After she had rinsed out her mouth, we followed her back to bed. Lyra kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed with her mom. “Did you eat something that upset your tummy?”
I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Emilia to tell Lyra.
“Can Mommy have one of those special hugs?” She opened her arms for Lyra. Lyra giggled and hugged Emilia. Emilia's eyes closed as she held on to Lyra for a few seconds longer. “Lyra, we need to talk.” She brushed Lyra's hair away from her face.
“Okay.” Lyra looked back at me then at Emilia.
“Mommy is sick,” Emilia said softly, “and she is going to be sick for a few months.”
“Why?” Lyra sat up on her knees. “Why don't you take medicine?”
“I am.” Emilia ran her fingers through Lyra's hair. “Mommy is going to be really sick some days and I don't want you to think that I love you any less because I won't be able to play.”
“What's wrong with you?” Lyra sat on her knees.
“Mommy has cancer.”
Like Grandma Lucy?” Lyra's eyes filled with sudden tears.
“No, sweetie.” Emilia shook her head to reassure Lyra. “The doctors were able to take it all out and now I have to take this medicine, but I'll be all right.”
“Will you lose your hair?” Lyra reached up and entwined her finger with a strand of hair. “Penny's mother lost all her hair when she had cancer in her boobies.”
Emilia laughed. “Well, mine will fall too out but it will grow back.”
“You're going to be okay?”
“I'm going to be fine.”
“Is that why Jeremy left and Daddy moved in?”
Emilia's eyes pulled away from Lyra and looked over at me.
“No, princess,” I spoke up. “Sometimes people stop loving each other. But it's not your fault. Jeremy still loves you very much, but he and your mom are better off as friends.”
Lyra crawled into her mother’s lap. “Promise me that you're going to be okay.”
“I promise.”
15
Fuck Cancer.
There were days I sat by Emilia's side because she couldn't get out of bed while she cried from the burning sensation that coursed through her body. Food was the least appealing thing to her. When she did eat, she puked up everything.
The bad days were bad. Horrible really. There was no other way to say it. I carried Emilia out of bed because she physically couldn't move. It was changing her. Completely dark circles had formed under her eyes; her cheeks were beginning to sink in.
Watching the person I loved suffer this way was excruciating. I hated that I was helpless. I hated that I couldn’t do anything to take away her pain. I would never be able to forget the agony she was in. Her cries would forever haunt my mind.
Cancer, how I fucking hate you.
One day, one really bad day, we sat outside as Lyra played in the yard, running with a bubble wand in the air. Emilia sat with a soft blanket draped over her body, her eyes focused on the ocean. She hadn’t said much that morning. Every once in a while she would moan, and I knew something inside of her was hurting.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, look!” Lyra twirled and a cluster of bubbles popped from her wand. She danced around, trying to pop every bubble she could.
I looked over at Lyra and then to Emilia. “Em?” I questioned when her gaze hadn’t strayed from the ocean.
Emilia didn't respond.
A few minutes passed, and Lyra’s infectious laughter bellowed across the yard. “Mommy, come see what I can do!” Lyra giggled and slid down the slide.
I again pulled my gaze away from Lyra and looked over at Emilia. She exhaled, her eyes glassy with tears.
“Are you feeling okay?” I whispered. Emilia slowly nodded and closed her eyes. A lone tear dripped down her cheek.
“Mommy, did you see that?” Lyra asked.
“Lyra!” Emilia shouted, her voice roaring through the yard. “I physically can’t do this right now! I am tired, I don’t feel well, and the last thing I want to do is run around with you, so give me a few minutes of peace!” The second the words were out of her mouth, she hunched forward and began to cough.
Lyra ran inside the house, hiding from the chaos. I rushed to Emilia’s side. “I didn't mean to yell at her, Weston, but I’m tired, weak, everything burns. It hurts to breathe, to swallow, to fucking think. I just . . . I just need five minutes. Just five minutes, where I can just ignore every single thing because right now I honestly feel like walking off that ledge and never looking back!” Covering her face, she wept.
