“We both know what he’ll say.”
I stare at her. Her previously glowing skin is almost gray, and her eyes have lost their sparkle.
“I know, but if it’s the safest place for you to be, where you can be properly looked after, then it might be the right thing to do.”
She lets out a sigh.
I’ve offered to move in with her time and again, but she’s point-blank refused. I understand that she doesn’t want to drag me into this, but I’m her niece. I’m the only one she has left, and I’d do it in a heartbeat.
That’s probably the reason she always refuses.
She told me from day one that she’d rather go into a hospice than watch me put my life on hold again, and I know how much she hates them, so it really is saying something. Equally, I don’t want to see her in one of those places either, but it’s something the doctors have been recommending.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine in a bit. I just need some rest.”
I want to argue. She’s got terminal cancer, not the fucking flu. But I understand that she wants to be in her home. I hate that, ultimately, I’m the one who’s going to have to stop that from happening. And soon.
Despite the fact that she’s only said a few words to me, her eyes begin to get heavy. I take her hand in mine and squeeze, so she knows I’m here.
“I brought your groceries and ingredients for soup. I’ll make us some for lunch.”
She nods slowly and squeezes my hand back, but it’s so weak it brings tears to my eyes.
She drifts off to sleep, her light snores filling the room, and when her hand goes limp in mine, I stand from the bed and slip away, unable to just sit there and watch. I’m much better when I’m doing something.
I make quick work of cleaning up everything that’s been abandoned in the kitchen. It’s so unlike her to leave even a glass unwashed. I do a lap downstairs, picking up rubbish and making sure that everything is in its right place before putting the flowers I bought in some water and placing them on the coffee table where she can enjoy them.
They’re roses, her favorites, and they smell incredible.
I take a second to breathe them in and try to relax. But it’s impossible. The countdown clock is ticking, and I fear it’s going faster than I can deal with.
Lowering myself onto the edge of the couch, I drop my head into my hands as tears burn up the back of my throat.
I won’t cry. I won’t. She could come walking down those stairs any moment, and the last thing she needs is me in a state. She needs me strong, to fight beside her, not to break down.
I wipe the few escapee tears from my eyes and push up. I’ve got a job to do, and I need to focus on that, not sit here and dwell on what’s to come.
I’m just about to start chopping vegetables for the soup when my cell pings in my purse. I expect it to be Brooke, so my eyes widen a little at the sight of Corey’s contact. The words are simple, but the message behind them isn’t.
Brit Boy: Thank you.
But what is he thanking me for? There could be a whole host of things.
Is it a thank you for a good time? A thank you for understanding? Or worse, a thank you because things are done?
I stare at those two words for the longest time, and they only add to the ache in my heart. Yeah, he freaked out this morning, but I wasn’t lying when I told him that it was fine, that I understood. If this is a goodbye, then I’m not afraid to admit that I’m not ready for it. I want to reply, but I have no idea what to say, so in the end, I close the message and slide my cell into my back pocket and continue cooking.
Thoughts of both my aunt and Corey spin in my head as I potter around. I make the soup as promised, but when there’s no movement from upstairs, I also pull out some of my aunt’s beloved baking equipment and make her favorite lemon slices.
The scent of them baking fills the room, and my stomach rumbles.
Plating everything up, I carry a tray to her room to see if she’s up for eating.
To my surprise, she’s awake when I round the corner.
“Harlow, that smells delicious,” she says softly. She’s still not as enthusiastic as she normally is, but thankfully, she’s more awake than when I first arrived.
She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed, and I don’t mention it. I just sit with her and chat. Corey might be the last thing I want to talk about right now after that vague message, but I tell her all about last night’s date and she swoons over a guy she might never meet, telling me that anyone who goes to that much effort for a single date must be worthy of my time.