The automatic doors of the hospital slid open, and I walked in too fast, my car keys still clenched in my fist.
Diane was already waiting in the corridor, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, when I arrived. She didn’t smile or even say hello.
“Rachel. Come with me.”
I followed her down the hallway, past the nurses’ station, past a cart of folded blankets.
My mouth was dry.
“Diane, please, just tell me. Is Lily okay? Did Aaron say something? What happened?”
“He crossed a line,” she said, not slowing down.
“Come with me.”
“A line? Diane, my son shaved his head for your daughter. He did it out of love.”
My friend stopped so abruptly that I almost walked into her. Her eyes were red, but her jaw was set.
“It isn’t just the shaving thing, Rachel. It’s what he did next.”
“Aaron has barely slept in months. He brings her soup. He sits in waiting rooms doing his homework on his lap.”
“Lily is a private girl,” she snapped, her voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Now the entire oncology floor is talking. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone has a story about my daughter.”
“I almost walked into her.”
I felt my own temper begin to rise, hot and unfamiliar between us.
“You called me as if something terrible had happened. I drove here thinking she was… I don’t even want to say what I was thinking.”
“Maybe you should’ve raised Aaron to think before he acts.”
I stepped back, stunned.
“Don’t do that, Diane. Don’t put this on him. He’s a kid trying to love your daughter through the worst thing that’s ever happened to her.”
She looked away, blinking fast.
“I felt my own temper start to rise.”
A cart rattled past. A doctor’s pager beeped somewhere down the hall.
“You don’t understand,” my best friend said, quieter now. “It’s easier if you just see it. I can’t explain it standing here. I tried on the phone, and I sounded insane.”
“Then help me understand on the way. Because I’ve known you for 20 years, and I don’t recognize you right now.”