I rubbed her shoulder. “It's okay. Lyra will understand.”
She looked up at me, her eyes drenched with tears. “I'm a horrible mother.”
“Em,” I whispered and draped my arms over her.
“Get off of me!” She tried to push me away, but she was so weak I didn’t move an inch. “Lyra needs you. She needs you to tell her that I still love her because I can't chase after her. Tell her that I didn't mean to yell at her. Tell her that I’m sorry God gave her such a crappy mother.”
These were the bad days. The days I couldn’t do anything but listen. When we were at the mercy of cancer and dropped down to our knees and prayed for a better day. This was a terrible fucking day.
“She knows you love her.” I brushed her hair away from her face.
“Leave me alone!” Emilia exhaled. “Go, Weston. Please go hug her because I can’t.”
I left Emilia and walked inside the house. I retrieved the key Emilia had placed over the door of Lyra’s room and unlocked her door.
“Lyra . . .” I pushed open the door and heard her snuffling on the bed.
“Go away!” She cried.
I sat on her bed and brushed her hair to the side. “Mommy loves you very much, Lyra. She didn’t mean to yell.”
“I know.” She turned to face me. “I miss her. I miss how she used to play with me and braid my hair.”
I patted the bed and Lyra sat up. “Mom will have bad days, and then she’ll have good days. Today is a bad day, and I’m sorry.”
“I don’t like this cancer.”
“I don’t either, princess.” I kissed the top of Lyra’s head.
Holding Lyra to my chest, I closed my eyes and prayed for a better day.
16
The day I learned that I missed four years of my daughter’s life was a horrible day. Though my heart doubled in size, and I fell in love at first glance it decimated me and I realized how thin the line between love and hate can truly be.
Another dreadful day in my life was when I found out my brother had died.
There was day Axel called me to tell me that Harry was lifeless in the bed next to him.
And I can’t forget the day I saw Emilia at the church wearing a white dress for another man.
Those were all crappy fucking days.
In reality, those days weren’t the worst days of my life. They were bad days, but I would relive all of those days for Emilia to have one really good day.
We thought we had finally reached good days.
Emilia had woken up that morning with a wide smile on her face. She had three sessions under her belt and was adjusting to the chemo. She was upbeat and had spent most of the morning in the pool with Lyra. Her appetite was slim, but she had eaten all of her breakfast and had blasted the music through the surround sound.
It was a good day. It was supposed to be a good day.
I was writing new songs while the nightmare of losing the love of my life haunted me at night. It was soothing to put my fears on paper. I stayed up late watching Emilia sleep soundly as I wrote another song. Axel, Pete, and Travis had freed up their schedules and were working in the studio, so I would pop in at random, listen to what they were working on and give them my thoughts.
We had one song mastered and ready for our second album. When I was in the studio, I was Weston, the twenty–eight–year–old man who had a multi–platinum record and was working on a second. Not
the Weston who no longer knew what day it was because his world revolved around cancer. I hated to admit it, but for three hours I didn’t have to think about her chemo, or if she was eating enough red meat. I only thought about this new song I wanted to share with her.
Why was the world so unfair?
* * *
After lunch, Emilia had assured me she was fine and I should go ahead since my mother was there with her. I kissed her tenderly and grabbed my laptop and guitar.
After three hours in the studio, I pulled my car into Emilia’s driveway. The sun had begun to set in the sky and dark gray clouds foretold a storm brewing on the horizon. We desperately needed the water.
My keys jingling at my side, I dropped my stuff on the foyer table and looked around the quiet house. The lights throughout were mostly turned off. Lyra sat on the sectional couch in the living with my mother. A big bowl of popcorn rested on Lyra's legs.
“Hey,” I said when I walked in. Resting against the door frame, I scratched the back of my head.
