Page 8 of Wandering Wild
They chuckle and unlock the door to leave, but then they turn back, eyes serious. “One of these days we’re going to talk about you finally quitting so you can go forth and conquer the world. You can’t stay here forever, cherub. I won’t let you.”
Before I can tell them how much I’m looking forward to thatsuper funchat, they disappear out the door, leaving me standing there with my insides roiling.
I know Sandy means well, but I don’t like being pushed to think about my future. Once upon a time, I’d had it all mapped out, how I’d graduate from high school and spend a year backpacking with Ember before we left our small coastal town for the big city—Sydney, Melbourne, or Brisbane were our top picks. She would major in drama and I in whatever course I could get into, and we would live together and enjoy every aspect of the college lifestyle, after which we would, as Sandy aptly said, go forth and conquer the world.
But then life happened, derailing our perfect plans, creating an imperfect reality.
First, it was Ember’s circumstances that halted our futures.
Then it was mine.
We still both took a gap year after graduating at the end of last year, but instead of traveling, I’ve been scooping ice-cream and trying to glue the broken pieces of myself back together, while Ember has been completing a bridging course to catch up on all the school she missed. There are only three months left of the year and I know I need to make decisions about the future, but I just can’t bring myself to do it yet.
Because that would mean I’m ready to move on, when I’m not.
And right now, I can’t imagine how I ever will be.
It’s on that pitiful thought that I hear tapping at the front door, and I look to see my best friend waving through the glass. Even when Sandy closes with me, Ember often joins us, talking Sandy’s ears off and taste-testing new flavors. She never helps with the cleaning, but she keeps herself entertained by sitting at the counter and encouraging me to tidy faster—bless her cotton socks.
I don’t mind, since it makes the time pass quickly. And she usually has some upbeat story to share about her day, even if it’s as mundane as her search for a missing hair tie.
Today, however, there’s a look on her face that I haven’t seen in a long time—sadness mixed with resignation, combined with a heavy dose of determination—and it causes me enough alarm that I nearly trip over a stool as I scramble to open the door.
“What’s happened?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
I catalog her appearance as she walks in and slumps onto the nearest stool, noting that she’s not tired or pale, and her eyes are bright and healthy despite the emotion in them.
Last time I saw her this despondent, it was on the worst day of her life, and the second-worst of mine: the day when Ember was told she had leukemia. We were fourteen years old, with no one certain if she would ever reach fifteen.
But she did.
Then sixteen, seventeen, and, two weeks ago, eighteen.
My friend isn’t a survivor—she’s a warrior. She faced the hardest battle of her life, and not only did she conquer it, she did so while keeping a smile on her face. To anyone else, it might have seemed easy.
It wasn’t.
It took years of agonizing treatments, with Ember in and out of hospital, seeing small victories and terrifying setbacks, before she finally entered remission at the beginning of this year. We had two beautiful months of celebrating... and then my world fell apart all over again, in a different—and even more devastating—way.
I don’t think I can handle anything else going wrong so soon.
No—IknowI can’t handle anything else going wrong so soon.
And I definitely can’t handle hearing that my best friend’s cancer has returned. I was able to remain strong for Ember and her parents during the three years of her treatments, holding her hand through every moment, but now... I’m not sure I have anything left in me to give, not when she’s the only thing that’s been keeping me together for the last six months.
Looking at her, I wonder if I’m going to be sick all over Sandy’s pink tiles. I can feel it burning in my stomach, the absolute terror of what I’m about to hear. But I swallow it back, praying I’m wrong.
“I have something to tell you,” Ember finally says, causing ice to flood my veins.
She glances up for the first time since entering the store, and whatever she sees in my expression causes her to visibly startle.
“God, Charlie, I’m so sorry—that was stupid of me.” She jumps off her stool and pulls my trembling body in for a tight embrace. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m not sick—it’s nothing like that. I’m perfectly healthy. I promise. I’m fine. Everyone’s fine.”
It takes a second for the words to process, but when they do, the tension leaves my body in a heady rush that causes me to sway into her.
“I didn’t think,” Ember says, still holding me close. She then repeats, her voice full of remorse, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say shakily. “You just scared me.”
