Nissa whirls to face me, her face red with fury. “Be happy for you? Be happy that you came to tell me you’re dying and that you’re fine with doing nothing about it? What kind of a monster do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re a monster at all. That’s why I need a favor. That’s why I was going to ask you to help Nate. I was going to ask my best friend in the world to be present in my husband’s life because I won’t be. I can’t be. I was going to ask her to help him with the baby, answer his questions, let him vent his frustrations because he won’t have anyone else around. He’ll be grieving, and he’ll be overwhelmed, and the only thing I can do to help him is to give him the best friend I’ve ever had. I was going to lean on her if I ever had a baby. I was going to call her in the middle of the night for teething recipes and come to her door crying because I hadn’t slept in days. I was going to proudly show her how I’d learned to change a diaper in thirty seconds or less, and I was going to take her to a spa day when the men had the kids. But now…since it won’t be me, I had hoped my husband could do the same. That’s what I was going to ask, but…”
I let my words trail off, my heart nearly exploding with sadness. Of all the reactions I might’ve anticipated from my long-time neighbor, my long-time friend, this was nowhere on the list.
Nowhere.
But I won’t give up on Nissa coming around. I can’t.
So with a trembling chin, I watch my friend. In silence, in patience, I watch her, and I wait.
Slowly, Nissa works through her ire. Twice she opens her mouth to speak, but ends up closing it both times, thinking better of it.
Once she sighs. Once she shakes her head. Once she presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose like her head is hurting. But ultimately, finally, after five or six minutes, she comes out on the other side of her emotions as the pal I’ve known for the better part of two decades.
Nissa buries her face in her hands and begins to weep. “Jesus Christ, Lena, I’m sorry.”
I wrap my arms around my very best friend, and I hold her close, stroking Nissa’s hair as she gives in to her distress. In my many years as a nurse, I’ve seen people react to bad news in all sorts of unpredictable ways, but they were, for the most part, strangers. I thought I knew Nissa better than to be surprised by her reaction, but news like this… No one can know how someone else will respond.
Also, I’ve never given her such horrific and wonderful news at the same time either. That might be too much for anybody to process without having a brief meltdown.
Nissa cries in earnest for a good five minutes. I hold her through it all, only gripping her tighter when her shoulders shake with deep sobs.
When finally Nissa pulls away, her face is puffy, her eyes are red, and her expression is one of overwhelming guilt and sadness.
“I’m so sorry. I just…I wasn’t expecting that. Just the thought of losing you—” Her features crumple, and she starts to cry again. She’s able to collect herself a little more quickly this time, though. “You know I’d do anything for you. I meant that. And for Nate. And for th-th-the baby.” She sniffs and snorts again as she thinks of caring for my motherless child. “I’ll support you in whatever you decide, but please don’t shut me out. You’re my best friend. Please let me spend this last time with you. Please. It’s all I’ll ever have.”
At that, she breaks down again. Patiently, I wait for my friend’s shock and grief to subside.
Eventually, it does. It dribbles off into an odd hiccupping-snuffling that I find curiously adorable. I love everything about my best friend, even her unexpected reactions and strange noises.
Grabbing a paper towel from the decorative wrought iron holder on the counter, Nissa blows her nose. I cringe, causing her to ask, “What, do I have a booger?”
I laugh outright. “No, you do not have a booger. I was just thinking how sore your nose will be tomorrow if you use a paper towel to blow it again.”
“I’ll switch to Kleenex eventually,” she sniffs. “You sure I don’t have a booger?” Nissa tips her head back for me to inspect.
“I’m sure you don’t have a booger.”
“It feels like I have a booger,” she explains, wiping at her nose again. “And if I do, I’d blame you. One thousand percent your fault!” she shouts loudly to the empty kitchen, pointing an accusing finger at me.
“I’ll take that. It’s less than I deserve, I’m sure.”
Nissa sighs audibly, one corner of her mouth curling up in a blend of humor and chagrin. “No. I deserve a kick in the boob for being such an asshole. Why did you let me act like that?”
Good-naturedly, I shrug. “Some kids react like that. Gotta let the tantrum run its course. See what a good mother I’m going to be?”
Nissa’s eyes mist over. “You’re going to be a phenomenal mother.”
“For a little while anyway. I hope. I guess that could be the upside of dying when your child is still young. You don’t get as many opportunities to screw up their life.”