before slinking back into her chair at Koen’s request for a health update.
I shrug. “I’m alive.”
Koen chuckles. “That’s good to hear.” He backtracks, bringing Scottie into the picture again. “Price is alive.”
Scottie eyes me, but she doesn’t smile. And I draw in a deep breath to keep my fake smile inflated.
She clears her throat and rubs Penelope’s back. “You’re looking a little thin.”
Is she saying that for my benefit or Amelia’s?
When I don’t respond, Scottie follows up with a pleasant smile. “What does Astrid want for Christmas?”
“An electric scooter,” Astrid says over a mouthful of green beans.
“And by electric scooter, she means Legos.” I wink at Astrid.
“Noooo …” Astrid giggles. “Not Legos.”
“Well, there you have it. Legos. What does Penelope want for Christmas?”
Scottie chuckles. “Nothing. That’s just a sign of good parenting—raising kids who want for nothing. I don’t know what you’re doing wrong, Milloy, but you should try a little harder.”
Both Astrid and Amelia giggle.
I want to crawl through the phone and hug my friend. I want to tell her how happy I am for her. Everyone deserves that level of happiness, especially my friend, who encompasses so much positivity and hope.
“I think this year I will put a big bow on my head and hope my family gets the significance of it.” I laugh.
Scottie smiles, but it’s a sad one.
Astrid ignores me.
And Amelia’s eyes fill with tears.
Shit.
I’ve lost my touch with the ladies.
“I don’t want to keep you from that bundle of joy. Merry Christmas, friends. I’m incredibly happy for you,” I say.
“Merry Christmas,” they chime together.
And I hate that Scottie knows my life isn’t perfect at the moment, but I’m alive, and that’s all that matters today.
After setting my phone on the table, I pick up my fork.
“I’m done,” Astrid says. “Can I play on my iPad?”
I nod.
When she skips out of the dining room, I reach for Amelia’s hand. She stills, staring at her plate of half-eaten food.
“I’m sorry. It was a joke. A bad joke.”
She doesn’t respond. The hum of the furnace seems to get louder the longer we sit here without speaking. Silence magnifies everything. When I left home a year ago, silence wasn’t my friend.
Now, I crave it.
“Are you still feeling bad?” she whispers.
“Does it matter?” I’m too tired to lie to her. She knows that answer.
Her gaze stretches to mine. “Don’t say that. Of course, it matters.”
I release her hand. “I feel like …” Shaking my head, I weigh my words. “I feel like I worked really hard to remove the weeds from an overgrown garden. And there was this moment, a sigh of relief that I did it—a hard-earned accomplishment. But if I blink and I’m not vigilant, the weeds will get out of control again.”
“But how are you feel?—”
“Tired,” I cut her off because I know she needs the simple truth, even if she doesn’t know what to do with it. And she doesn’t. She’s so lost in her emotions that she can’t feel me. Maybe I’m so lost in mine that I can’t feel hers. “I’m tired, and sometimes my back hurts. This morning, I felt nauseous.”
Her eyes redden. “And you are thinner.”
Planting my elbows on the table, I rest my face in my hands, rubbing away the tension and building exhaustion.
“You shouldn’t have skipped your follow-up visit.”
“Jesus … we’ve been over this.”
Her lips part, taking a breath to speak, but she releases it without a word.
“I’m going to ask my mom to come get Astrid.”
“Why?” She squints.
“Because it’s going to get ugly.”