“I know he’s not.”
“You need to tell him then.”
She pauses. “I know.”
I wet my lips. “Cam?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry about Adam.”
She reaches out and squeezes my hand.
Chapter Eleven
I ask Cam how she dealt with Adam’s death. She told me it was about realizing he was at peace now. It’s how I accept Lo’s death too, so I nod along in genuine understanding.
“We never truly get over losses,” Cam tells me, walking us to the salon’s glass entrance. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, with two wide doors centered in the middle that have white words on them with store hours. “We just absorb them until they mold us into someone new. Like any creation, it takes time.”
“What does?”
“Creating a masterpiece.” She holds the door open for me. “It isn’t the same for parents who lose their children. You have to understand, Emery. We’re not supposed to outlive you. If I ever lost Kaiden…”
“Even though he doesn’t talk to you?” I wince at the blunt statement, but Cam doesn’t seem to mind.
She gives me a small smile and nods as she walks me into the overly white reception area. It smells like expensive shampoo, and the music playing softly in the background is on a pop station. Everything is white, black, and silver—modern and sleek. It’s not like any place Mama ever took Lo or me to get our haircuts.
“Especially then,” she whispers, writing my name on the sign-in sheet.
“Why?”
She turns to me. “Kaiden is my son. He’s still here, even if Adam isn’t. That means I have time. Hope. I’ll never stop loving him even if he finds a way to stop loving me. The truth is, we never stop loving our children even if we lose them. I know things with your mother are difficult now, but she needs time.”
“To mend?”
A single nod.
What if Mama doesn’t become a masterpiece? There are pieces of art far less desired that take just as much time to create. If she becomes a canvas wasting away to dust…
A woman with platinum blonde hair walks over with a big smile on her face. She’s probably around Cam’s age but looks closer to mine with flawless skin and shining eyes and perfect teeth. I never used to envy people as much as I do now, simply for looking healthy.
She hugs Cam and turns to me. “You must be Emery.”
“Em,” I murmur, feeling bad for thinking badly of her just because she’s pretty.
“Ready?”
For some reason, I look to Cam for guidance. It’s something I used to do with Mama when I was unsure. Like when I was little, and the doctor asked me simple questions that I couldn’t find the words for.
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.
We spend two hours at the mall going through each store. I want to tell her after an hour that I need to sit down, my hips hurt and I feel my knees start to buckle. They nearly do when we get to the Shoe Depot. I sit down on a black leather cushion right as my legs give out, weakness settling into the joints in brutal bluntness, but Cam is too busy looking at the wall of purses to notice.
I smile faintly when she glances over at me and tell her the purple one she’s looking at is my favorite. It’s not. It’s the yellow one to the right with the gold chain and zipper.
Thankfully, she doesn’t mind me sitting while she looks around. It gives me time to relax and glance around the shoe displays. They have a section for Toms right in front of me, but I know I don’t need any more.
Still…
“Those are cute,” Cam says from behind me. I startle and pull away from the black and white checkered pair.