My aunt’s waiting at the window when I pull up to her home. In seconds she’s out of the front door and heading my way. A weak smile graces her lips, but she’s just trying to put on a show for my benefit. I can see how she’s really feeling in the depths of her dark eyes. She’s terrified but doesn’t want me to know it.
“Good morning,” she sings in her usual cheerful voice which normally brings me joy, but right now, all I want to do is cry.
“Morning,” I force out through the lump in my throat.
“You didn’t have to come, you know. I’m a big girl, I could have gone alone.”
“No chance. We’re a team, remember? We do the hard stuff together.” I repeat the words she said to me time and time again in my late teen years.
She reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing tightly. “We both know what he’s going to say, and neither of us wants or needs to hear it. But…” She trails off.
“The unknown is worse than the reality.” She nods, a tiny smile twitching at her lips.
“Exactly. Let’s go and find out the reality and see what we’re really facing.”
My aunt was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was just nineteen. It was like I’d just managed to sort my life out and hers was falling apart once more.
She’d saved my life, and now she was going to lose hers.
Tears burn my eyes as I recall that first appointment when we heard the bad news, and everything that was to follow. The hospital appointments, the treatment, the sickness. She handled it all with such strength. I already knew that she was one hell of a woman, but watching her kick cancer’s butt one day at a time was incredible. I was so proud of her and inspired by her resilience. She’d only recently lost the love of her life, and now she was fighting for her own. It takes a really special kind of person to be able to get through all of that unscathed. Not to mention picking up your wayward niece and bringing her back to life along the way.
I back out of her drive and force down my fear. There’s no point in me jumping to conclusions. We both know this is going to be bad, but we don’t know how bad. People live with returning cancer for years. Maybe she’ll be one of the lucky ones.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the scans show that your tumors are growing faster than we anticipated. That will account for the symptoms you’ve been complaining of. The headaches, the dizziness, the confusion, the seizures.” I turn to look at my aunt, my eyebrows raised in accusation. All the while, my heart is shattering in my chest.
“You didn’t tell me—”
“I didn’t want to worry you unduly.”
“Unduly? I’m thinking it was kind of important.”
“It is what it is. There’s nothing you could do to fix it.”
“Maybe not. But he can,” I say, gesturing to the doctor watching our exchange. “So what next? What’s the treatment plan? What’s the prognosis?”
He swallows before opening his mouth, and my body turns to ice. “Well, we can discuss treatment options, most likely radiation. But you’ve already indicated on a number of occasions that you don’t want any more treatment, is that right Mrs. Winslow?”
“But that was before. When you thought it was all over. You can’t still—”
“That’s correct.”
“No, no. It might help. It might give you more time,” I beg, reality fast slipping away from me.
“More time for what, Lo? To be ill and have to be looked after by you, carers or nurses? If this is my time, then I want to go out with dignity.”
I blow out a long breath, trying to absorb what she’s saying, what she’s always said. “I know you do.” I take her hand in mine and squeeze. It takes every bit of strength I possess to say it, but I meet her eyes and allow the words to pass my lips. “I’ll be there for you, whatever you decide.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her own eyes full of unshed tears.
“So, the prognosis?” I ask again, turning to the doctor.
“It’s all a guess at this stage, but at best I’d say a couple of months. At worst…”
“At worst?”
“Weeks.”
“Fucking hell,” I say on a sigh, my body desperate to curl up into a ball in an attempt to block everything out.
I don’t hear another word that the doctor says. The only thing filling my ears is my blood racing through them and my pounding heart that sounds like a drum.
I’m going to lose her, too, and then who do I have?
When it’s time to leave, my aunt places her hand on my shoulder. I flinch at the contact, so lost in my own world that I wasn’t even aware the appointment was over.
“Come on, Lo. I think we should go and get cake.”
A sad laugh falls from my lips, but I can’t deny that eating my weight in cake right now doesn’t sound appealing.
She slips her hand into mine and together, with our heads held high and tears in our eyes, we walk toward the car.
I automatically drive us to our favorite place, a little cake shop on the Malibu coastline. It’s run by an old English couple, and it’s the quaintest place I’ve ever seen. The homemade cakes are displayed on towering stands and the tables are covered in tartan cloths with small vases of fresh flowers.
My aunt orders us our regular, a pot of English tea for her and a large cappuccino with an extra shot for me, along with two huge slices of cake.
I poke my fork into the soft sponge, not really having the stomach for it now that it’s in front of me. The silence between us is heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable as we both attempt to come to terms with what we’ve just learned.
My uncle always promised that, should anything happen to him, my aunt would be looked after. He certainly pulled through. When I took her to her first appointment all those years ago, I was floored by the hospital she directed me to. It was a million miles from any I’d visited in my past. But sadly, it seems it doesn’t matter how much money you have or how incredible the doctors who treat you are. Cancer doesn’t care. It literally doesn’t give a fuck what kind of person you are and what you can offer to the world. It just shits all over you and wipes you out before your time, leaving your loved ones behind trying to figure out how to move on.
My lip trembles as I think of my future with no family.
“Everything will be okay, Lo.”
“I know,” I lie. “I’m just going to be alone. You’re my last—” A sob bubbles up my throat, cutting off my words.
“Family isn’t just blood, Lo. You’ve got Bailey and her parents.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts, Lo. I’m not going to lie and try to tell you that the world hasn’t handed you a pretty fucked up few years, but you’ve gone through worse than this and you’ve come out the other side stronger. It’s time, once again, to move on, to start your own family, and to think about your future.” At that moment, the song that was playing softly in the background comes to an end and a male British voice fills the space. I’m immediately taken back to last night when Corey was whispering in my ear. My skin pricks and my cheeks heat at the memory.