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He kept calling her sick, and it made me want to punch him in his throat. She wasn’t sick. She just had a cold. It was only a cold. It was nothing more than a…
My mind began racing, connecting all the dots that had been right in front of my face the whole time, signs I’d decided to ignore because my feelings for Aaliyah were growing too much.
She was tired a lot.
She got winded easily.
No…she couldn’t be…she would’ve told me…
“Anyway, whatever, man. Have my leftovers while you can. The clock is ticking on that one, so don’t be surprised when you’re at a funeral. One I’m not paying for, because I didn’t marry the bitch.”
“Fuck you!” I said, barging toward him and grabbing him by his collar. He stared at me and began snickering as if he was enjoying the show of me finding out that the one girl I’d ever cared for wasn’t going to be around for much longer.
“Yeah, fuck me. Let me go before I call security,” he warned, ripping himself out of my grip. He smoothed his shirt with his palms and cleared his throat. “Now, go ahead—go back to New York to your fucked-up prize. I just wanted to tell you face-to-face that you screwed up getting together with her. In the end, you lost, dude.”
* * *
I went backto the hotel and pulled out my laptop. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since the conversation with Jason. I searched congestive heart failure. I read about every symptom, every cause, every treatment. I watched YouTube videos about patients who had it, watched videos about people who’d lost loved ones to it. My panic and worry were at an all-time high as I read more and more details about the severity of heart failure.
Then I searched the timeline of those diagnosed with it.
I searched their survival rate.
My own heart cracked into a million pieces.
Most don’t live past five years.
She had been diagnosed two years ago.
Who knew how much time she had left?
How was this happening? Why hadn’t she told me? Hell, why hadn’t I realized it?! I fucking knew. Some part of me was aware, but I ignored all the signs because I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want the hurting of my past to come back to my present. Yet, there I was doing exactly what I had done as a child. I was searching for answers. Searching for some light. Searching for a cure to the uncurable.
I sat in my dark hotel room, falling apart as the laptop light shone against my face, realizing the woman I loved was going to die.
And nothing I could do would stop it.
36
Connor
Ten years old
Mom was trying notto cry when she told me about the cancer.
I didn’t even know what that was, but I knew it was bad if she was trying not to tell me. I knew she’d been sick, but I didn’t know how bad. I thought she just had a bad cold or something with how she was always coughing stuff up.
“Do you understand, Connor? Do you understand what I’m telling you?” she said as a few tears fell down her cheeks. She brushed them away fast, trying to pretend they never happened, but I’d already seen them.
“Are you dying?” I asked, feeling like my insides were twisted up in knots. My tummy had hurt ever since Mom said that word to me. Cancer. It was hurting her. It was making her want to cry, but she was acting like she didn’t because she didn’t want me to cry. Even though I wanted to cry.
I want to cry.
But I couldn’t because Mom had already had to cry enough when Dad left us, and whenever I cried, she cried. I didn’t want her to cry, so I didn’t cry. I had to be strong for her.
“No, sweetheart,” she said, placing her hands against my cheeks. “No, I’m not dying. We are going to fight this, okay? We are going to fight this and win.”
I sniffled a bit and nodded, wanting to be strong, but I was just a kid, and sometimes kids hurt. I gave her a hug and held her tight. Then I pulled back. “Can I go to bed?”
