Enshrine Read online

  14

  Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

  When I climb out of the tub and put on my fluffiest robe, Bruno and Lee are sitting in the kitchen waiting for me.

  “Hey,” Lee greets me with her arms outstretched as her eyes search mine.

  “Hi.” I hug her tightly, but her hands barely touch me.

  “You okay?” she asks, taking a step back and looking at me.

  I nod. “Much better.” My smile grows wider because I’m suddenly thankful for the two people in my kitchen. “The ginger soup helped my belly too.”

  “Thank God,” she whispers and rubs her forehead.

  “Well, ladies. Although you know how much I love a good chat—” he stands and shoves his wallet and keys in his pocket “—I have some work to do. I’ll be back later.”

  “Now?” I glance at the clock and wonder why he’s ditching me.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you coming back?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

  “I’ll try, but if not, Lee will stay and I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  Enter my grumpy attitude that is totally misplaced and unexpected. “Fine.”

  He walks toward us, giving Lee a kiss on the cheek before coming to a stop in front of me. “I see you’re feeling better.” His fingers find my chin, tipping my eyes up to look at him. “Be a good girl.” He winks before kissing me on the nose. “I’ll be back.”

  “I may be asleep.” I’m feeling irritable suddenly.

  “I have a key, remember?”

  “Yeah.” My voice is light and airy.

  His lips press against mine, making my toes curl into the hardwood. He doesn’t touch me anywhere else, just his fingers against my chin and his lips on mine. Pure perfection. Sweetness I never would’ve guessed he had oozes off the man.

  “Take care of her, sis,” he tells Lee.

  “Promise,” she replies and gives me the biggest smile over his shoulder.

  “Don’t wait up,” he calls out before he leaves.

  “I hope you don’t mind I’m here. I can go now if you want,” Lee offers, giving me an apologetic smile.

  “No.” I grab the empty teakettle off the stove and start to fill it. “Something to drink?”

  “I’d love some.” She sits down, waiting for me to finish, and looks around my apartment in fascination.

  “This place is really beautiful.”

  “It was my dream to live here not so long ago, but now, it seems so unimportant.” I look around when I sit next to her. She’s right, though. It really is nice. “It’s just a place to live now.”

  “No. That’s not true.” She touches my hand and purses her lips. “We all have to have something we love, things that keep us moving forward in life. There’s too much bad to pull us under if we don’t.”

  I hadn’t thought about it that way. Things like my beautiful, modern apartment, my stellar shoe collection, and my insane wardrobe did keep me moving each day. Work is more than a paycheck, but it never hurt to treat myself. “True.”

  “Did Bruno scare you earlier?”

  “No.” I shrug, trying to give her a smile. “He panicked, though.”

  “For a tough guy, sometimes he feels others’ pain a little too strongly.”

  “He told me about Maggie,” I blurt out.

  “He did?” Her eyebrows rise and her lips part.

  I nod and hope she’ll tell me more. “When I was in the tub. He told me that we all need someone sometimes. He explained how you helped him through that time in his life.” The teapot starts to whistle.

  “My brother exaggerates. I did help him, but I didn’t do anything more than anyone would do for someone they love. He was right by my side as I fought too. It’s what we do. Who we are.”

  “You two are lucky,” I tell her as I grab the teacups. “Chamomile okay?”

  “Anything is fine as long as you have sugar.”

  I balance the tiny cups in one hand to carry the sugar to the table and set it in front of her. “I’m happy you’re here, Lee.”

  “I told you to call me anytime, Callie. I meant it when I said it.”

  I pour our tea and we girl talk for over an hour. She doesn’t mention cancer and neither do I. Eventually, the conversation turns back to Bruno, which has quickly become my favorite topic.

  “So what’s he really like?” I ask her and sip the last bit of tea from my cup.

  “He’s exactly what you think. Sometimes moody, but then again, we all are at times. He’s loyal to a fault. He’s dedicated to his work and loves harder than anyone I know.”

