Page 122 of Remember Us This Way

I do it quickly, not wanting her to have to endure this for long, and when I’m done, I lift the shaver to my own head, pushing it through my dark hair before she gets a chance to stop me. Her eyes widen as her jaw slackens. “NOAH!” she screeches. “What the hell are you doing?”

“If you get to be a sexy little baldie, then why the hell can’t I?” I say, really driving home the point that it’s just hair. She’s still fucking gorgeous to me whether her hair is on her head or covering the bathroom floor. It’s not a big deal. Once she’s better and her body has a chance to recover from the chemotherapy, her hair will grow back, and when it does, I’m sure it’s going to be just as beautiful as it once was.

She watches me as I shave my head, and I meet her gaze through the mirror. “You think I could pull off a mohawk?”

A smirk pulls at her lips, and she rolls her eyes. “Don’t even think about it,” she tells me, that smirk only widening, then watching as I go to every effort to shave my whole head except for the strip right down the center, she starts to laugh. “Noah! Stop making me laugh. I’m trying to be sad.”

“Don’t you think you’ve been sad enough?” I ask her. “You’ve cried more tears over the past few months than you have in your whole life, and each one of them has killed me. You’ve already been through so much, and I know the fear of the unknown is terrifying, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be happy. So whether you like it or not, I’m not going to stop trying to make you laugh because when you do laugh and your eyes light up like Christmas morning, it makes me so fucking happy I could die.”

“That happy, huh?”

“Yep,” I say, nodding as our gazes collide through the mirror. “That fucking happy.”

Zoey just smiles, and I lift my chin just the slightest. “Come here,” I tell her, holding out the shaver. “Finish this for me so I don’t walk out of here looking like a troll.”

Zo laughs and scrambles around, handing me the kitten as she stands on the chair and takes the shaver. I brace my other hand against her hip, keeping her steady in case she falls, and with that, she turns the shaver back on and takes away any hopes I might have had of a killer mohawk.

49

Zoey

These have been the hardest five weeks of my life. Every day has been a challenge, but without Noah, my family, Hope, and of course, Allie, I know without a doubt that I wouldn’t have had the strength to get through it.

My body aches. I’m weak and have spent every day of the past five weeks throwing up, and what’s worse is that despite the side effects and the torture of having to endure the chemotherapy, I know I’ve failed. Dr. Sanchez hasn’t officially confirmed it yet, but I feel it in my gut. Feel it in the way my body continues to weaken, feel it in the way the nurses look at me with such sorrow. It’s as though I’m already dead.

I’ve failed.

My body is giving up, and it’s no longer a question of if I will die, it’s when.

I’m on all kinds of medication, including something for the pain. My kidneys didn’t appreciate the high dosage of chemotherapy, and neither did the rest of my body.

Dr. Sanchez said that there are other options for me, radiation therapy or stem cell transplant considering we can find a suitable donor. But she also said that the chemo was my best option for survival, and now that that’s failed, it doesn’t leave me with great odds. The only question is, when it comes time to start those alternate treatment plans, will I be strong enough to endure them?

My knee bounces on my bed as I hold a sleeping Allie to my chest, the anticipation of these test results making me want to be sick. I’ll be discharged as soon as Dr. Sanchez gives us the final results of my chemotherapy, then I’ll be sent home to try and put my life back together or figure out my next steps.

Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m desperately hoping for good news. I would love to know that the pain and torture of the past five weeks wasn’t all for nothing, that I’m going to miraculously recover from this a second time, but I’m also not willing to lie to myself either.

The small ray of hope I had that I could survive this has quickly dwindled and burned out, and now I’m just waiting on pins and needles for someone to tell me what I already know—I’m not getting any better.

Noah paces my room as I clutch Allie. She’s been my little sidekick for the past two weeks. She hasn’t left my side for a moment, even after Nurse Kelly found her hidden beneath my blankets. Where I go, she goes. Even if it’s just to have a shower. She’ll curl up on the floor mat and wait patiently as if knowing just how much I need her.

Allie has become my best friend, my sweet little baby, and getting to be her momma gave me everything I needed to get through the chemotherapy. I’ve been starting to wonder if perhaps that’s why Noah gave her to me in the first place. If maybe he knew how badly I needed something more to help push me through this. He’s always been so in tune with me, always knew what I needed before I did.

Hazel climbs up on my bed beside me. She’s been such a good sister through all of this. I know the days she spends here with me are long and boring for her, but she hasn’t whined or complained even once. She’s always here for me right when I need her. Plus, apart from Noah, she comes fully loaded with the best hugs imaginable, and the fact that she always smells like strawberry shampoo makes it that much better.

She helps straighten my bandana, and I give her a weak smile, thanking her as my eyes grow watery. I never wanted her to see me like this. She was so young when I was sick last time, but I don’t remember it ever being this bad, and I’m sure she doesn’t have any memories from that time. She just knows what she’s seen in pictures or from the brief stories Mom and Dad have shared with her. But this, seeing me this way . . . I hate it. On the other hand, I’m also not willing to pull away because every day I open my eyes, I’m left wondering just how much time I have left with the people I love.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and the second Noah glances up and sees Dr. Sanchez striding in, he crosses to my other side. His grip on my hand is so tight that it hurts, but I don’t dare tell him that, not wanting him to let go.

His hair has already started growing back, and I know he did it for me, but damn it, the buzz-cut look is really working for him. But then, everything always works for him, whether his hair is long or short, he’s always been so undeniably gorgeous.

Just like last time, Dr. Sanchez takes a seat at the end of my bed, her gaze dropping to Allie pulled up against my chest. She gives me a fond smile, and I see it right there in her eyes, the same look she gave me after my last round of chemo.

It failed.

“How are you feeling today, Zoey?”

“Like you’re about to give me the news we’ve all been dreading,” I murmur, not having the patience to do the whole small talk thing. Put me out of my misery. Rip it off like a Band-Aid and get it over and done with so I can figure out my next step and work out how much time I have left on this earth. “It didn’t work, did it?”

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