“Hi, Daddy!” Lyra looked over at me. Her smile was different now that she had lost her first tooth. She was growing up so fast, but most of her milestones were overlooked by the other issue going on in our house.
“Where's Emilia?”
“She went upstairs about fifteen minutes ago.” My mother pulled her gaze from the TV and looked over at me.
Instantly, I felt something wasn't right. It was a gut feeling. A sixth sense. I pushed off the door frame and headed up to the second floor. Taking the stairs two at a time, I jogged to our bedroom. Her master bathroom door was closed. I could hear the water running on the other side.
“Em?” I tapped on the door and rested my ear on the door. I heard her soft cries.
“I'm fine, Weston.” Her voice was shaky. “Go away.”
“Emmy.” I tapped again. “Open the door. Tell me what's wrong.” I jiggled the door handle, but it was locked.
“Weston, please . . . just leave me alone.” She cried louder. “I'm fine! I promise!”
“Em, open this door.”
“I'm a mess,” she sobbed. “I made a mess. You don't deserve this. You can’t see me like this!”
My hands lay flat on the white wooden door. “Emilia, please, open this door,” I pleaded.
“Please, I don't want you to see me like this! Please!” Her voice broke through every barrier I'd ever built to be strong for her.
My fingernails dug into the wood frames. “I love you. Please let me be there for you.”
“No!” she screamed. “Go away!” I heard a loud crash against the door. “I fucking hate that I'm like this! I hate this fucking disease! Please . . . Please . . . God . . . I can't live like this anymore!”
Panic roared through my body. I lifted my leg and kicked the door open. Emilia sat in the center of the room, half–naked and sobbing. Broken shards of a vase that had sat on the vanity were scattered on the floor. The water from the sink ran over her dirty clothes.
“Please don't look at me!” She tried to cover her dirty legs. “I made a mess. I'm a fucking mess! I can't even control it.”
I walked over to the sink and turned off the water. “If you're a mess, you're my mess and I love you.” I reached out my hand to grab her.
Lifting her off the tile floor, I guided her to the tub. “This is so embarrassing.” She brought her hand to cover her face. Vomit entangled in her hair.
I guided Emilia as she stepped into the tub and I tugged on the hem of her shirt. “Shh, babe, it’s okay.” Turning the water on, I brought the shower head to her body. Emilia wept as the warm water sluiced off her body, washing away a fucking horrible day.
“I don't deserve you,” she muttered.
“Don't say that.”
“I don’t,” she cried. “Weston, you're so good to me. You're an amazing father to Lyra. And now you're sitting here, cleaning me up.” She looked up at me for the first time since I had barged in the door. “You're a good man, and I don’t know how I'll ever repay you.”
I brought the water over her hair and the vomit slowly slid down her body and washed down the drain.
“I'm not a good man, Em.” I brushed her hair away from her face. “You're my yellow gel, and I will do anything for you.” I tried to smile as I prayed for a better tomorrow. I didn't know then that every day with Emilia, no matter how bad, was still a good day.
Because it was a day I got to spend with her.
17
Two months later.
Good days.
We’d finally gotten some good days. Consecutive good days.
Emilia was halfway through with chemo and we were counting down the days before this was all behind her. She was also in better spirits. One Friday morning, after I’d come home from dropping off Lyra at school, I found Emilia sitting in the livingroom with the radio blasting through the house. She had albums, CDs and her laptop scattered on the floor in front of her.
The music was so loud that she didn’t even budge when I shouted from behind her. I walked in front of her and waved. She fumbled with the remote to lower the stereo and laughed. “Sorry,” she said. She stood and rushed over to give me a kiss. “Do you know the amount of music that exists in this world? Like, really great music. I missed four years of it when I avoided the radio because I was hiding from you. I’m never going to catch up.”
I took her in my arms and brought my lips to hers. “What have you found so far?”
