We manage to find a terrible TV show neither of us can follow and let it play in the background while the world goes quiet. At some point, Eden roots around for snacks and comes back with two different brands of salt-and-vinegar chips, dumping both bags into a single mixing bowl. Just before she dives in, she looks at me, sheepish.
“Sorry again for getting weepy and weird.”
It baffles me that she is apologizing until I remember that she’s usually the one comforting and helping me. Hell, Eden’s the one who comforts everyone, and because she’sso unflappable I think she’s even surprised herself with how badly she needed to let go and cry it out.
Smiling, I gently bump her shoulder. “I literally spent last Tuesday sobbing in the supermarket parking lot because my favorite coconut yogurt was discontinued. This is nothing.”
She leans over, chips in her cheek, and kisses the corner of my mouth. Her hand settles on my thigh, her breathing even and calm.
“I’m happy you’re here,” she says, almost a whisper.
We watch the rest of the show. She falls asleep against me before the credits. I stay there, trying to memorize the exact shape of her in this moment, the way her hair spills and the soft snore breaking free every few breaths. I let myself be still…let myself be hers.
When she wakes up an hour later, she’s beautifully disheveled and has a sleep line etched into her cheek. She wipes her face and stares into nothing for a few seconds, trying to orient herself.
Finally, she turns to me with a cute furrow in her brow. “Do you think I’ll ever be old and wise like Gran?”
I smirk. “Sure. But you’ll always be original.”
She beams, but there’s a steadiness underneath now. “Good.”
Yawning, I stand from the couch and pull Eden to her bedroom. Today dragged on forever and I think we both could use some sleep.
Eden climbs into bed with the fatigue of someone processing life-altering news. I take a few minutes to brush my teeth and change into an oversized t-shirt Mom packed for me.
As I settle next to Eden, I hear the door to the apartment open and close. Tired footsteps pad around the apartment before stopping outside Eden’s door. Eden is already asleep, which makes me smile.
Slipping back out of the bed, I reach the door and open it a crack. Bella and Becca are both standing outside, looking worried. Bella visibly relaxes when she sees me.
“She’s okay,” I whisper.
“Thank fuck.” Bella sighs. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Becca reaches through the gap in the door and squeezes my hand. “Good night.”
Eden reaches for me the second my butt hits the mattress. She’s always been a cuddler in bed, but this is more than that. This is Eden, looking for me to be her safety net. She needs to hold on to something steady, and that’s me. I’ll make damn sure of it.
21
Eden
Waking up feeling hungover would be fine if I’d actually had something alcoholic to drink last night, but I didn’t. The headache and overall shitty feeling are the result of a really messed-up day.
I’ve never been a person to ask, “Why me?” or “why my family?” but I did a lot of that yesterday afternoon. My gran is the best person in the world and the last person who deserves cancer. Then again, no one deserves that shit. I just can’t get my head around it. She’ll be okay, I know that because Sloane was right. Gran will beat the shit out ofcancer, and we’ll all move on. But there’s still a way to go before that.
Up until a few weeks ago, my life was pretty mundane. Sure, I had an ache in my chest because the woman I love was gone, but I was living, and my family was happy and healthy.
A ridiculous and pretty arrogant part of me momentarily wonders if my happiness with Sloane is cursed. She came back to me, and I felt—feel—on top of the world. But then this happens. Gran, the woman I’ve admired since I could form thoughts, is sick.
Sloane continues to sleep soundly next to me. She was perfect last night, and I instantly felt better when she turned up at my door.
The alarm on my phone says I’ve slept all of five hours, which is a win considering my mind wouldn’t stop turning last night. I fell asleep quickly, but woke in the middle of the night, panicking. The nightmare sucked, and it was only because I could hold on to Sloane, I was able to pass out again. That happened several times throughout the night, which is why I’m so sleep-deprived. My face is crusty from dried tears, and I need to pee, but when I move, Sloane doesn’t let go. She just makes a sleepy, kitten-grade noise and scoots closer.
Eventually, my bladder wins out and I crab walk my way out of the bed. I’m half-hungover with emotion and I know I look like shit, but at least I managed to strip off yesterday’s clothes before climbing into bed. Sloane flops onto her back and starts starfishing with zero shame the second I’m out of reach. I tiptoe out and head straight for the bathroom, barely making it before disaster strikes.
On my way back, I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror: hair in full witch mode, eyes puffy, shirt stretched and on backwards.
I tiptoe into the living room, not wanting to wake Sloane. I almost ruin that plan by shrieking wildly when I come face to face with Gran, who is perched on the low couch under Becca’s string of fairy lights, embroidered tote at her feet, mug in hand, looking absolutely at home. She’s pulled the blinds just enough to let in a wedge of brutal sunlight that hits me right in the face.
