The Life That Mattered (Life #1)(30)

“There’s a lot of softwood in these parts. It never lasts as long.” Grandma shook her head.

“Speaking of wood.” Ronin lifted me off his lap and stood. “I should go outside and get some.”

“Do you need help?” I asked, rubbing my mouth to hide my grin.

“Nah … you have company. Besides, you helped me get wood earlier. And I can’t fully express how much I appreciated it. I’ll handle it this time.”

“If my hands weren’t arthritic and my back so fragile, I’d help you get wood, Ronin,” Grandma added.

I can’t even …

Faking a cough, I held up my finger and ran to the bathroom.

Before I got the door shut, Ronin said, “That’s kind of you, Mrs. Burns, but I’ll handle the wood by myself.”

Lila slipped into the bathroom with me and shut the door.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, tears in her eyes and a hand over her mouth.

We leaned into each other to keep from falling over as our bodies shook with laughter. It took me back to grade school and the days we’d lose control with giggle fits over something like seeing the outline of a guy’s penis if his jeans were too tight.

All those years later, we still found humor in the mysterious male appendage.

“Y-your gr-grandma …” Lila cried.

I nodded, keeping my hand over my mouth.

After another minute of working the silliness out of our systems, Lila dried her eyes. Her smile faded into a different kind of smile. A forced smile. The one that was unbelievable because her eyebrows frowned.

“What?” I sighed softly while blotting my eyes with a tissue.

“Your mom told me something. That’s really why we’re here.”

“What?”

“We’re here so you can digest it and help her tell your dad.”

“Digest what?” I leaned my backside against the vanity and crossed my arms over my chest.

Lila peeled one arm away from my chest. Taking my hand, she opened the bathroom door, and I let her lead me into the living room.

Mom and Grandma studied me and Lila. Their expressions faded into recognition as something silent passed between them and my best friend.

A look.

What is going on?

“Come sit, Evie.” Mom scooted to the side to make room on the sofa between her and Grandma.

Lila released my hand and sat in the recliner. The air in the room thickened, making it hard to breathe.

“Evie …” Mom took my hand and squeezed it while Grandma rested her hand on my leg. “I have breast cancer.”

The room fell silent for a few seconds. I wanted Ronin to come back inside so we could talk about wood. Breast cancer wasn’t funny.

Time continued to tick along while I took a moment, several moments.

Death.

No amount of optimism obscured that thought. Cancer equaled death. It was what first went through any person’s mind when cancer was mentioned—like the words plane crash and mass casualties.

Only … no one says it. We find better words. There are better words than death. Like … hope.

Perspective showed up next to stick its ugly tongue out at me. Fucking perspective. I couldn’t believe I had an emotional meltdown over something as immature and frivolous as Vanessa and karaoke. That wasn’t real life. It was just a stupid distraction from the important stuff like Ronin falling in love with me and my mom having cancer. I couldn’t stop internally berating myself. I stood in a bar, seething with jealousy, while my mom dealt with her mortality.

“Okay …” I replied, forcing courage into my voice. “So what’s the plan?”

I was a scientist. I liked plans.

When my dad was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease, I didn’t take the time to ask why. The why didn’t matter at that point. The only thing that mattered was the plan. We needed a plan.

“Partial mastectomy. Radiation. Hormone therapy,” Mom said with her shoulders back, chin up.

I glanced at Lila.

She was my rock, and my mom knew it. That was why she told Lila before me. Grandma? Well, she was everyone’s rock.

“We’ve got this.” Lila tipped her chin up too, wearing her confidence like a badge of honor.

“We’ve got this,” I repeated.

Mom squeezed my hand again.

“You need to tell your father,” Grandma said, patting my leg.

Mom cleared her throat. I could feel the lump of emotion strangling her. “You will stay strong for him. He will see through me. And it’s not because I’m weak or even overly worried about the possible outcome. I just know this will hit him really hard. That’s why I need you to tell him, and I’ll be ready with my brave face.”

She needed me to tell Dad because my father was married to another woman before he met Mom. He was nineteen, and she was eighteen. Their young marriage lasted three years because she died of cancer.

To that day, he couldn’t even say the word cancer.

“I’ll tell him.” I maintained a stoic face and pushed that same bravery into my voice—steady and sure. Later, I would take five minutes for myself to let my fears have a voice, have their moment of raw emotion. “Does Katie know?”

My sister didn’t have a brave face. Katie was transparent with every emotion. She would jump to the conclusion of death in the most verbal way possible. No elephants were allowed in the room with her. Nope. Katie always put all her cards on the table, and she expected the people in her life to do the same.