Six
Lily
The mixer whirs to life as I hum along to “Stand by Me” playing on the radio. I watch the blade whip and swirl through the thick, fudgy brownie batter.
“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.
“But you have a team of people who love you and will help you battle every single fight. There are going to be days you want to quit, days you want to curl up and disappear, but we are going to be there, helping you not give up. For now, focus on the small steps, not the victory. Save your willpower to get through the treatments. Everything else will fall into place.”
“I’m with you, no matter what,” she adds, her eyes glistening with tears. “I’ll stand by you through this.”
Ebony pulls me back into another hug, tighter this time. “Fuck cancer,” she mutters.
A watery laugh slips from my lips, finding a shred of relief in her strength.
She lets me go, then walks over to the radio. She spends a few moments fiddling with the dial, searching until “Stronger” by Britney Spears blares through the speakers.
She spins around, a wide, determined smile on her face that screams, “I’ve got you.”
A burst of laughter erupts out of me as she yanks me to my feet, and we belt out the chorus off-key, just like when we were teenagers. And for a moment, the fear is silenced, and everything feels a little brighter.
I sit in the recliner, my favorite fleece blanket draped over my legs, my fingers nervously twisting the fabric.
“This room is beautiful,” Sam says from where she sits beside me as she glances around the room.
“It is,” I agree.
Natural light streaming through the windows floods the open space.
The walls are painted in beautiful three-dimensional murals of flowers.
Each individual chemo station has a huge leather recliner and a small side table with separate lighting.
Two nurses sit behind the curved desk in the middle of the room so they can see every patient.
“Are you sure you can stay the night?” I ask her
“Of course. I’m not leaving you alone in this, Lily.”
A nurse steps out from behind the desk and approaches. “Hi, Lily. My name is Sandra, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Are you ready to get started?”
I nod, my heart racing. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Great. Just relax. I’ll get everything set up, and we’ll keep an eye on you throughout the treatment,” Sandra says in a soothing voice as she begins preparing the IV.
As the nurse works, Sam squeezes my hand tighter. “You got this. Just breathe.”
“Breathe,” I echo and follow her advice.
The nurse finishes setting up the IV and turns to me. “Just a little pinch now.”
I brace myself as the needle pierces my skin.
“You’re all set, Lily,” the nurse says. “I’ll be back shortly to check your vitals and make sure you're handling the medications well. Is there anything you need before I go?” Her gaze shifts between Sam and me.
Both of us shake our heads. With a nod, she turns back to her desk.
Tears slip down my cheeks. “I love you, Sam. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I love you too, sis,” Sam replies, her voice trembling.
As the chemo drug begins to flow through the IV, I take a deep breath, my sister’s hand warm in mine. The battle ahead will be tough, but as long as we are together, I can face anything.
“One step at a time,” Sam murmurs, her arm steady around my waist.
My head throbs, and a wave of nausea churns in the pit of my stomach.
We shuffle the few feet to the front door, and Sam fumbles with the key until the lock finally clicks open.
“You sure you want to tackle those stairs, or do you want to crash in the guest room tonight?” Sam asks as we step into the foyer.
“No, I can make it up to my room,” I insist.
“Alright, stubborn,” Sam says with a small smile in her voice.
She readjusts her grip, and we start the slow journey to the stairwell. Each step takes great effort, my muscles protesting, but I don’t give up.
We finally make it to my bedroom, and I want to cry out in relief.
“Do you want me to grab you some water? Or maybe some ginger ale?” she asks.
“Ice water, please,” I rasp, collapsing onto the mattress. I sigh as my head hits the familiar, soft, squishy pillow.
Sam pulls the fleece blanket up and tucks it around me.
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Anytime, sis,” she says, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be right back with your water.” She gives my shoulder a light squeeze before turning to leave, but I’m already halfway asleep.
Oh, good God.
I’m dying.
This must be what dying feels like. If this is it, if this is the end, I want off this train!
My head pounds as if a jackhammer is relentlessly assaulting my skull.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sam’s voice cuts through the haze, but it feels distant, as if I am underwater.
Before I can formulate a response, another surge of queasiness hits me. Sam helps me to the bathroom. Leaning over the toilet, I gag, my stomach heaving violently. I’m struggling to breathe, my face covered in sweat that’s trickling down my skin.
Each time I gag, my throat is being shredded, raw, and stinging from the immense pain. My body aches, every muscle screaming in agony, as I grip the cold porcelain, feeling utterly defeated.
The impact is more than physical. The thought of enduring weeks of this torment drowns me in despair. How can I show strength to my children when I am broken? I can’t bear the thought of them seeing me in this condition, given how lively and vibrant I once was.
“Come on, sis. Let’s get you in the shower,” Sam says softly as she helps me undress and guides me to the shower chair she bought before I started chemo.
“We wouldn’t want you breaking that bony ass of yours,” she adds with a teasing smile.
As the warm water cascades over me, I close my eyes, the soothing liquid washing away some of the tension in my aching bones.
Yet, in a cruel twist, the warmth stings my sensitive skin, a reminder of how fragile I’ve become.
Sam is meticulous as she washes my hair.
Once I’m rinsed, she wraps me in a fluffy white robe and gently towels my damp hair.
After I’m dry, she guides me back to bed.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, pulling the comforter snugly around me.
“No, I can’t think of food right now,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, fatigue weighing heavily on my words.
“Well, you have to drink something. I’ll get you some ice water,” she insists.
When she returns, she sets the glass down on the table with a soft clink and closes the shades. Just as the quiet settles in, my phone rings.
“It’s Ethan’s mom,” Sam announces, her brows furrowed.
All I can manage is a faint “Mm-hm” before the world fades away and darkness takes over.