in an ironic way it was kind of funny that her hair would fall out in the middle of this conversation. She thanked God it hadn’t happened in front of Luke. “The doctors told me I would probably wake up one morning with my hair on my pillow, but this gives the warning a whole new meaning.” And right on time, too, almost three weeks to the day since her first chemo treatment.
As an awkward silence ensued, she called on her inner strength. At least she was prepared for this.
Now all she had to do was go through with the rest of it. “Well.” She smacked her palms against her thighs, mind made up. “Guess it’s time to shave my head.”
Bryn looked at her in alarm, shock clear in her expression. “Are you...sure?”
“Yep. Got my collection of wigs all ready to go.”
Best to be practical about it and not dwell on the fact she was going to go bald. Practical, steady and calm.
She’d been brought up to be that way, and she was trying her best to maintain the image.
“Of course you do,” Bryn remarked wryly, climbing off the bed. “Want me to go?”
82
Absolution
“No. I could use a hand, if you don’t mind.”
Emily marched to the bathroom and yanked open the top drawer of the cabinet beneath the ivory granite vanity, pulling out the electric clippers she’d bought for this purpose. Raising her head, she stared into the mirror. So she was about to be bald. No big deal, most chemo patients had to go through this.
What was hair, anyway? Just some dead protein.
She straightened her shoulders, determined to face it with dignity. This damn disease had taken everything else that identified her as a woman—it might as well have her hair too. “And that’s the last piece of me you’re getting,” she vowed to her reflection in a low voice, a shiver running through her as adrenaline started to flow. She’d be damned if she’d surrender and go quietly.
She narrowed her eyes at her reflection and sent the cancer a silent message. Fuck. You.
Behind her, Bryn glanced at the clippers warily before meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You sure about this?”
No. “Yes.” Em held them out to her. “Here. You do it.”
Bryn took them and came to stand at her shoulder. “We don’t have to do this right now. We could go have a few glasses of wine first, relax a bit—”
“I want it off on my terms, not the chemo’s.” It was all going to fall out anyway, so better that she have control over something . Better all at once than piece by piece. She jerked her chin at the clippers.
“Every damn bit of it so that it’s done and I can move on.” “Okay.” The clippers made a buzzing sound when she turned them on. Bryn was five-nine, which put her at a four inch height advantage, perfect for the task at hand. “Ready?”
Emily nodded and curled her hands into fists, 83
Kaylea Cross
bracing for the first sweep of the clippers. She sensed more than heard Bryn’s sigh as she brought them to her head and made the first pass. They drew across her scalp slowly from forehead to nape, leaving a shiny strip of naked skin. Wisps of hair tickled her face and neck as they fell. This wasn’t deserving of her grief, Emily reminded herself, hating the lump in her throat. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back once this is all over.
If you live long enough to see it, the cancer whispered back .
She forced the ugly voice from her mind.
Bzzzzzz... More hair fell onto the white tiled floor. Partway through she lost her nerve and looked down at it, the rich brown strands floating through the air to land at her feet. So much of it, though it had been cut short.
Stop thinking about it. It’s nothing. Who cares?
The bathroom fell silent as Bryn finally turned the clippers off, and the fullness of the sudden quiet pressed against Emily. “All done,” Bryn said softly, laying them on the countertop. “Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll clean this up.”
Gathering her courage, Emily lifted her chin to
As an awkward silence ensued, she called on her inner strength. At least she was prepared for this.
Now all she had to do was go through with the rest of it. “Well.” She smacked her palms against her thighs, mind made up. “Guess it’s time to shave my head.”
Bryn looked at her in alarm, shock clear in her expression. “Are you...sure?”
“Yep. Got my collection of wigs all ready to go.”
Best to be practical about it and not dwell on the fact she was going to go bald. Practical, steady and calm.
She’d been brought up to be that way, and she was trying her best to maintain the image.
“Of course you do,” Bryn remarked wryly, climbing off the bed. “Want me to go?”
82
Absolution
“No. I could use a hand, if you don’t mind.”
Emily marched to the bathroom and yanked open the top drawer of the cabinet beneath the ivory granite vanity, pulling out the electric clippers she’d bought for this purpose. Raising her head, she stared into the mirror. So she was about to be bald. No big deal, most chemo patients had to go through this.
What was hair, anyway? Just some dead protein.
She straightened her shoulders, determined to face it with dignity. This damn disease had taken everything else that identified her as a woman—it might as well have her hair too. “And that’s the last piece of me you’re getting,” she vowed to her reflection in a low voice, a shiver running through her as adrenaline started to flow. She’d be damned if she’d surrender and go quietly.
She narrowed her eyes at her reflection and sent the cancer a silent message. Fuck. You.
Behind her, Bryn glanced at the clippers warily before meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You sure about this?”
No. “Yes.” Em held them out to her. “Here. You do it.”
Bryn took them and came to stand at her shoulder. “We don’t have to do this right now. We could go have a few glasses of wine first, relax a bit—”
“I want it off on my terms, not the chemo’s.” It was all going to fall out anyway, so better that she have control over something . Better all at once than piece by piece. She jerked her chin at the clippers.
“Every damn bit of it so that it’s done and I can move on.” “Okay.” The clippers made a buzzing sound when she turned them on. Bryn was five-nine, which put her at a four inch height advantage, perfect for the task at hand. “Ready?”
Emily nodded and curled her hands into fists, 83
Kaylea Cross
bracing for the first sweep of the clippers. She sensed more than heard Bryn’s sigh as she brought them to her head and made the first pass. They drew across her scalp slowly from forehead to nape, leaving a shiny strip of naked skin. Wisps of hair tickled her face and neck as they fell. This wasn’t deserving of her grief, Emily reminded herself, hating the lump in her throat. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back once this is all over.
If you live long enough to see it, the cancer whispered back .
She forced the ugly voice from her mind.
Bzzzzzz... More hair fell onto the white tiled floor. Partway through she lost her nerve and looked down at it, the rich brown strands floating through the air to land at her feet. So much of it, though it had been cut short.
Stop thinking about it. It’s nothing. Who cares?
The bathroom fell silent as Bryn finally turned the clippers off, and the fullness of the sudden quiet pressed against Emily. “All done,” Bryn said softly, laying them on the countertop. “Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll clean this up.”
Gathering her courage, Emily lifted her chin to
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