“You’re in your zone now, I see.”
“It’s like therapy,” Bianca replied, squeezing the juice into a small bowl.
The scallops sizzled in the pan, the scent of garlic and butter blooming into the room. Remi decided to help. She began tearing basil leaves, laying them gently over the plate of sliced oranges, berries, avocado, arugula, and feta cheese. She moved beside Bianca, close enough to feel the warmth from the stove, to let the silence between them feel like something shared, rather than avoided.
The girls walked into the house after sunbathing by the pool all afternoon.
“Something smells good,” Zoe said, a thick towel wrapped around her waist. She took a seat at the island. “Glad to see you up and about, Aunt B.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bianca said with a soft smile, wiping her hand on a dish towel. “I’m glad to be up and about.”
Mila trailed in behind her and climbed onto the stool next to her. She didn’t look at her mother—not out of anger or resentment, just … restraint. Her silence still hung in the air, but it didn’t feel sharp or hostile. It was the kind of quiet that comes with sorting through too many feelings at once. She was still trying to find her way through the pain of it all. Remi could see that she still felt unsure about things, and she was keeping her words tucked safely inside until she was ready to release them again.
Bianca glanced over at her, then back to the stove, saying nothing. She was giving her the space she needed to heal.
“Zoe, can you grab us a bottle of Chardonnay from the cellar?” Remi asked.
Zoe grinned widely. “Us, as in all of us?”
Remi raised an eyebrow. “You’re not quite legal drinking age.”
“There are exceptions, Mom,” Zoe said. “In the privacy of our home, under parental supervision, it’s totally allowed.”
Remi turned to Bianca for help. “What do you think, B?”
“The girl has a point.” Bianca gave Zoe a wink. “Can’t hurt.”
The ever-observant Mila sat by, watched her mother with careful eyes but said nothing.
“Fine,” Remi said with a sigh of resignation. “Grab us a bottle. Actually, bring two.”
As Zoe returned and placed the bottles on the counter, Remi reached up for wineglasses.
Her eyes flicked toward Mila, reading her face. “You don’t have to have wine if you don’t want to, sweetie.”
Mila gave a small smile. “I want some,” she said.
Remi narrowed her eyes playfully. “So now I’m skeptical. How often are you two drinking when we’re not around?” She shot a look at Zoe and then Mila.
“Almost never,” Zoe replied, attempting a straight face, but a grin broke through before she could hold it.
Their laughter filled the room—light, unforced. For the first time in what felt like ages, it sounded like home again, and Remi smiled.
Chapter Thirty-two
Bianca
Jane Lee was an Asian radiation oncologist with a good bedside manner. She had good communication skills, explaining things in a way that Bianca understood and appreciated. Bianca could ask all the questions she needed answered without being rushed. And she was empathetic. All the things that Bianca loved about Dr. St. James.
“Hello, Bianca.” The petite woman gave her a warm, gentle smile. “Why don’t you have a seat.”
Bianca slid into the leather chair. Remi and Zoe took seats next to her. Mila stood in the shadows of the room, arms folded over her chest. The fact that she had asked to come along was a surprise.
“I have a bit of good news,” Dr. Lee said, her smile brightening. “I have the results of your tumor marker test. It suggests that the cancer is responding to the treatment. And your imaging shows that some of the tumors have shrunk.”
Bianca exhaled and released a breath. Tears welled in her eyes, and she let them fall.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”