22. Just hair
CHAPTER 22
Just hair
It’s December 31st when I finally break my pinky promise to Amelia. Writing that letter to God was stupid, but I’m at my wit’s ends. I’m lost. No one is telling me what I need to know.
I’m on my bed when I dial Amelia’s number. She answers on the second ring. I bite my lip, my other hand drumming on my knee. Mace groans from the floor, the knees of his yellow onesie dark from his crawling around the place. I don’t know why I bother dressing him up in cute clothes. I place a finger over my lips, and he throws one of his Lego toys at the bed. My eyes narrow, and he fires another Lego. He’s almost one, so his grip and aim have improved.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Amelia Greene.”
“Cathie,” she finally replies.
A Lego hits my cheek. I scoff at the culprit, hoisting him to the bed. Mace whines and crawls over the pillow I drop on my lap, his hands flattening on my chest. My heart pounds at the prolonged silence from the other end of the call. Mace’s presence calms me, but my thoughts still run wild. My senses attune to the tired breaths coming from Amelia. I think I’m scared.
“What’s going on, Amelia?”
“Leukaemia,” she says. My breath halts in my throat. I suspected she was sick, but I never guessed this. “We thought it was gone, but I guess not. It’s back, and it’s not looking good.”
What does that mean? I try to retract my hand from the pillow, but Mace drops his over mine. When he touches my cheeks and frowns, I realise I’m crying. “I don’t, I don’t understand.”
Amelia sighs. “I think you do.”
My head shakes vigorously. Tears blind me. “I do not.”
“Then I’ll spell it out.”
I snatch the phone away from my ear, my back flattening against the headboard. If I don’t hear it, it can’t be real. The numbers on my screen roll on as the call progresses. I don’t care about the cost of the call. She is about to lie to me. I can’t let her do that.
“Catherine?” I hear from the other end of the call. Mace hands over the phone to me. My teeth sink into my bottom lip to keep the cry in. I put the call on speaker because my limbs quiver. My chest rises and falls, and I hug my knees. Amelia exhales. “I’m dying, Cathie.”
She’s lying.
“You’re not dying, Amelia Greene,” I tell my best friend with more fierceness and conviction than I knew I possessed. Mace wipes my cheeks, and I pinch his softly. He gets it. There’s no point crying. She won’t die. “Listen to me. You’re a good person. Good people don’t die.”
Even as I say this, I’m reminded of my mum. She was also a good person, and she died.
Oh, God.
It hurts.
It hurts everywhere.
An invisible cord circles my neck. My chest tightens, and breathing grows difficult. I feel soft arms around me, but I can’t process anything. I’m spiralling out of control. My best friend is dying. She is going to leave me. Why does everyone always leave me? Am I the problem?
“It’s okay, Catherine. Do you hear me?” Amelia whispers. “Breathe. Breathe for me.”
Her voice cuts off the forces trying to drown me. I snap out of my trance and squeeze a confused Mace in a tight hug. Why didn’t she tell me to my face? She’s not going anywhere.
“You won’t die,” I say to my phone. I don’t care that she can’t see me. “You’ll stay here.”
I’ll pray. I’ll go to mass. I’ll write more letters to God. She is not dying. She will stay here and we will raise Mace together. I’ll contact Calum again. I’ll do everything. She must not die.
Moments later and Amelia hasn’t said another word. When I think the call has disconnected, she mutters, “This is not about you, Cathie. Okay? It’s not something any of us can control.”
All attempts to speak are cut off by Amelia. She needs to have faith. I won’t let her give up. I’ll be strong for us. I switch it to video call. She accepts it, but I’m met with a black screen.
“I want to see your face,” I say.
“No.”
“Amelia.”
“Cathie, stop it. Stop it, okay?”
Her voice cracks. She chokes on a sob, and a wave of helplessness wraps me in a bone-crunching hug. Hot, stinging tears blind my vision. I stroke Mace’s back, rocking both of us.
“You remember when we were in school and I would miss classes?” Her voice flows into the air. The memories hit so hard. She stopped doing the spins with other cheerleaders, though she still partook in the cheers. “I was sick then, Catherine. But the doctors were hopeful.”
Well, they need to increase their hope. A quiet sob spills from me. I wish she was here. I need to be there for and with her. Amelia laughs. I glare at my phone. It’s not funny. We shouldn’t be laughing. We should behave like the children of Israel, wear sack clothes, paint our faces with ashes so God can perform a miracle in her life. He’s the creator of everyone, right?
That’s what Mum used to say all the time. And she died.
“You said that out loud,” Amelia says. Her explanation doesn’t ease the tension. “Anyway, yeah. That’s what it is. Ashley is here. She’s being hopeful, but I know it’s a waste of time.”
