Read Online As Close as Sisters by Colleen Faulkner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Colleen Faulkner
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and Janine. And certainly compared to Aurora, who was practically a goddess.
McKenzie nodded. “I’ve learned the hard way to write every night, if I can. Otherwise . . .”
“I know,” I commiserated. At first, I thought it was kind of mean, us making her write it. But then Aurora told me that she thought it was good to give McKenzie a job, something to focus on other than her cancer. That made sense to me. I acquiesced, which of course I always did when push came to shove with Aurora.
I glanced at the dozen or so brown plastic pill bottles with the white caps on McKenzie’s nightstand. I saw the nebulizer on the other side of the bed. The hose. The face mask. I knew the treatments helped her breathe, but I hated the machine. I returned my gaze to her face. While she had certainly aged since her diagnosis, she was still beautiful to me. “Okay if I come in?” I asked.
“Of course. I know you guys are trying to be nice, letting me sleep down here.” She stuck her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “But it’s lonely.”
I glanced around the room as I entered. For years, we just kept the door shut and never came in here. But eventually, when McKenzie had her girls and wanted to bring them down, we completely renovated it. We pulled out the carpet and had the hardwood floors refinished. We painted the walls a sunny yellow and added white curtains. White coastal-style furniture. It was a gorgeous room . . . but I’m still glad I’m sleeping upstairs instead of here. Just the thought of sleeping in the same room where Buddy McCollister had once slept gave me indigestion. Which I already had enough trouble with now, as it was.
McKenzie scooted over in the queen-sized bed, making room for me. Anymore, I feel as if I waddle instead of walk. I couldn’t imagine how big I’d be at forty weeks. I already felt like a whale. But I was determined to enjoy my rotundness. This baby was a miracle and I knew it, and I didn’t want to squander a moment of my pregnancy.
I waddled to the bed and sat down on the edge. She rearranged the pillows she’d been leaning against and patted the empty space on a pillow. I hesitated. Should I be lying in bed with her? Shouldn’t I let her get her rest? She needed her rest if she was going to get better.
But the way she looked at me, I couldn’t say no. I stretched out beside her. Our heads were side by side on the king-sized pillow. I felt her warmth and smelled her facial moisturizer. We stared up at the white ceiling. There was a ceiling fan. I watched it spin. Listened to it tick-tick.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay.”
She knew what I was talking about. I’d been here all day, but we hadn’t gotten to discuss it. Me not telling her sooner that I was pregnant.
We were both quiet again. The fan tick-ticked. Lying there beside McKenzie, I could hear her breathing. It wasn’t labored. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but it wasn’t normal breathing, either. Shouldn’t she have been breathing normally, lying in bed?
“I wanted to tell you . . .” I said finally. Then I hesitated. I hated to blame it on Matt. People thought I let Matt control me. I know Aurora thinks he does; she makes comments about him all the time. But what she didn’t understand was that I only let him make decisions that I couldn’t or didn’t want to make. I let him do the things I couldn’t or didn’t want to do. I knew this was totally not acceptable in the modern feminist world, but the truth was, I liked having my husband take care of me. I really liked it.
“Matt and I talked,” I went on, “and he . . . I was afraid that if the pregnancy . . . didn’t continue, it would make you sad.”
She rolled onto her side and propped her head up with her hand. I stayed on my back.
She looked down at me. “Of course I would have been sad if you’d lost another baby. But, Lilly, that’s not how it works between us. We share the bad things, too.”
“I know. I know.”
McKenzie nodded. “I’ve learned the hard way to write every night, if I can. Otherwise . . .”
“I know,” I commiserated. At first, I thought it was kind of mean, us making her write it. But then Aurora told me that she thought it was good to give McKenzie a job, something to focus on other than her cancer. That made sense to me. I acquiesced, which of course I always did when push came to shove with Aurora.
I glanced at the dozen or so brown plastic pill bottles with the white caps on McKenzie’s nightstand. I saw the nebulizer on the other side of the bed. The hose. The face mask. I knew the treatments helped her breathe, but I hated the machine. I returned my gaze to her face. While she had certainly aged since her diagnosis, she was still beautiful to me. “Okay if I come in?” I asked.
“Of course. I know you guys are trying to be nice, letting me sleep down here.” She stuck her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “But it’s lonely.”
I glanced around the room as I entered. For years, we just kept the door shut and never came in here. But eventually, when McKenzie had her girls and wanted to bring them down, we completely renovated it. We pulled out the carpet and had the hardwood floors refinished. We painted the walls a sunny yellow and added white curtains. White coastal-style furniture. It was a gorgeous room . . . but I’m still glad I’m sleeping upstairs instead of here. Just the thought of sleeping in the same room where Buddy McCollister had once slept gave me indigestion. Which I already had enough trouble with now, as it was.
McKenzie scooted over in the queen-sized bed, making room for me. Anymore, I feel as if I waddle instead of walk. I couldn’t imagine how big I’d be at forty weeks. I already felt like a whale. But I was determined to enjoy my rotundness. This baby was a miracle and I knew it, and I didn’t want to squander a moment of my pregnancy.
I waddled to the bed and sat down on the edge. She rearranged the pillows she’d been leaning against and patted the empty space on a pillow. I hesitated. Should I be lying in bed with her? Shouldn’t I let her get her rest? She needed her rest if she was going to get better.
But the way she looked at me, I couldn’t say no. I stretched out beside her. Our heads were side by side on the king-sized pillow. I felt her warmth and smelled her facial moisturizer. We stared up at the white ceiling. There was a ceiling fan. I watched it spin. Listened to it tick-tick.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay.”
She knew what I was talking about. I’d been here all day, but we hadn’t gotten to discuss it. Me not telling her sooner that I was pregnant.
We were both quiet again. The fan tick-ticked. Lying there beside McKenzie, I could hear her breathing. It wasn’t labored. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but it wasn’t normal breathing, either. Shouldn’t she have been breathing normally, lying in bed?
“I wanted to tell you . . .” I said finally. Then I hesitated. I hated to blame it on Matt. People thought I let Matt control me. I know Aurora thinks he does; she makes comments about him all the time. But what she didn’t understand was that I only let him make decisions that I couldn’t or didn’t want to make. I let him do the things I couldn’t or didn’t want to do. I knew this was totally not acceptable in the modern feminist world, but the truth was, I liked having my husband take care of me. I really liked it.
“Matt and I talked,” I went on, “and he . . . I was afraid that if the pregnancy . . . didn’t continue, it would make you sad.”
She rolled onto her side and propped her head up with her hand. I stayed on my back.
She looked down at me. “Of course I would have been sad if you’d lost another baby. But, Lilly, that’s not how it works between us. We share the bad things, too.”
“I know. I know.”
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