“One Direction, Ed Sheeran and all of Pink’s newer albums. I swear I’m going to have an infinite number of playlists.” Emilia pulled out of my arms and lifted her laptop off the floor. “Look at this playlist I just created.” She tapped a button and music began to play through the surround sound.
It had been months since I’d seen her this energetic and happy. “What’s that?” I asked when I noticed a small box on the floor where she sat.
Emilia placed the laptop down and picked up the box. “It’s a GoPro.” She twirled the box around. “I figured I can capture the good days, and on my bad days maybe I can set it up so I don’t miss Lyra.”
I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “What do you have planned for later tonight?”
Emilia peered up at me, her eyebrows pushed together. “Uh . . . Well, I was planning to head out for the night, maybe hit a few bars.” She giggled at her own joke. “I’m doing the same thing I do every night. Cook dinner, hang out with you and Lyra, and let you hold me all night.”
The song switched to a slower one and I took the GoPro camera out of Emilia’s hand and tossed it on the couch. I wrapped my arms around her petite frame and began to sway our bodies. “I want to take you out on a date.”
Her arms clasped around my neck. “Yeah?” Emilia looked up at me, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip.
“Yes, where you get dressed up and I charm you with my words. If you’re lucky, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.” I pressed my lips to the tip of her nose.
“I’d really like that,” she whispered. And then her soft lips molded into mine.
* * *
We kissed Lyra good–bye, and waved as my mother’s car pulled away from the driveway and onto the street. Lyra was spending the night with my mother, baking cookies for her school’s bake sale.
“Are you excited?” I whispered near Emilia’s ear.
“Nervous.” She shrugged.
Walking back inside the house, I coiled my arms behind her and rested my lips on the hollow of her neck. “I’ll be a gentleman.” My hands slid across her stomach.
“Weston.” She pulled away and turned toward me. “I’m going to go get ready.” She poked my chest. “You better be on your best behavior, sir.”
I watched Emilia as she walked up the stairs, my heart rate a bit higher than usual as I anticipated our night. Pulling a beer out of the fridge, I turned up some soft music as I waited. It would only take me twenty minutes to get ready.
An hour later I was sitting on the couch, the television on be
hind me, but my eyes were on the beautiful woman who was walking down the stairs. Emilia was in a hunter–green dress, her hair swayed as she walked.
Keeping my hands off of her was going to be impossible.
“Do you like?” she asked, slowly turning.
“I like.” I reached out a hand for her to grab. “You’re beautiful.” Emilia smiled coyly as she brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Come on, let’s go before I change my mind and decide it’s better we stay here.”
I couldn’t recall the last time I'd taken her out. I planned to savor this night. At every red light, I reminded her how beautiful she was, writing a love letter on her hand.
“Where are we going?” she asked when we pulled into a dark alley in Santa Monica.
“You'll see.” I put my car in park as the valet attendant approached us. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, marking the sky with amber rays. I met Emilia on the other side of the car and took her hand in mine.
“Shall we?”
One Pico was an open style restaurant with tall walls of white wooden–framed windows overlooking the beach. The lights were dimmed and tea lights illuminated the tables.
The hostess led us to our seats. I’d requested an intimate table away from a lot of traffic and with a spectacular view of the sunset.
“This is really nice, Weston,” Emilia whispered once the hostess walked away.
“I'd give you the moon if I could.” I placed my napkin on my lap.
“You're such a dork.” She shook her head. “Just because you're a musician and you're good with your words, doesn’t mean that your charms are working on me today, buddy.”
I reached across the table and grasped her hands. “They're not?” I raised one eyebrow at her.
“Okay, maybe just a little.”
The tea lights burned, illuminating the table, and the sound of the waves crashing a few feet away drowned out anyone else as we enjoyed our dinner. Our conversation was light. We laughed, we joked, and we didn't talk about cancer. We were two people in love, enjoying a night out.
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