“It’s your choice,” he says finally. “Of course it is. And, believe it or not, I do understand where you’re coming from.”

“I doubt that.”

“Just so we’re clear,” he says, leaning forward himself. “You’re making the decision, as is your right, to forgo treatment.”

“I’m making the decision to plan for the worst and hope for the best. I’m making the decision to not spend my last days here in a futile effort to buy myself more time when that time would be spent barely living anyway. But also, I’m making the decision to keep my options open, because I might change my mind in a week and be back here begging for you to help me.”

He gives a small smile. “I’ll be here.”

Chapter Six

I spend a few days after the appointment at home, wallowing and feeling sorry for myself, watching crappy daytime TV and eating anything at all that takes my fancy. I figure there’s no point anymore in either trying to watch my figure or heal my body through healthy choices.

But it’s not in me just to quit outright. And even if it was, my mother wouldn’t let me. She comes around to browbeat me into accepting treatment through an efficient mix of nagging and parental guilt.

I am camped out on the couch wearing the same clothes I have been wearing for the last three days straight. Track pants and a slouchy top that, conveniently, works as either day wear or sleepwear, allowing me to slip effortlessly from one to the other.

“I just want to be alone,” I tell her mournfully when I open the door wearing my most pitiful expression.

“Tough,” she says, pushing past me. I watch as she picks her way through the detritus of my life, gingerly collecting up dirty plates and containers off the floor, her disapproval obvious.

“You just have to try, Ava. Just try. Miracles happen every day—who’s to say one won’t happen for you?”

“No, they don’t.”

“Yes, they do.”

“Name one miracle. Nothing religious,” I say, making no effort to help her.

“What about that boy who was born completely blind but miraculously gained his sight after bathing in—”

“Sounds religious.”

“OK. What about that woman who had triplets after the doctors had said she could never carry a baby because her uterus was shaped like an upside-down seahorse—”

“Nothing religious or out of one of your trashy magazines.”

She squints as she thinks. Eventually she sighs. “I can’t, not specifically off the top of my head. But that doesn’t mean they don’t happen. You just have to believe.”

“Gee, if only all the cancer sufferers around the world had you to coach them,” I say sarcastically.

She pauses to arch her eyebrows at me. “I’ll allow you to speak to me that way just this once, because of everything that’s happening. But try it again and see what happens.”

“Sorry.”

She picks up a particularly hairy plate and peers at it. “What on earth was this?”