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"He was a slut," Gia says.
"So?" Dad asks.
"Oh my God, Dad. You're supposed to warn us about guys like that!" Gia says.
Dad shakes his head kids these days. He looks to me. "Go ahead and make dinner, Chloe. If Gia doesn't want to eat it, she can order pizza for herself." He looks to her. "I thought you said you were on a diet?"
"It's my cheat day. I don't want to waste it on veggie stir fry."
Dad shakes his head. Ridiculous. He stands. Moves to the mail slot by the door—it's close. Our living room/den is a small space. The TV and couch on one end, the dining table in the middle, opposite the door, the kitchen on the other end.
He grabs something from the slot and brings it to me.
A letter from the hospital.
I don't have to open it. I know what it is. An appointment reminder.
Every year, for the next five years, I need a scan. To make sure I'm still cancer free. The odds are good. But not good enough for me to skip the scan.
I shove the letter into my back pocket.
Fighting my frown is useless. I know the reality of the situation. I know there's almost no chance I'm still sick.
But the thought still steals my oxygen.
It still makes the room dark and ugly.
I can't go through that again. And neither can Dad and Gia. It was like they disappeared with me. And watching them hurt… that was the worst part.
"I can take off work. Come with you," he offers.
I shake my head. "I'll be fine. Really." The words feel hollow. Empty. I'm already a nervous wreck and it's three weeks away. That day…
I'm not sure how I'm going to make it.
But if I am sick, if I am disappearing again…
I don't want them to know.
Not for a while at least.
I plant a kiss on my dad's forehead, I move into the kitchen, and I start chopping vegetables. By the time I have them sizzling in the pan, I feel better. Calm. Centered. In control.
Like I can survive this.
Even if I can't.
Chapter Fourteen
Chloe
I let my sister pick the movie. Focus all my attention on stirring sriracha into my bowl. Usually, I avoid the omnipresent condiment. It steals the flavor of the food. Makes everything taste like vaguely spicy ketchup.
But, right now, that's what I need.
I can't taste anything.
I can't concentrate on the weepy tearjerker.
