Page 119 of Lose You Twice

“That means worse.”

I pour coffee into a mug and ignore how my hand shakes. “You want toast or a dramatic monologue?”

“Can I have both?”

“No.”

He slides the bread into the toaster. “You should call the doctor.”

“No, I should drink coffee and become a person.”

“It’s been pretty obvious that things are getting worse, Wren. You said you’d make time to be seen when you got home from London.”

“I also said Justin would fail science if he did his poster the morning of, and yet here we all are, alive and thriving.”

Holden doesn’t laugh.

I soften because he shouldn’t have to worry about this. He already worries about too much. “I’m okay, Hold.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but Daisy stomps in wearing a tutu over leggings and one sock on her hand, so the conversation dies a merciful death.

“Why is your sock on your hand?” I ask.

“It’s a puppet.”

“It’s a sock.”

“It’s a puppet sock.”

Holden hides a smile in his toast.

The morning becomes what mornings always become: cereal, arguments, missing shoes, Justin shouting from upstairs that his hoodie smells weird, the twins needing their hair done, and lunches packed, all with pain radiating through my body with every cramp that hits.

I get through it, because I always get through it.

But that’s the problem with being the kind of person who gets through things. Everyone starts assuming you can.

By the time I handle drop-offs and make it to campus, the painkillers have taken the edge off, but not enough. It’s more of a dull knife now instead of a sharp one, which I’m choosing to count as improvement.

Harlow finds me outside our ethics lecture with a latte in one hand and a worried look already forming.

“No,” I say.

She stops. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to say something with your eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows care about you.”

“Tell them to mind their business.”

She steps closer, eyes scanning my face. “You’re pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

“Wren.”

I lean against the wall because standing fully upright feels overrated. “Bad period. I’m fine.”