Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 144696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
When I left the room, I was hit with such a wave of sadness that I doubled over. My stomach hurt with held-back sobs, and I ran upstairs to the bedroom before I could let them loose. When I did, I had to muffle them with a pillow. I was crying so hard, I was making sounds I’d never heard myself make before. And I was super embarrassed, even though there was no one around to see me.
I was happy for Holli. My sadness had nothing to do with— and took nothing away from— her happiness or the way I felt about her great news. But isolated in my little sadness bubble, it was so hard for me to see wonderful things happening for people around me. My career had stalled, and Holli’s had blossomed. I had moved to England, and she was back in New York. I was homesick and nervous and worried about Neil’s health. I didn’t know if we even had anything to look forward to. I didn’t know if I could move my stuff out in September, or if I would need to find a new roommate and a way to pay the bills. And there was nothing I could do to attempt to make it better. I had to wait.
All I could imagine was a future in which my best friend didn’t have time for me, as I tried to make my shitty savings last just a little longer while I worked at a sub shop, and the love of my life was fucking dead. All of my positive thinking had been used up. I didn’t believe I’d ever smile or be happy again.
I don’t know how long I laid there and cried, but at some point, I didn’t have energy nor tears left. I dozed off, and woke to find the room dark. The light was on in the bathroom, and the shower was running. It didn’t surprise me; Neil’s occasional bouts of insomnia led to weird stuff like late night showering. I was just glad that he was up and moving around. I got up and headed in to check on him.
The master bathroom wasn’t quite as spectacular as the one in New York. It was done-up in dove gray, with black counters and brushed steel faucets. The shower was black tile with glass doors, and the bathtub was an ultra-modern white stone basin that fit two people comfortably. It was no match for my bathtub, which I missed terribly.
“Neil?” I asked in lieu of knocking. I checked my face in the mirror over the vanity as I passed through. My eyes were still puffy and red. I splashed myself with some cold water, put on my most fake smiley face, and said, “Baby, are you okay in there?”
“No.”
I pulled the foggy door open. He was sitting in the gray plastic shower chair he hated using, his head in his hands. When he pushed his fingers through the wet strands, clumps fell away.
“Oh no.” I didn’t care if Neil lost his hair; I was kind of surprised he hadn’t during the first round of chemo. Maybe because he’d made it through the first two, he was shocked by it now.
“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. I hated it when he cried, because I felt so helpless. Now I knew why he would often tell me not to cry. Not because he didn’t want to deal with me and my stupid emotions, but because he didn’t like being helpless to do anything about them. “It’s silly of me to be upset about this, of all things—”
“It’s not silly at all,” I stated firmly. “All the stuff I read online said that this hits people hard.”
“I just thought...” he shook his head, then rubbed his palm over his scalp.
My heart ached for him. “You thought you would be different.”
He nodded miserably.
“Do you want my help?” I asked.
He’d been so withdrawn and solitary lately, that I was surprised when he said, “Yes. I don’t know how you can help, but I just... I need you.”
I didn’t know how I was going to help him, either, but I had to do something. It was the first chance I’d had in a long time to do anything that felt remotely useful. I pulled my shirt over my head and shimmied out of my jeans and underwear, then stepped into the shower with him.
I felt along his hairline gently, amazed as the strands clung to my wet fingers and came loose without any pressure at all. “It was just ready to go, I think,” I said, trying to be cheerful about the whole thing. “Here.”
I reached for the towel hanging on the bar, away from the spray. I wetted the corner and gently rubbed it over his scalp. “Is that painful?”
“No,” he sniffed. “My head has been itchy all day, it’s actually a bit of a relief.”