Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
“Crew?” she calls, her voice shaky. I turn to look at her. “I’ve missed you.”
The swell of warmth hits me from head to toe. “I’ve missed you, too.”
THIRTY-FOUR
JULIA
I cinch a pair of sweatpants around my waist. I’ve lost a few pounds in the past couple of weeks. My appetite has been non-existent but I’ve been able to eat a little this week since being back at Crew’s—or home, for all intents and purposes—but not enough to make up for the days of eating nothing.
I settle into the sofa and try to doze off but sleep doesn’t come. I’m too tired to actually sleep, which seems crazy, but I know it’s true. With the interruptions and buzzers and monitors going off all week, plus the stress of everything, I’m past the point of needing rest. I need solutions.
Ever has done well in her first week of treatment, but the therapy still eludes us. She was denied again this week by the board and the insurance. The doctors are being very cautious as to what they say to me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to let my mind reel. A counselor came in and talked to me, explained the stages of emotions I might and might not feel. I’ve accepted the fact that she is sick; seeing her lay in the hospital bed for a week helped that hit home. Now I’m just angry about the whole thing.
Why my daughter? Haven’t I had enough pain in my life?
I’m trying to stay calm for Ever’s sake—trying to keep my head on my shoulders—but it’s getting hard. I’ve never been a particularly violent person, but I’d cut the throats of the people that denied Ever the therapy without a second thought. I’m sure those people have the money if their children get sick.
Bastards.
The doctors are doing everything they can and Ever seems to be handling everything really well. They said that’s a good sign, to be not panicking over the therapy yet. They’ll explore other options . . . and I’ll pray for a miracle and try to keep myself sane by controlling the little things, the things I can control. It gives me some sense of being anchored, of not spiraling out of control, while I figure out the big things.
I fixed Crew dinner earlier tonight, just as I had all week. I’d been too exhausted to stay up the first few days after we came home, so I wrapped it up and left it in the microwave to heat up. I figure it’s the very least I can do for all he’s doing for us. This second job he’s taken on is keeping him from getting home until late every night. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but he’s getting banged up a bit. It’s really wearing him down. And I hate that. I hate seeing him work himself to death but, at the same time, I’ve never seen something so beautiful. A man doing absolutely everything he possibly can to help a child he loves.
This whole situation has changed me. I’ve heard cancer changes people, but I never could’ve dreamed how without going through it like we are. Old grudges and hurt feelings don’t matter. Worries about what other people think seem silly when death is facing you head-on. All that matters is that you’re right with your life and are as happy as you can be. Life goes on, even when you’re dealing with cancer. The world doesn’t stop. Feelings, life, relationships . . . none of that stops because you’re dealing with the illness.
And that’s partially why I called my parents today. It had been weighing on my conscious. I am their daughter and Ever their only grandchild. Maybe my parents are assholes most of the time, but they are my parents. I didn’t tell Crew I called them because I know he’d be angry. It wasn’t a lengthy conversation, anyway, and I’m not sure my ma was sober enough to even realize what I was saying. But I could cross that off my mind.
Sitting up at the sound of the door opening and shutting, I see the light in the kitchen bounce off the walls of the hallway. His bag drops to the floor and I hear his shoes hit the tile before he comes around the corner.
I haven’t been up when he’s gotten home from work this week, so I’m surprised to see him in gym shorts and no shirt. Before I can ask him about it, he spots me on the sofa.
“Hey. What are you doin’ up?” he asks.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Ever okay?” He looks alarmed and glances down the hallway.
“She’s staying with Olivia.”
He raises his eyebrows and I know the feeling. I’m not thrilled she stayed there, either.
“She came by and Ever wanted to go with her.” I shrug helplessly. “She was feeling good and cried when I told her she couldn’t go. I can’t keep her from having fun, living her life, can I? Olivia is like a grandma to her.” Suddenly, I feel like I made the wrong decision. I start to stand. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let her go.”