Zara
The soup smells much better than it tastes, but that isn’t Jade’s fault. Nothing tastes right for about five days after chemo.
Everything is either too sweet, too bitter, or metallic enough to make me wonder if someone has dissolved a handful of coins into it. My bones ache, my skin hurts, even my hair feels heavy.
Jade sits beside me on the bed, watching every swallow as though she can personally intimidate the soup into staying inside me.
“One more,” she says. “That’ll make a whole six bites.”
“That’s what I said three spoons ago.”
“Yes, but now it’s my decision.”
She places the bowl on the dresser and returns with a glass of water. I take a tiny sip and rest my head against the pillow.
“I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you,” Jade says, just out of the blue. “Lock
