Page 11 of Write Me For You
“I swear, all boys are the same. They never mature.” Emma shook her head at Chris and Jesse, but I saw her affection for them in her expression. “So, June,” Emma said, turning her attention to me. “Tell me about yourself.”
Chris and Jesse leaned over a fence in the distance. Longhorn cattle were grazing in the field, and I could hear Chris trying to call them over.
I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. Normal seventeen-year-old from a small town…studious, a little quiet, not much to say.”
“Boyfriend?” Emma asked, smirking.
“No boyfriend,” I said emphatically.
“Yeah, I hear ya,” she said, then leaned in close. “My last boyfriend dumped me when I lost my hair. So fuck him, I guess.”
My heart broke. “Emma…” I said, “That’s awful.”
Emma shrugged. “His loss,” she said, pretending to toss her imaginary hair over her shoulder. “I’m fabulous no matter how much hair I have.” I laughed and Emma held me tighter. “I’m only kidding, but my exdoessuck. He wasn’t a good guy.”
“No current boyfriend for you either?” I asked.
“Nah,” Emma said. “I’ve decided to wait for the man of my dreams. He’s in my future; I can just feel it.”
For some reason, I lifted my head and caught sight of Jesse. He was leaning over the fence to the longhorn cows still, laughing at Chris trying to feed one a handful of grass he’d picked off the ground. As if feeling my stare, Jesse looked my way, and his eyes softened as they met mine. My heart kicked into a sprint again.
Emma cleared her throat. “Jesse’s cute.” I whipped my head to Emma, eyes wide. She leaned forward, laughing. “June, you should see your face.” She laughed harder. I couldn’t help but smile at her. When she recovered, she said, “It’s okay to think a boy is cute, you know.”
I was quiet as we closed the gap between the boys and us. There was an instant comfort with Emma. Her personality was as warm as her smile, and I found myself revealing, “I’ve never had a boyfriend.” I could see Emma look at me in my periphery, but I kept my face straight forward. “I’ve never even been kissed.”
Emma hugged me closer. “Well, June, I have only known you for the grand total of twenty-four hours, and I can tell you that the boy who steals your heart will be one lucky guy.”
My cheeks heated, and I tried hard to ignore the twist in my gut that told me a guy like Jesse would never look at a girl like me. I didn’t want to be crippled by insecurity on this walk right now. I just wanted to enjoy this glimpse of pretreatment freedom and make a new friend. “Thank you.”
“Now,” Emma said, “let’s talk about something that doesn’t involve boys. We’re strong, independent women, who have more to give to the world.”
“Okay,” I said, chuckling.
“Tell me about your friends,” she said, and this request hit me harder than the question about boyfriends. I was too quiet, and Emma noticed. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, and cleared my throat. I tried to think of what to say without sounding pathetic. Shrugging, I said, “I don’t really have any friends.” Emma’s arm linked through mine squeezed me tightly. I felt too vulnerable to look at her. “I had lots of people I played with as a kid and spoke to in class, but no one I was really close to. Then after all the treatment…” I trailed off.
Emma was only quiet a beat before she said, “Those friends drifted off, stopped coming around so much, and moved on with their own lives while you were stuck in chemo-and-stem-cell hell?” I couldn’t have said it better myself. After I gave Emma a nod, she said, “Trust me, June, I get it.”
Some of my embarrassment ebbed. “You do?”
“I do,” she said and squeezed my arm again. “I did have best friends, but we grew apart when our lives took vastly different directions.” Emma sighed. “I don’t blame or resent them.” She gestured to her body. “It’s this damn disease I resent.”
“Who do we resent?” Chris asked, as he came toward us and moved between us to throw his arms around our shoulders.
“You,” Emma said dryly, and Chris backed away, pretending to look offended.
Warmth burst beside me, and when I glanced to my left, I saw that Jesse had fallen into step next to me. He was laughing at Chris, who moved ahead of us and walked backwards so he could look at us as he spoke.
“No, really. Who do you resent?” Chris asked again. I could see Jesse tossing the ball back and forth in hands in my periphery.
“Cancer,” Emma said. “You know, the disease that is trying to kill us all.”
“Ah, Mylo,” Chris said. When Chris was only met by a wall of confused silence, he said, “What? I gave him a name.” In a flash of seriousness, he added, “Depression hit me pretty hard in the beginning. Snuck up on me until I couldn’t get out of bed.” Chris shrugged. “I started getting help for it which helped. Still do, though I have more better days than bad now.” Chris paused in thought, then said, “I like dark humor, it’s how I cope with things—so my therapist says—so I named my cancer: Mylo. He’s not the best of guys, and I’m trying to get rid of him while hetries to kill me, but while he’s with me, existing in my body, he’s Mylo.”
“I say this with the utmost affection, Chris,” Emma said, “but you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”
Chris stopped walking and dramatically placed his and over his mouth, then dropped it to his chest, over his heart. “Emma…that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
