“I think you’re probably overestimating my current risk of death.”
“You literally spent last night staring at a painting Eden made and sniffling into a Lean Cuisine, so…”
Bec pokes her head in the door, hair up in a bun, holding a Target bag. “Sloane, is it true? Did you actually eat the turkey and cranberry dinner?”
“We don’t talk about the frozen dinner incident,” I grumble.
Bec hands Bella a giant bag of sour gummy worms. “This is for Eden. Or, you know, if we get stuck on the tarmac and cannibalism looks likely.”
It’s been years since the three of us went anywhere together outside of Colorado. Suddenly I’m a lot less anxious about getting on a plane.
“Is there room for a carry-on full of American candy?” I ask.
“There is always room for American candy,” Bec says sagely, which makes Bella grin.
I help Bella fold her more questionable wardrobe selections. We meet in the kitchen and order Thai, huddling over steaming containers of curry, discussing the likelihood of rain the entire time we’re in the UK.
Later, after Becca and Bella have retreated to their room, I flop onto my bed with my phone, thumb hovering over Eden’s name. She’s been distant lately, and I assume that means she’s been painting her feelings, so I don’t want to interrupt. A text message seems a better choice.
You
I can’t wait to see you.
Seconds pass. Then…
Eden
Jesus Christ babe, do you know what time it is?? I love you. Call me before you go to sleep.
I smile into the darkness. Just two more days.
Eden
I’ve chewed my nails until they’re raw and painful, but I can’t exactly set up an easel in the middle of a hospital waiting room. Grandad is sitting with the newspaper calmly reading the sports section, which is driving me a little crackers, to be honest. How the bloody fucking hell is he so calm?
How both of them been so calm since I arrived is the real question. When I rocked up to their house after a million years of flying, Gran opened the door, not looking in the least bit surprised to see me. She cocked her head, gestured for me to come in, then told me my old bedroom was made up and she was making crumpets.
Suffering from jetlag, I didn’t utter a word, just dumped my bags in my room and joined my grandparents at the kitchen table, where my grandad silently slid a plate of marmite-covered crumpets my way. Gran placed a cup of tea in front of me, sat down and carried on reading her horoscopes.
When my brain finally caught up with itself, I asked why they weren’t surprised to see me and all I got back was a wry chuckle from my gran, who said, and I quote: “You’re my carbon copy, Eden, in every way, so of course I expected you to turn up, you daft sod. Thank you, love. I appreciate it.”
And that was that.
Gran’s operation got delayed because the NHS is broken, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she thought it was great because it meant she could drag me on a London-bound train and take me to meet Smythe, the dude who owns the gallery I would be showcased in. It took everything in my body not to make a sarcastic comment about his name being Smythe. Like, that’s his first name. I mean come on, right?
Anyway, the trip was pretty cool, and I definitely felt more relaxed about the whole thing after meeting him and a couple of the other artists he was planning to house.
When we got back from London, life kind of went on as normal. I text and video chatted with Sloane as much as humanly possible, but the closer the operation date got, the more I needed to withdraw to my art. Without Sloane here by my side, painting was my emotional support girlfriend.
Gran was wheeled away half an hour ago. The surgeon said she should be in recovery in around three hours’ time.
I’m just about to start nibbling on my thumbnail when a commotion in the corridor pulls my attention.
“I told you it was this way,” a very familiar voice says.
“Bella, you’ve gotten us lost three times. Why the hell would we trust your sudden knowledge about the hospital’s layout?”
That’s Sloane’s voice!
