Page 121 of Remember Us This Way

“Our cat?”

“Mm-hmm,” Zoey murmurs, her gaze so heavily focused on the tiny bundle of fluff in her lap, adoration shining in her beautiful green eyes. “You’re my person, Noah. So if this little sweet thing is my baby, that means by default, you’re her daddy.”

“Ah, shit.”

Zoey laughs and holds up the kitten, looking over her with deep consideration. “Hmmm, I think I’ll call you Allie.”

My brows furrow, having no idea where she pulled that name from. “Allie?” I question.

Zoey grins wide. “From The Notebook,” she tells me as though I should have already figured it out. “Noah and Allie. I’ve already got my Noah, but I need an Allie to complete the set.”

I shake my head, letting out a heavy breath as I scooch in beside Zoey on her bed, reaching over to put her laptop somewhere safe before pulling her into my arms as she holds tightly on to little Allie. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now,” she admits. “It was mostly a shit day. I got a new neighbor, and the walls are paper thin. All I’ve been able to hear all day is how easy she thought her chemo treatment was. I’m about ready to march in there and shove my foot right up her ass.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” she mutters. “She also likes scrolling through TikTok with the volume all the way up.”

“You only need to get through two more weeks, and then you’re out of here,” I remind her, knowing my words are doing absolutely nothing to make her feel better about her situation.

Zoey lets out a heavy sigh before reaching up and pushing her hair back off her face, only when her hand falls away, she gasps with horror, her eyes widening. My head snaps toward her, trying to figure out what’s wrong when I glance down and find long strands of chestnut hair tangled between her slim fingers.

“No, no, no, no,” she chants as my heart breaks for her. She reaches up again, grabbing at her hair as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing, and sure enough, more clumps of hair come free in her hands.

Fat tears roll down her cheeks, and I take her face, forcing her to look at me as she starts to panic. “It’s okay, Zo. We knew this could happen. It’s just hair. It will grow back.”

She shoves at me, her face falling into her hands. “You’re a guy. You don’t get it.”

“Try me.”

“It’s . . . It’s my hair,” she cries. “To a girl, her hair is part of her identity. Without it . . . it’s just another part of myself I’m losing to this stupid disease.”

She scrambles off her bed before allowing me a chance to argue, and I watch as she presses a hand to the wall, steadying herself as she makes her way into the private bathroom. The door only closes halfway, leaving it cracked just enough for me to see as she stands in front of the mirror with tears rolling down her sunken cheeks.

She pulls at her hair, and thick chunks fall into the basin. When she can’t take it any longer, she collapses against the sink.

Striding into the bathroom, I step in behind her before taking her hips and gently turning her until she crumbles against my chest. My arms lock around her, holding her tight as she cries, the devastation pouring through both of us for two very different reasons.

My hand roams up and down her back, and I hold her there as Allie cries from the bed, wondering what’s wrong with her new momma, too small to risk jumping down on her own.

We stand here for almost an hour as she cries it out, and when she finally pulls out of my arms and wipes her eyes, she turns around, facing the mirror once more. Reaching up to the overhead cabinet above the sink, her hand curls around a box containing hair clippers, and she pulls it down before briefly meeting my questioning gaze through the mirror. “I found it here during my first round of chemo,” she tells me. “I just didn’t think I’d ever have to use it.”

She turns back to me and presses it into my hand, but I take her chin, raising it until she meets my stare. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this today. You can sit with it until you’re ready.”

“So I can get around looking like Angelica’s doll from Rugrats? No thanks. I’d prefer to just get it over and done with.”

“Okay,” I tell her, placing the shaver down on the edge of the sink. “I’ll get you a chair.”

She nods and turns back to the mirror, those watery eyes tearing me to shreds. Walking out of the bathroom, I grab the chair from beside her bed before stopping and scooping up Allie in my other hand and making my way back.

I find Zoey in the middle of plugging the cable into the outlet and trying to figure out how the shaver works, and I set the chair behind her. She doesn’t hesitate to drop into the seat, and a part of me wonders if it’s because she’s already been on her feet for so long.

She takes Allie and snuggles her in her lap as I take the shaver and switch it on, only I pause as my hand hovers by the top of her head. I meet her gaze through the mirror. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

She shakes her head. “Not even a little bit, but just do it,” she says, a brokenness dulling her green eyes.

My thumb stretches around the shaver to switch it on, and with a heavy breath, I push it back over her scalp, her long chestnut locks falling to the ground at my feet. Zoey cries, holding Allie up to her face and breathing her in as though the tiny little kitten is somehow able to give her the strength that I can’t.

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