When Cam nods in encouragement, my throat thickens. Mama did the same thing. Maybe it’s maternal, like a switch that’s flipped after having a baby. Maybe Cam’s just a good person.
It makes me angry at Kaiden for being such a hypocrite. He can pretend like I’m horrible for leaving Mama, but he’s doing the same thing. Just because he lives under the same roof as her doesn’t mean he’s not emotionally here. If anything, he’s worse than me.
Mama shut down because she struggled with Lo’s death and my diagnosis. Cam is the opposite—she wants to embrace him, and he pushes her away.
Everyone grieves differently, Grandma would tell me.
I don’t think Kaiden is grieving though.
Pushing the thought away, I let the hairstylist, Jess, guide me to the sinks. I used to love getting my hair done—feeling the stylist massage the shampoo into my scalp. It relaxed me. Sometimes it even put me to sleep. Now all I can feel are the pinpricks of pain radiating across my skull as gentle fingers work my frail strands. It’s why I don’t get my hair cut often, because the small gasps as chunks come out into the sink despite me telling them it could happen never stops my face from heating.
But Jess just reassures me. She doesn’t make a sound, even when I’m sure the drain is becoming well acquainted with my hair. She hums along to a song and then asks me how school is.
What year are you?
What’s your favorite subject?
What are your future plans?
Junior.
English.
Not to die.
I don’t tell her the last one. Instead, I say that I haven’t decided yet and get the generic you have time response. But do I?
There are lots of quotes about time.
Time is fleeting.
Time is valuable.
Time shouldn’t be wasted.
The trouble with time is that we only think we have it. It’s an illusion—an excuse to linger in existence. Some people use it to be reckless, others use it to hold themselves back.
The kids stamping YOLO on their foreheads have no idea what they’re bartering with when they tempt death. They think they’re invincible. And me? I have to watch healthy people with thousands of chances live like they’re not afraid of death at all.
Time is a luxury we can’t all afford.
Chapter Twelve
The tips of my blonde hair kiss the top of my shoulders. I’m not used to the style—side bangs and choppy layers, but it’s cute. Different. It also manages to hide my thinner sections without much hassle.
Looking in the mirror now, I see Mama. I see her round green eyes and her tiny nose, and how her top lip is a little thinner than her bottom. I was always told I looked like a perfect mixture of both my parents, but in the moment I don’t see Dad at all.
Carefully, I run my fingers through my hair. To my surprise, barely any falls out. Jess told me everything she used, including some special shampoo for people with brittle hair. Cam insists on buying some before we leave, and I feel bad knowing it costs a pretty penny.
She says she doesn’t mind.
She says she wants to help.
Following her out the door, we enter her vehicle in silence. The wind catching the back of my neck is foreign and makes goosebumps appear on my arms, but I don’t mind it. It’s warm today, so the breeze feels nice even if it’s a reminder of the necessary new style.
Cam looks at me and smiles. “You look beautiful, Em.”
Em. Not Emery. My heart warms to this woman even more. The woman who’s not my mother, but the very one who’s given me more chances than my own back in Bakersfield. I want to feel guilty for liking her, for even considering her better, but I can’t. I see why Dad loves her so much.