CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
I’d be lyingif I said I wasn’t less overwhelmed now that I’ve told my friends about my diagnosis, but it still doesn’t mean I can face my parents until my future is solidly set before me.
As far as I’m concerned, the only things between me and my future are the chemotherapeutic agents coursing through my blood, plus a few weeks and some extra scans. I refuse to believe otherwise.
“You’re oddly quiet today,” I tell Archie, shifting in my seat.My fingers are freezing.
Archie clears his throat, eyeing Elijah, before flitting his gaze back to me. “I’m just sad to see ya back, to tell ya the truth, lass. And”—he smirks at Elijah—“it’s a bit hard to hold a conversation with someone who insists on wearing a hazmat suit.”
My shoulders shake with laughter at their bickering.
“It’s not a hazmat suit, old man!” Elijah jokes. “For the tenth time, it’s an N95 mask. I have the sniffles?—”
“Which are in no way connected to being in the rain, like you and the rest of the world seem to think. Being in the rain, going out without a jacket, and leaving the house with wet hair will not make you sick. They arefallacies—not rooted in truth at all,” I grumble, annoyed that no one seems to believe this fact of science.
“I’m merely being cautious,” he says pointedly. He’s explained this same story to Archie multiple times since we’d arrived, as if Archie’s memory is failing him.
“Right, right. That’s what you say,” Archie antagonises him, leaning back in his chair and tugging his gloves off.
“Put those back on before you lose your ability to send all those dirty texts to your girlfriends,” I chide, frustrated with Archie for not protecting himself the same way he expects me to.
He waves me off with a flick of his wrist. “Oh, don’t worry, lass. My chemo is palliative. It’s at much lower levels than the stuff you’re getting. I’ll be okay.”
His chemo ispalliative. Not curative.
My heart dips.
Elijah cuts through my spiralling thoughts. “Would you like to hear the playlist I’ve been working on?” he asks, and Archie perks up, sitting straighter. “That’s what I thought,” I hear him murmur, a conspiratorial smile curving his lips.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, staring down at the screen as he searches for the playlist, and when the first song starts to play through his phone speaker, my spirit lifts.
“Adele is a goddess,” I affirm, letting my head fall back against the headrest. The movement adjusts the cold cap over the tips of my ears, and I cringe, reaching up to shift it back into place.
We continue listening for the duration of my treatment, and Archie remains mostly quiet, a small, contented smile spread across his lips as Adele and Hozier fill the space around us.
When Nurse Jenna comes by to unhook me from the IVs, Archie insists she take our picture. “Do me a favour, would ya, lass? Take a photo fer me album.”
Jenna rolls her eyes playfully, reaching out for the compact digital camera he extends to her.
He instructs me on where to stand with him and subjects Jenna to taking countless photos of every combination of me, Archie, Elijah, the nurses—including Jenna—and several of the patients we’ve known longest. The entire time, I rib him for using such an ancient device and suggest he splurge on a phone from this century rather than the flip phone I'm certain is an original model.
When we’re done, Elijah helps Archie to his feet, gathering his belongings in the tote bag he’s always lugging around with crosswords, books, and the CD player that’s at least as old as I am.
We leave the treatment centre together, with Elijah as our pack mule. As has become routine for us, Archie sticks around for the duration of my treatment, even though his takes far less time than mine, so we leave together. His cab arrives, and he turns to face us, arms open wide for a hug. “Come on, lass. I know you’re a hugger,” he says with an exaggerated wink, calling me out for the blatant lie I’d told him early on in our friendship.I guess his memory isn’t failing him after all.
I wrap my arms around him, holding him close and drinking in the warm, cinnamon scent of the boiled sweets he’s always eating, just like Elijah. I notice I don’t mind his hugs either.
He pulls away, patting my cheek, and leaves me with a warm smile before demanding a hug from Elijah, who obliges, lifting Archie off the ground as if he weighs no more than a feather.Archie’s delighted laughter echoes off the pavement and the overhead awning, my cheeks aching with my grin.
I hear them whispering to each other but can’t make out the words over the rush of traffic and the driver’s horn honking for Archie to get in the car.
“Alright, alright,” Archie says, shaking his head. “Impatient bloke, isn’t he?” He waves goodbye, hobbling off to the driver, and my shoulders feel heavy as we make our way home in a comfortable silence.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
