Shine

Threadbare Day

I'd have gotten away with my lie if my house keys hadn't fallen out of my pocket and Edward hadn't found them in his car Saturday morning. He assumed I'd misplaced my phone or was taking a nap when I only intermittently replied to his texts that day, so drove over only intending to drop them off with Aunt Clara and leave.

She hastened to open the door before he could knock, greeting him in enthused whispers, which confused him because it was early afternoon by now, and he'd never known me to be the sleep through the weekend type. "Sorry," she whispered through her grin. "I'm trying to let her sleep as much as she can. She's always bushed after treatments."

And that startled him, because he'd had no idea I could hide that from him so very seamlessly, as evidently I had. It's hard to know how successful one is at such things.

"She didn't tell you?" Aunt Clara asked, also surprised, still whispering. She left the door open and walked into the kitchen, gesturing for him to follow, so hesitantly he did.

"No. I suppose she didn't want me to worry."

Aunt Clara sighed. "Yeah, she does that, doesn't she. You can hang those there. Thanks for bringing them back promptly. Want to sit a few minutes?"

He hesitated, uncertain, as it was clear I hadn't wanted him to see me like this.

"Oh come on, she likes you enough," Aunt Clara softly teased. "I'll pull out the old picture albums and you can help me pick paint chips for the TV cupboard."

At a loss, he sat where she told him to, and accepted the photo album she dropped into his lap as though she'd thrown him a baby porcupine.

When I eventually woke, still groggy, head feeling distended and unevenly weighted from the inside, I saw a note that had been poked under my door: Aunt Clara warning me we had company, and who, and I immediately felt the regret flooding through me, gritty and sour. It had been unkind of me to lie to him. It made it seem like I didn't want to share parts of my life with him, my time. Like I didn't trust him with my troubles. Conversely, I was also weakly gladdened to know that I'd be able to see such a fine face on such an awful day, even if he had to see me in such an awful way.

I was too tired to roll, so I opened my door and army crawled to the bathroom. I heard Aunt Clara in the living room behind me drawing Edward's attention toward the kitchen so I could crawl in privacy. It took me longer than usual to get my teeth brushed and I didn't even try to get my contacts in. At least my eyes were evenly wretched.

I wanted to sit and listen to them talk, but I didn't want to crawl out there. Not like this. Not on a day when I had no other options. Choosing to do it was one thing. Doing it because I felt I had no other choices was entirely another.

A minute later though Aunt Clara came to check on me, lightly tapping on the door, and found me curled up against the metal bath tub. "Hey hon, how you feeling?"

I scrubbed blearily at my face. Chemo brain, they call it. The sudden and recurring inability to string two coherent thoughts together, or just the sudden cotton swirling and snagging between your thoughts where previously they were clear. " 'M all right."

"Wanna come sit with us?"

I nodded, and she crouched to curl me into her arms. Nurses are strong. I loved that Aunt Clara was a nurse.

"Come on, baby," she said, kissing my cheek, and managed me out the door. When he saw us coming down the hall Edward immediately stood as though to help, but Aunt Clara said she had me. She sank into her armchair with me in her lap and adjusted so I could lean against her, her arms still keeping all my loose bones and pieces in.