“Don’t say that, Amelia.”
“But it’s useless, Cathie. Maybe this is how it ends for me.”
No. Mace slips out of my embrace to sit. He’s oblivious, but he sticks to my side. I ruffle his hair, pulling his back flush against my chest. My tears drop to his hair, but he doesn’t flinch.
“I want to see you,” I mutter a minute later.
“No, Cathie.”
“Please.”
“I don’t want you to see me like this.”
The block in my heart takes over my entire chest. I tighten my arms around Mace because I have no idea what to do with them. Our last fight rolls over me. Stupid me. “I don’t care, Amelia Greene,” I say to the phone. I should be there with her. “I love every version of you.”
“My hair is falling out, Cathie. What am I saying? It’s all gone.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s just hair. It will grow back.”
“I don’t think so.”
Amelia loves her hair more than anyone I know. She doesn’t have to go through this alone. I spy the time on my phone and nod to myself. I can still travel. “What if I come over tonight?”
“No.”
“Okay. Tomorrow?”
“No,” she replies. She’s so stubborn.
“Please.”
“Why don’t you just understand?” she yells, but it ends in a coughing bout. I let go of Mace when he cries out. I was holding him too tight. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“But I’m not just anyone, Amelia. I’m your sister too. We are more than best friends.”
Amelia sniffs. “I look like a ghost.”
“It’s okay. I also look like a ghost.”
“You never listen,” she says, but there’s enough resignation in her voice for me to know I won her over. “We are going away on a family trip and will be gone for the rest of the week.”
A part of me feels like Amelia is lying. That she’s pushing me away to save me from the heartbreak of witnessing her at her worst. But this is Amelia Greene. I’ll do anything for her. The house hasn’t been the same without her. I missed out on the chance to celebrate Mace’s first Christmas. We didn’t decorate. If Dad hadn’t come over, the day would have rolled by like any other day. I want to tell her this. That she’s the most important woman in my life. That we have so many decades of friendship to explore, but all I can manage is more tears.
More tears dripping onto my phone’s screen. She’s only twenty. She doesn’t deserve this.
“You can come when we are back home,” she continues. “I’ll let you know.”
Lies. She won’t. But this is not about me. This is about her.
“Okay,” I say, doing my hardest to sound normal. “I’ll wait for your call or text.”
“Thank you,” she answers.
“It’s an honour, Amelia Greene.”
We stay connected through the call, none of us speaking, just breathing and processing things the way we know. I’m not sure how I’m still sitting up. Tears cover my phone’s screen. Mace finds fun in dipping his fingers into the teardrops and smearing it over his face. I place my hand over my mouth to stop the tears from escaping as my shoulders shake with silent tears.
I wish I were a child again. I wish I didn’t have to grow up. I wish I didn’t even exist.
Unable to keep myself up anymore, I slide down to the bed and pull my knees to my chest. Mace mimics me. On another day, I would have laughed or told Amelia. But our lives have changed and may never return to what I knew it before she left. Why did I push her that day?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“That this has to happen to you,” I add. That she has to be sick. “You don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t.” She sounds like the Amelia I’ve known all my life. I slide a hand under the pillow beneath my head. Mace sticks out his bottom lip, and I create space for us to share the pillow. “I deserve to be happy. I deserve to grow old with my man, have babies and grandbabies. To have my own Mace, so you can be his godmother. I deserve everything good under the sun.”
“You do,” I concur. A new batch of tears line my eyes, but I don’t let them fall or make a sound. Mace pouts. At this rate, I’ll traumatise him with my tears. “You do, Amelia Greene.”
“But life never gives us what we deserve,” she reminds me. My teary eyes go to the slightly cracked open window. Chill air drifts in, but the cold in my heart overpowers it. I remember all the hours I spent cooped in bed, sulking instead of talking to her. I don’t know if I can wait for their trip to end. “And it’s not your fault or mine or anyone else. It’s just what it is.”
Life is a bitch. A real bitch. I hate life.
The silence rolls on. Moments later, she drifts to sleep, and her snores reverberate through my phone. I should end the call, but if she’s right, I’ll never hear this sound again. A palm on my cheek reminds me of Mace. He stares up at me with tears in his blues. What an unlucky boy.
He will never get to meet Amelia as an adult. He will never fully experience the true awesomeness called Amelia Greene. I don’t know who ends the call from Amelia’s end. But Mace is also asleep by the time I notice. After multiple kisses on his face, I leave him in the comfort of my bed to ransack the bathroom cabinet. When I find what I’m looking for, I head towards the mirror and let my hair flow down to my waist. It’s just hair. It will grow back.