Chapter 29
Nadine
I don’t know what made me call James instead of Paulo.
I only know that when I open the front door of my parents’ house and see James standing on the porch that I’ve made the right decision.
A realization he only confirms when he steps into the foyer, closes the door, and without a single word, takes me into his arms and holds me.
I let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in an hour, I feel…well, not good…but I feel like I can survive this.
Like I can survive anything as long as James' here.
My fingers clench, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. I rest my head on his shoulder and let myself remember what it feels like to breathe. For the first time in hours.
No, for the first time in weeks.
He smells like other women’s perfume, but I don’t even care. I care only that he’s here.
That he came.
After everything we’ve been through, after the way we’ve spoken to each other, after the immature way we threw away years of friendship over a stupid squabble, he’s come, and he’s here and he’s holding me.
My eyes water, and his hand moves over my hair. “Don’t cry.”
But of course I do. I sob. Just like he knows I will.
And he lets me, never uttering stupid it will be okay platitudes. He doesn’t make weird soothing noises. He just holds me.
Eventually I manage to pull back enough to let out a huge slobbering noise, and he glances down at his white shirt, which is now smeared with black eye makeup and the faint beige tinge of my tinted moisturizer.
He points at his chest. “Well, here’s one thing I haven’t missed.”
I smile faintly.
“I’ll get the industrial-sized tissue box,” he says, running a hand down my arm before heading toward the bathroom. Then he pauses. Turns back. “Nadine?”
“Yeah?” I say, wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my sweatshirt.
He points to his stained shirt again. “It’s the only thing I haven’t missed.”
I meet his eyes and melt a little at the warmth there. At the apology written all over his face.
And just like that, we’re okay again. I know it down to my bones.
I sit on the couch, and in a moment he comes back with the box of tissues, dropping it into my lap before he sits beside me. “Where are your parents?”
“Upstairs,” I say, staring at my hands. “Last time we went through this, my mom was so brave, so positive, but this time…” I swallow. “She’s been in her room ever since they learned the news.”
I stare at my hands before continuing. “My dad had to be the one to tell me. And when I went up to see her…all we could do was cry.”
This, of course, starts me crying all over, and James once again does the holding thing that he’s so good at.
“It’s in her lymph nodes,” I say when the latest crying jag subsides. “They’re going to start treatment immediately. Some experimental mumbo jumbo that they’ve apparently had some success with, but they’re still throwing around the word prognosis,” I manage.
Six months. Maybe a year.
James releases me then, leaning forward.
His hands are clasped tightly together, and then he bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
Belatedly I realize that I’m not the only one torn up by this news. He loves my mom, too.
I put a hand on his back. Letting him know that I’m here for him, just like he’s here for me.
“She’s strong,” he says. “She’ll fight it.”
“She will,” I say. “I just…God, James, I don’t know that I can do it all over again. Watching her hair fall out, and her throwing up, and shrinking and shrinking and so pale.”
“She’ll get through it,” he says, shifting toward me and holding my hands. “She’ll get through it because you’ll be there with her every step of the way. As will your dad. And me. And Paulo,” he says, although I suspect this last one is more of an afterthought.
All of my thoughts over the past month bubble up in my chest, and I feel the need to talk.
Because there are things I need to tell James.
Things I don’t know how to express, but my heart is full of stuff, both grief for my mom, and myself, but other things, too.
Important things.
Things that I’m just now beginning to understand.
“James, there’s something that I should—”
“You should call Paulo. He should be here,” James says at the exact same time.
He smiles. “Sorry. You first.”
But my courage has failed me. Here I am trying to tell James that I think I might—that I have these feelings…and he’s reminding me to call my boyfriend?
The worst part is, he’s right. I should absolutely call my boyfriend. Not only for Paulo's sake, but because I just got James back. I can’t risk losing him again with stupid admissions.
And so I do exactly what he says.
I find my phone. I call my boyfriend.
And try very, very hard to bury feelings that will destroy everything.
