Their friendship was uncomplicated. They could sit together without speaking, laugh at jokes nobody else understood, and tell each other things they would never admit to anyone else.
Then, last year, Lily was diagnosed with cancer.
I still remember the afternoon Ethan told me.
He came home from school, dropped his backpack beside the stairs, and walked straight into the kitchen.
I was preparing dinner.
“Mom, is cancer always serious?”
I turned around.
“Why are you asking?”
He stood there twisting the strap of his backpack around his fingers.
“Lily’s sick.”
“I know she hasn’t been feeling well.”
“No, Mom. I mean really sick.”
He swallowed.
“She has cancer.”
For a moment, the room seemed to become unnaturally quiet.
I put down the knife I was holding and walked toward him.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“They’re going to give her medicine that makes her hair fall out.”
He said it as if those were the only words he could manage.