  “What is his work, exactly?” I pry and hold my breath in anticipation that she’s going to spill a juicy tidbit.

  She looks down at her glass, breaking eye contact with me for the first time. “It’s not my business to share, Callie.”

  Damn. “It’s okay, Lee. I would never ask you to betray him.” She doesn’t help dispel any rumors I’ve heard about him and his “business.”

  “He sure has taken to you.”

  “I don’t understand that either. He won’t tell me.”

  She giggles, her fingers wrapping together around the cup. “He’s difficult sometimes.”

  “Do you know?”

  “Again, it’s for him to tell.”

  I slouch in my chair and feel defeated. “What good are you, Lee, honestly?”

  “He’ll tell you when the time is right, babe. I promise.” She pats my hand and her face lights up from the giggles.

  “I may die first,” I grumble.

  “Bruno won’t let you. Before I go, I wanted to talk to you about your chemo. How do you think it’s going?”

  “It’s killing me,” I admit. It feels like it is, at least. I don’t feel healthier or stronger, just ill and weak, but it is poison, after all.

  “Then it’s doing what it’s supposed to.”

  I give her a crooked smile. “Yep.”

  “Be prepared for other side effects that may come along the way. How’s your hair?”

  “It hurts.” Running a brush through it has become almost impossible. Every strand aches like it does when I wear a ponytail for too long.

  “It’s probably going to start falling out soon.”

  My fingers instinctively find a few strands and twirl them gently. “Oh, God.”

  “It’s best to shave it before that starts happening. You’ll feel more in control.”

  I haven’t felt in control in a long time. Shaving my head won’t help me feel any better, but it will remind me exactly what I’m going through. The thought of it all falling to the floor makes my chest tighten.

  Every gold strand is pure perfection. Pin straight, shiny, and untouched blond that sparkles in the sunlight. Years wasted worrying about it being just right for it all to fall out and never be the same again.

  “Will it come back the same?” I ask, still playing with the tips.

  “Probably not. My hair was red before this,” she says, pulling on her ponytail.

  “Really?” My eyes grow wide and I’m freaked out.

  “Nope.”

  I laugh nervously. “I see that being a smartass runs in the family.”

  As I walk her to the door, I think about what she said. It is only hair. It isn’t who I am; it’s only a small part of me. People change their hair every day, and it will eventually grow back.

  “Hey,” I call out. “Will it all fall out?” I touch my eyebrows and pray she says no.

  “All of it,” she replies and glances down to my crotch. “All. Of. It.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I mumble.

  “Just think of all the time you’ll save shaving for a while.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “There’s always a silver lining as long as you’re alive.” She waves good-bye and walks out.

  “Yeah,” I mutter as I close the door. Waxing wouldn’t be a thing I’d have to do again for a very long time.

  What I think of as
a problem, Lee thinks of as a timesaver. Funny how we view the world differently when going through the same thing.

  15

  Change Is Coming… Ready or Not

  Bruno climbs into bed just after sunrise. I haven’t slept a wink without him by my side. I kept replaying everything Lee said and the things he’s told me. Over and over again they go through my mind, but I still haven’t made sense of any of it.

  “Hey,” he says, tucking me under his arm when he pulls me against his side.

  “I missed you,” I blurt out without thinking.

  He kisses my forehead, letting his lips linger on my skin. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

  “It’s okay. I just couldn’t sleep after Lee left.” I bury my face into his chest and sigh. “I’m so exhausted.”

  He pulls me closer and strokes my back. “What did she say that had you so spooked?”

  “She said I should shave my head.” My voice sounds muffled by his skin.

  “I’m sorry, Cal.”

  “It’s okay. It’s only hair.”

  “I’ll help you,” he offers and breathes deeply in my hair.

  “Smell it now because it won’t be there later.” I kind of laugh, but I really want to cry at the thought of being bald. “I’ll do it myself.”

  “Cal, I told you about doing shit yourself.”

  I push back and glare at him. “This is something I have to do myself. Okay?”

  He nods and digs his fingers into the strands. “It’s only hair.”

