“That gives me more anxiety than flying. Go pack, and don’t forget to bring me a few dresses.”
“Duh.” She smacks her lips together in a kiss, then hangs up.
I quickly update Camila on the new plans, then silently thank the universe for having Addie as one of my best friends.
Camila: Yes!! CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU!!!!!!!!!!
Same, girl. Same.
Camila: There are so many hot guys here. We are breaking your dry spell.
CAMILA!
Camila: FINE…shutting my mouth.
Camila: …until tomorrow. Hope you waxed.
Ugh. You’re lucky I love you.
Camila: Aweeeeee, you loveeeee me?
BYE.
Camila: ¡Adiós! Hasta Mañana <3<3
A broad smile stretches across my face because tomorrow I get to see my healthy, beautiful friend.
My girls and I are reuniting in Spain to celebrate Camila’s remission.
When her doctor gave the good news, relief spread like wildfire throughout her loved ones. Chemo wasn’t just brutal on her; it was hard on everyone. But we were there, every step of the way.
When she got that call, the first thing she said was, “I want to travel. I want to live.”
So she did.
Camila’s been bouncing around Europe for weeks, finally free. Two weeks ago, Harrison and Seb joined her. They left this morning, and tonight, Addie and I are up next to join in and celebrate the hell out of the beautiful life she fought so hard for.
“What time do you need me to drive you to the airport?”
My hand flies to my chest. “Jeez. You scared me half to death, Mason.”
“I knocked. Loudly.” He walks in, heavy-footed as ever. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Just thinking how thankful I am that Camila’s alive and healthy. Living her best life.”
His whole demeanor softens. He sits beside me on the bed. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to haveher,” I counter, thinking of both her and Addie…my constants through everything.
Two people who have been by my side through thick and thin, opening my eyes up to a whole new world.
I’m going to freaking Spain, for God’s sake.
With an excited exaggeration, I flop back on the bed, my arms spread out, my head sinking into my pillow, which I still need to pack despite the ridicule the girls will give me.
It’s Nate’s pillow.
I haven’t washed it. I swear it still smells faintly like his cologne, and every time I lay my head down, I hate myself a little more than the last for still letting him have this kind of hold over me.
