Page 80 of Run To You
She watches me closely, and I know she needs to hear this. She needs me to reassure her we will be okay.
“I want us to feel comfortable doing the things we need to do for our own well-being. If I’ve learned one thing from therapy, it’s that wehaveto look after ourselves before we can pay it forward. You need to do this, Eden, for your own peace of mind. I’ll be there in spirit, and on the end of the phone.”
“I’ll call you all the time. You’ll get sick of me.”
I smile and kiss her. “Not possible. Iamokay with this, babe, and I’ll look out for the girls.”
“Thank you,” she sighs. “I’ve been driving myself crackers deciding what to do for the best.”
“Well, now it’s decided and it’s time you got some sleep.”
Later, when she falls asleep curled beside me, I lie awake and count backward from a thousand, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling. It’s a great way to stamp down anxiety. By counting down, I’m not allowing my mind to focus on negative thoughts. I get to seven hundred and sixty before I realize this is happening. Eden is leaving. Maybe for a while.
And for the first time since she came back to me, I’m not catastrophizing it. I’m just…ready to feel whatever happens next.
27
Eden
The agonising decision to follow my gran to England first popped into my head after I’d spent the afternoon with Pia. I’d been so caught up in my own world that I’d not been there for her when she needed me. I think that goes for my gran too, and I felt terrible.
My gran is the strongest person I know, and she has been the glue of the family for all of my life. I think it’s only right we show up for her the way she’s always shown up for us. Plus, my grandad will need support too. She’s his world, and I can’t imagine how scared he must be. He’ll never show it because Gran would kick his arse, but that doesn’t mean the feelings aren’t still there.
Speaking of the old bird. She and Grandad flew back to the UK yesterday afternoon, and it was emotional. My gran was fine, it was the rest of us who got teary. At one point she threatened to disinherit the lot of us if we didn’t pull ourselves together.
It was quite funny, actually.
At least Sloane and I got some quality time in with her, even if she was as ornery as usual. It was great to show her my art and listen to her thoughts. If there is anyone I trust to tell it to me straight where my work is concerned, it’s my Gran. She never pulls punches. Mercifully she loved my pieces and only critiqued one painting.
Today I’m going to fill the family in on my plans. Now that Sloane knows I’m not too worried about telling my parents. Ugh, I felt sick to my stomach when I spoke to Sloane. The idea had been burning a hole in my brain, and I’d not been sleeping well. I’m grateful in a way that she woke up and prodded me to talk to her.
I’m still worried about her. She’s been doing so well, and I don’t want my leaving to set her back. Then again, as she’s always telling me, her recovery isn’t on me. I need to trust her when she tells me she’s going to be fine. In reality Ithink she’s stronger than all of us now. Sloane Bishop is the fiercest person I know.
She’s also the love of my life, and I can’t believe I’m willingly leaving her for god knows how long just after we’ve finally got our shit together. I know she’d come with me if she could, but I can’t let her jeopardise what she’s building. It’s too important. She’s too important. So, I need to suck it up. Be there for my gran and have faith Sloane will be fine and waiting for me to come home. Or she’ll be on a flight to Blighty for my gallery opening, whichever comes first.
The morning light cuts a line straight down my parents’ kitchen table and over Mum’s left hand, illuminating the crumbs she’s just swept into her palm. She’s got that determined look about her, the one that says no piece of toast will survive on her countertop. Her mood obviously has nothing to do with toast crumbs, but the fact Gran and Grandad flew home yesterday. Mum’s worrying and dealing with it by cleaning…everything.
Dad stands at the stove pretending he isn’t watching her every move, but he’s pouring my tea into my Offspring memorabilia mug, the one I got the very first time I saw them live, and if he doesn’t pay attention he’s going to startpouring tea all over the counter that Mum just finished cleaning for the millionth time.
Jenna’s perched on the kitchen island with a gigantic mug of coffee and an equally massive bowl of some shitty cereal. I clear my throat, which is so dry it sounds like I’m prepping to cough up a hairball, and look at the three of them.
“Mum, Dad…Lucifer,” I say.
Jenna freezes, her spoon hovering somewhere between her mouth and the cereal. She scowls at me, but the fact she’s got milk on her upper lip kind of douses any effect her death glare should have. Mum stops mid-crumb disposal. Dad just continues to pour, slow and steady, ignoring the over-spill as the cup reaches maximum volume.
“I’m going to England,” I state.
The words hang there, swimming in the humid air. For three seconds, no one breathes. Even the fridge stops humming.
Jenna’s spoon clinks down into the bowl and she says, “You’re leaving?”
Dad finally registers he’s drowning the kitchen in Yorkshire Gold. He rolls his eyes and begins wiping up the mess with a dishtowel. “You mean to visit Gran?”
“To stay with her. I want to be there for the treatment.” I don’t say cancer, not because we’re squeamish but because everyone at this table already knows the diagnosis. If you say the C-word, it somehow becomes the only word in the room.
Mum’s hands have migrated to the tabletop, pressing flat so hard her knuckles are white. “Does she know?” she asks, but the shake in her voice gives her away. She already suspects the answer.
“No. And I’d like to keep it that way for now. I don’t want her blowing a gasket.”
