My mother made a soft noise, but I couldn't tear my eyes off my father's earnest expression. If I saw my mother crying, I knew I'd lose it. And it wasn't true. It couldn't be.
"Sweetheart-" he started, but I wouldn't let him finish. I couldn't. Because that would make what he was saying a reality.
"No. No! You don't have cancer. That's not possible. You need to go get a second opinion."
Dad's hand came to rest on top of my clenched fist where it was resting on the wooden table and squeezed. "Lilly Flower, I've already been to three different doctors. I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but it's true."
I pulled in a large breath and worked to get a hold of the tears that wanted to fall. "Okay," I finally replied on an exhale. "All right. So we'll talk to them about treatment. Maybe you can do chemotherapy or radiation or something. There has to be something they can do. You can beat this, right?"
"Oh honey." My mom's voice broke as she pushed her chair back and came toward me, leaning down and wrapping her arms around me from behind to hold me as Dad shook his head in defeat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't say that!" I shouted, finally losing the battle and letting the tears slide down my cheeks. "You can fight this, Daddy. You're the strongest man I know!"
My father's eyes grew red-rimmed as he swallowed audibly. Mom's hold loosened as she moved around me and crouched beside my chair. "The cancer had already spread by the time they found it. Treatment would give your father a little more time, honey, but that's it, maybe a few extra months if we were lucky. The quality of life wouldn't be worth it. The chemo would be intense and would make him so sick most of the time those few extra months wouldn't count for much anyway."
"But-" I had to force that one word past the golf-ball-sized lump in my throat.
"I don't want you to remember me like that, Lilly Flower. I don't want your last memory of me being this sickly, bedridden man with no hair. I want to go out like I've lived. On my own terms. Please tell me you understand."
What could I possibly say to that? My father looked resigned to his fate, but still scared at the same time. I wasn't lying when I said he was the strongest man I knew. He was. But I could see the fear in his eyes. And I refused to do or say anything that could cause him any more pain.
Just as he had my entire life, Dad realized what I was about to do before I did it and stood, braced for impact as I moved from my chair and launched myself into his waiting arms. "I understand," I cried into his chest, because I did. I understood him not wanting to go through a grueling treatment for a chance at a few short measly months that wasn't even a guarantee.
I didn't like it, but I understood.
And as I stood there, letting my father's button-down shirt soak up my tears and I memorized his spicy, woodsy scent, a scent I'd known since childhood, I let reality wash over me.
I was going to lose my father far too soon.
Squeezing my eyes closed against the fresh onslaught of tears that threatened, I inhaled deeply through my nose then blew it out slowly before sitting up in my bed. It was only four in the morning, but I knew of only one thing that would temporarily allow my mind to stop swirling around. It had been my escape since I was a little girl. And now, more than ever, I needed to lose myself.
Letting the light of the moon shining through my bedroom window guide me, I brushed my teeth and threw my hair up in a messy bun on the top of my head before dressing in a pair of black dance shorts and a tight burgundy cami. With my iPhone in hand, I crept through my dark apartment and took the stairs that would lead to my dance studio below.
I needed my music. I needed dancing to wash away the sadness that filled my veins.
Hooking my phone up to the dock I kept down in the main studio, I scrolled through my playlists. When the opening beat of Kaleo's "Way Down We Go" started playing, I began to move, letting my body take over. I danced until one song bled into another, until sweat poured down my face and my muscles screamed from the exertion. I danced until the minutes ticked into hours and my mind cleared of every thought except executing the next turn or leap; until the darkness outside the window of the main studio was forced from the sky by the early morning sun.
My mind remained calm for the first time in twelve hours, but the reminder of everything that was happening was still there, and the dull ache in my chest hadn't disappeared completely. As the song on my iPhone changed, the music becoming softer and sadder, I finally allowed myself to let it all out. I cried for my father and what he was going through. I cried for myself at what I was going to lose. I cried because for the first time in a really long time I was reminded of just how lonely I was. I cried because there was no one I could lean on to share my burden.