Even my mom had her gaggle of friends in town.
So, it was just me. The lone wolf.
Except I wasn’t a wolf. Wolves were alpha and masculine. I was something smaller… sweeter. Like a lone… otter.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends. I did. I just didn’t see them much. With my schedule, it was rare that I had the time or the energy to meet up with people, and through the years, those friendships just… waned.
God, that was pathetic. I guess I needed Chloe more than I realized.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice far quieter than I intended it to be. “For being…” My words faded, but as always, Chloe jumped in to the rescue.
“Your person?”
Her words made my heart kick faster against my breastbone. In fact, I was going to say ‘for being here for me,’ but I decided not to correct her. Instead, I nodded, repeating, “For being my person.” But that statement also made a dull sense of loss spread through my stomach. As much as I wanted to believe that to be true, she wasn’t mine. Not really. Despite the other night. Despite all my efforts. And even despite the fact that I knew she had feelings for me, too.
I studied her for the length of an inhale. The sky outside the window was fading to a light bruised color; the deep blues and purples of the night edging away as a faint hue of yellow split between the wispy clouds. Yellow light streamed in, cascading over her face and golden hair. For a long moment, I was distracted by the glow of her skin beneath the sunbeam.
She didn’t look over, or meet my stare, but kept her hands clenched on the wheel and her eyes straight ahead. I forced my gaze away from her face, but not before catching the pink flush that crawled up her neck, deepening along the tops of her cheeks.
“That coffee’s yours,” she said simply, pretending not to notice the way I’d been staring at her. But I think we both knew better. To my left, waiting for me in the cup holder, was a steaming cup of coffee in one of Chloe’s to-go mugs. “I even added that disgusting pinch of nutmeg you claim is so good.”
I snorted, taking the handle of the cup and bringing the steaming brew to my mouth. It smelled heavenly. “Maybe it’s an acquired taste, but it is good. You’re just stuck in your ways.”
She hurled a quick scowl in my direction. “And you’re not?”
I made a noise with my mouth that resembled a tire losing air. “I’m flexible as hell.”
She barked a laugh and nodded. “Yeah, okay.” Chloe stole a quick glance at me as she turned toward 95 South. “So… are you nervous about today?”
I began to shake my head no but stopped myself. I didn’t want to lie to Chloe. To put on some false bravado that I was fine; everything was fine. That’s the sort of bullshit I might have pulled with other friends in the past, but Chloe and I were different. And that required me changing old, bad habits. It required me opening up more. I took a deep breath and answered honestly. “Nervous isn’t the right word. I’m confident the surgery will go well—mastectomies are pretty common. I’m more nervous for what comes next. Wondering if the surgery will work overall and get Mom into remission”
I skimmed the tip of my finger over the plastic lid and dipped it into the pool of warm coffee that settled in the seam.
“Did the surgeon say what the rate of success is with this kind of surgery?”
I shrugged. “It’s good. But they’re careful about their statistics. They don’t want to give false hope, and cancer is a tricky bitch. They thought the chemo and radiation was going to be enough to send her into remission initially—and yet, here we are.”
We’d been so hopeful when her chemo ended; she was looking and feeling so good… better than we’d seen her in months. Maybe we just got too cocky. It was a real kick in the gut when her scans didn’t come back clear.
“How soon after surgery will they know if she’s in remission?”
“It takes a few weeks.”
More waiting. More wondering. More silent stress that will loom like an imminent rain cloud over my family while we all pretend we aren’t on the precipice of a potential hurricane.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I asked.
“Of course,” she answered simply, as though there wasn’t even a question of her hiding her vulnerability. It was one of the many beautiful aspects about Chloe. She wore her heart—as well as everything else—on her sleeve.
“Do you miss Dan?” That question had been plaguing me, burning in me. Anytime he came up in conversation, Chloe would either spit his name or change topics really quickly.
If I wasn’t mistaken, her grip on the wheel tightened, and for half a second, I thought I had screwed up by asking that.
“Sometimes,” she said after a pause. “But then… I don’t think it’s actually Dan that I miss. I miss having someone to wake up beside. Someone who held my hand and took me out for cocktails. Someone to go to parties with. Someone to cook for…”
“You? Cook?” I joked.
Her laugh was a balm, soothing in an otherwise raw moment.
Biting her bottom lip, she smacked the backs of her knuckles against my arm. “Hey! Anyone can make a casserole!” She continued her thought. “Anyway, I think I miss being in a
