I didn’t know why. He kept saying he was fine, but it was more than that. Something felt wrong. Every now and again, I’d catch him looking at me like he was trying to figure something out, but whenever I asked what he was thinking about, he’d always reply, “I’m always thinking about you.”
Somehow that sounded less like a cute thing to say, and more like he was working through a plan that involved me.
So, in the end, I just didn’t tell him. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to pile onto whatever he was going through, but if I was honest, it was also because I didn’t want to start a fight.
It was the last day of the month, and as promised, my bank account had slightly more money in it. I looked at the balance, seeing more than the numbers.
I’d received my first income fromThe Loop. It wasn’t much, but it was money I had earned from articles I had written. Payment from something I loved doing.
Seeing the monetary value of my article had a weird effect on me. It was like the time a few weeks before, when I’d been sat on the sofa, watching GVibes go through an training session. Then, it had been what I imagined a bolt of inspiration would feel like.
This felt like a kind of vindication. An understanding, and I swallowed hard, blinking furiously as I tried to process that this could turn into something. Maybe even something I could be good at.
“I’m so proud of you, love.” Mum’s hand reached out to run down my arm, gently clasping my wrist.
“Thanks, Mum.” I put my hand on hers, squeezing, careful not to grip her too hard. I was too conscious of the way I could feel her bones beneath her skin.
She smiled at me, but the effect was marred by the new sharpness in her cheeks. She’d lost weight recently, and it was most evident in her face.
The recent summer heatwave had been especially tough on her. What little appetite she’d had, had fled in the face of the long, bright days, and at night she struggled to sleep, despite being bone-weary.
We were approaching the end of her chemo treatments, and now that we were in the final weeks of it, time seemed to have the curious effect of both stretching and contracting. While the chemo was bloody awful, there was a sense that we knew where we stood with it. It had become routine, although perhaps ‘normal’ was the wrong word. In a way, it was easy to pretend like everything was okay, because we were in the treatment stage.
Mum couldn’t get worse because we were doing everything we’d been told. That was the rules.
With the next stages of radiotherapy, and then tests to determine if the cancer had been defeated, we would move towards new, uncharted territory.
This was a kind of limbo, but moving forward we would need to confront how successful it had been. Or not. There was comfort in the limbo, the sameness of routine that seemed to anchor us in the isolation we were still firmly entrenched in.
The rest of the UK was slowly opening back up, but for us, nothing had changed. Because of how vulnerable Mum was, we were ‘shielding’ until her medical team told us otherwise.
I’d just settled into bed after talking to Jihoon. We hadn’t talked for long because he was going for an early morning run, but it had also felt like he hadn’t wanted to talk to me. I didn’t want to force him when he obviously didn’t want to, I just didn’t know what was going on with him. I had an icky feeling in my gut that seemed to make the rest of me anxious, so when Becka’s name popped up on my phone screen, I grabbed at it, eager to have the distraction.
“Hey, you!” I injected as much pep into my tone as possible.
“Hey babes, you busy?” She sounded as strained as I felt.
“Nope, just settling in for the night. What’s up?”
“Oh yeah, you know. Just wanted to catch up.” There was an unnatural quality to her voice that put me on edge.
Recently, I’d noticed that Becka was also beginning to show the strain of constant uncertainty. Whenever we spoke, she fluctuated between griping about Pisces – who still hadn’t given her Celine’s job, despite asking her to take on the duties – and being frustrated with Ben, for one reason or another.
“I just got back from a hike, and Ben’s out doing whatever-the-fuck he does, so I thought, ‘hey, what’s my best friend up to’?”
There was a frantic pattering sort of sound beneath her words.
“Becka, are you pacing?”
The pattering immediately stopped.
“Sorry,” she muttered, “still got some energy left.”
She’d started hiking just to get out of the house and do something. When she’d told me, I’d remembered back to the one time we’d gone hiking, not long before I’d left. We’d started on a very low-impact trail, with our protein bars, and electrolyte water, ready to dive into nature.
We’d ended the brief foray into nature’s bosom, not talking, not a single unscratched knee between us, snacks lost and a pair of sunglasses broken.
When I’d recently asked her about this questionable choice of activity, all she’d been willing to admit was that it was largely about getting out of the apartment.
