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Then I sit up, suddenly wide awake as the words pour into my ear, frantic and choked with anguish.
It’s my sister.
All these dreams of Merc, and I never saw this coming. Why don’t I ever dream of my sister needing help?
Maybe because she has no problem coming out and asking for it, a little rational voice in my mind says. She asks for help all the time. Your subconscious is working on problems and riddles that aren’t so obvious.
Maybe? It makes sense, right?
But come on. Merc doesn’t need help with anything. His family rocks. He’s fine. And if he looks tired sometimes, well, he’s a student who works hard to make ends meet. Who wouldn’t be tired? It’s not fatal, for God’s sake.
It’s actually a good sign. He seems to be hard-working, responsible. Reliable.
A good guy.
And I shouldn’t let myself get distracted.
Griffin isn’t doing well. He’s had a bad reaction to the chemo, the docs think. He was admitted to the hospital for observation and tests, and my sis is terrified.
Who wouldn’t be, right? This disease sucks.
Sitting by the phone, waiting for an update, isn’t very productive, though. The kitten wanders by, rubs herself on my shins.
I need to go to my sister’s classes, decide what to do about her upcoming assignments, go to her job…
Will this work? Short-term, sure, taking notes, answering phone calls, doing basic stuff. But I can’t pretend for much longer. I can’t take her exams, can’t go out with her colleagues for drinks. Something’s got to give.
She has to tell people the truth. Or at least come back.
Not the right topic to discuss with her right now, of course, but… soon. If things continue the way they’re heading.
Griffin has to get well. If my sister loses him, I don’t know how she’ll recover from that blow. It won’t be easy.
Why am I thinking such dark thoughts? I’m not a pessimist. Griffin will be fine. My sis will be fine. Everything will be okay.
But the weight on my chest won’t lift. My heart is racing, my stomach hurts. Mom and Dad should be here for her. She should be able to turn to them for support—but Soph won’t ask for their help, and the phone calls I made to them were for nothing. Mom doesn’t have time for Sophie’s shenanigans, she said, and Dad isn’t sure what he could do, and besides, Sophie hasn’t spoken to him in years, and his car is broken down.
I throw my phone on the sofa and pull my hair back, off my face, sad and annoyed and mad at our parents. I’m glad she has me, at least, but when the world goes sideways, you need your family close. I’m worried, thinking I should go find my sis, be by her side, and to hell with the classes and work and… the kitty who’s giving me a soulful look from the floor.
She probably wants to be fed.
“You still have food in your bowl,” I tell her and jab my finger at the kitchen. “So don’t look at me like that.”
She bumps her little face on my leg. Meows. Purrs.
Sigh.
I’ve never met Griffin in person, only through the stories Soph told me, since their first meeting to their break-up, and the way life brought them back together.
It’s a great love story, for God’s sake, at least the way she tells it. It can’t end like this. It’s given me the strength to keep looking, to keep hoping I can find real love even after the ugly break-ups I’ve had with asshole boyfriends. It’s what’s kept me going, kept me looking for my own Griffin, it’s how I found—
My phone dings, and I lunge for it, hoping for an update—as if something might have changed over the course of a few hours, but hey, you never know, right?
But it’s Merc. The text message is from him, and my heart starts to pound for an entirely different reason.
‘Hey, pretty girl,’ he writes. ‘Wanna grab some lunch? Miss ya.’
God, me too. But…