  “I know.” I relax into him and fall asleep while he rubs my back.

  I don’t remember my dream, but I wake up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding. Looking over at the clock, I realize I’ve been sleeping for over ten hours. Bruno hasn’t stirred and has his arm wrapped around me. Slowly, I inch out of bed, lifting his arm and slithering underneath until my feet touch the floor.

  I know what I have to do before he wakes up. I have a spare pair of clippers in the linen closet my ex-boyfriend left behind.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I start to cry and the tears begin to fall, plopping on the counter like large raindrops dropping from the sky.

  My hands shake every time I raise the clippers to my head and I chicken out. The thought of voluntarily cutting off my perfect blond locks is beyond terrifying. I’ve spent years making my hair just right, but I know it won’t last for long.

  Inevitably, it’s going to fall out. I can’t do anything to stop it. Even though I prayed I would be one of the lucky ones who wouldn’t lose my hair, it’s already started to thin.

  “You can do this,” I tell myself in the mirror, wiping away the tears. “It’s only hair.” My voice cracks on the last word.

  I have two choices: put the clippers away and wait for it to fall out in clumps, or get rid of it and take control of the situation.

  I’ve always liked being in control and being in charge of my fate. I think that’s why I’ve been single as long as I have. Because being with someone means giving over control and losing a piece of myself along the way.

  This is my shot to be in charge, to make my cancer my bitch. I have to do this. Cutting my hair is the first step in gaining the upper hand.

  I wipe my eyes again, blinking a few times to clear my vision before I lift the clippers to my hair and turn them on. “It’s my choice,” I whisper and look myself straight in the eyes. I knew it would be hard, but I hadn’t expected the amount of gut-wrenching anxiety I feel.

  We judge each other by our looks. Oftentimes, we don’t even realize we’re doing it. Hair is something people see from afar and start their appraisal. It’s ridiculous. Women spend hundreds of dollars trying to make their hair perfect to meet some unrealistic sense of beauty.

  I’m guilty of it.

  It shouldn’t be so difficult to run the razor through my hair and watch it tumble to the floor. Slowly, I push the clippers through my hair, starting at the left side near my ear. But when the first lock of hair falls before my eyes, the tears start again and my vision blurs.

  “I can do this,” I whisper again, continuing to give myself a pep talk.

  Why is this so difficult? It’ll eventually grow back—I’m not lopping off an arm; it’s only hair. But it has become part of my identity, and I’m losing another piece of myself.

  Of my own free will or not, I can’t stop my hands from shaking. Gripping my hair, I hold it out and try to keep the clippers steady as I pass them over my skin. As a handful separates and is sitting in my hand, I can’t help but look down, transfixed.

  In the grand scheme of things, it’s unimportant. It doesn’t make me, but I still love every inch of it.

  Everything spins out of control.

  Everything.

  Being a self-proclaimed science nerd, I’m used to control. Working in a lab, I conduct every step in a certain manner, in a particular order, and I thrive on that type of rigor. But cancer has everything jumbled in my brain.

  A war is going on inside me. Between cancer and myself. But there’s another one too. A balancing act, a tug-of-war of sorts that has become a constant battle. I want to fight. I wish I were a tough girl, ready to kick cancer’s ass, but my mortality stops me. Maybe even a little vanity too.

  Paralyzed.

  Frozen.

  I feel that way most days now, and today is like every other. Like time moves along and I’m an observer, not taking part in any way—just sitting, watching the world move by, and I can’t touch it.

  I need to stop mourning my life and start living it. Nothing is easy anymore. But being a passive viewer isn’t for me.

  I can’t let it kill me.

  Not just my body, but my spirit too.

  Basically, I’ve become part of the walking dead. No, not like a zombie, but I have myself buried while I still walk the earth and I am doing nothing to stop the thing I fear most… Death.

  Yes, I started treatment, but other than that, the internal fight I always thought I had has fizzled away. Maybe cutting my hair will be the first step in gaining back the control I need.