Page 119 of When Lemons Give You Life

I sniff, still reeling. “How are we going to explain this to Lisa?”

Mum turns to the window, exhaling slowly. One hand rests on the IV pole, the other twitching in her lap like it’s working through something she can’t bring herself to say. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet and careful, like she’s trying not to break the moment. Or me. “Griff, there’s something I need to ask of you. And it won’t be easy.” She places a hand on my knee. “I’ve thought about this, over and over. She can’t know you were a match. I don’t want her believing that you chose not to donate or that I chose not to take it. I couldn’t bear for my little girl to think I sacrificed myself for her or died for her sake. That kind of guilt would ruin her. If she ever needs a kidney, you can cross that bridge then. But for now—”

“How can you ask me to do that?” I press my palms to my forehead.

She looks at me, her eyes full of pain. Not just from the illness, but from years of silence, of trying and failing, of carrying more than she can name. “I’ve made so many mistakes Griff. So many. I know I’ve stuffed things up for you. And I’ll regret that forever. But this is one thing I can get right. I can protect Lisa. I need to. This decision is for her own good, to ensure she has a chance.” Mum flicks away a tear. “I know it’s a hell of a lot to ask. But I really believe it’s the kindest thing. Promise me, Griff. Just like you promised not to tell her about what Brent did to us. We protected her once. We can do it again.”

“But she’s not a child anymore, Mum.”

Her hand tightens around the hospital blanket, knuckles pale. “I realize that, but you know how she is. She’s always felt things far more strongly than we have. My dying will be hard enough on her. It’s simpler this way. I can’t have my little girl believing I might still be here if it wasn’t for her. I’ve seen what that can do to a person . . .” Mum looks at me, pain in her eyes.

I look away.

“Let Lisa live her life. She’s got the new job at the school she’s settling into. She’ll be okay.”

My thoughts turn to my sister. She’s a young adult yet so immature, so emotional—always feeling guilty about the smallest of things. Perhaps Mum is right; maybe Lisa can’t handle the truth, and keeping it from her is the kind thing to do. I look at Mum—the woman who lost the love of her life, because of me—who filled the hole I made with a monster. I’ve spent my entire life trying to make that up to her. Maybe this is another way.

“Please, Griff, please do this for me. Promise me you will.”

I take her hands in mine and whisper back, my throat thick, “If this is really what you want . . . then I promise.”

I pour myself some water and take a long, slow drink. I could barely look Lisa in the eye when I left for Paris—torn in half, ashamed, maintaining a silence that wasn’t mine to begin with. I’d come back for the knives Mum gave me when I got into culinary school, not because they were the best I owned but just so I could have a part of her in the kitchen with me. Yet I hadn’t come back for what mattered.

I shift against the pillows, trying to find comfort, but there’s no position that makes this easier. Mum was so wrong. Lying about trauma just caused more. If this kidney had gone to her all those years ago, instead of Lisa, what would life look like now? Would I have trained in Paris? Opened Lorraine? Had a relationship with my sister? Mum thought silence was protection, that hiding the truth could keep Lisa whole. But it only made her doubt her own memory, her own worth. It turned me into a shell of a brother who could never fully let his guard down with her as he had too many secrets to hide.

And now, in my plan to donate anonymously and slink away, I’ve done it again. Pretended. Disappeared. Dressed a lie up as mercy and called it love. But love doesn’t lie. Love doesn’t vanish when things get hard.

Beau’s gone. But Lisa’s not. And for once, I don’t want to disappear: I want to fight.

The worst thing I ever did wasn’t walking away—it was deciding, again and again, that Lisa couldn’t handle the truth. We had underestimated her. The way she stepped up when Beau was sick . . . when I was. The way she sees when someone is struggling and knows exactly what to do. She has more strength than we ever gave her credit for, deserving more than shadows and stitched-up silence. She needs to know that she was always the reason. That it wasn’t indifference, but love, albeit misdirected, that drove me.

I can’t undo what I’ve done. But I can give her the truth in full. And then, at least, she’ll know she mattered.

I pick up my phone and call her.

77

Lisa

My body melts into the memory-foam mattress, a sigh of relief slipping from my lips. Strange how foam can hold on to memories when some people can’t.

I roll over carefully, savoring the quiet. No beeping machines, no nurses waking me at odd hours to check my vitals. Just the comfort of my own bed. Frank is afraid he might bump me, so he’s sleeping in the spare room until I heal.

Will I ever truly heal? Inside me is a piece of the man who betrayed me. His kidney keeps me alive and haunts me at the same time.

I swallow two pills. Ironic, that I’m on drugs to keep my body from rejecting him like he rejected me.

Frank ducks his head under the doorway, the light from the window catching his hair. “Can I get you anything, hon? A cuppa, maybe?”

“That’d be lovely, thanks. And my charger, please. I forgot to plug my phone in last night, and it’s dead.”

“Sure. Feel like you could stomach something too?”

“I’m kind of craving Anzac biscuits!” Truth be told, I crave my mother, but her biscuits are the next best thing. They feel like love.

“Of course, I’ll even double-check the oven for any garbage bags first.”

Frank winks, and I poke out my tongue at him. “You have a recipe?” he asks.