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“It’s a weekend.”
She lets out a soft sigh. “It’s too expensive.”
“It’s only a few hundred dollars. I have money saved.”
She’s quiet for a minute. “Anytime is fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
I look to my computer screen. There are a million options. I find the soonest one that doesn’t cost a fortune. It leaves on a Friday morning. The Friday morning after that concert.
I’ll be tired at the airport, but that’s all the better for sleeping on the plane.
“You think Mom can pick me up from Newark?” I fill in the form. Name. Address. Credit card.
“You’re telling her about this?”
“I guess so.” Mom has been arguing I shouldn’t come. Grandma too. It doesn’t make sense. At all. But I can’t piece things together from voice alone. I need to look them in the eyes. I need to see for myself. And I will. I’ll know in two and a half weeks. “There. I did it. I’ll forward you the itinerary.”
“Sure. Now tell me more about the guy.”
“You know everything about him.”
“I know he’s tall and hot. That’s it.”
“He’s quiet. Usually, with other people, he’s more to himself. But when he’s with me, he laughs. And when he smiles… it’s like the clouds part and the birds sing. He has the most beautiful smile.”
“You’re smitten.”
“I know. He… he’s everything.” I get caught up in my gushing. And, for a while, I forget why I’m flying back to Jersey.
I forget that Grandma is sick.
That she won’t tell me how sick.
I forget that everything isn’t going to be okay.
After I hang up with Grandma, and finish most of my homework, I boot up a project that’s been kicking around my head forever.
My first real piece of original fiction.
Only it’s currently three sentences.
He has beautiful lips. They’re soft, plush, the perfect shade of rose-pink. I want to dive into those lips and swim forever.
It’s supposed to be a coming of age story. About a girl who wants a boy she shouldn’t have.
I know, I know, it sounds autobiographical. But it’s not. That’s the problem. Everyone who reads this will think it’s about me.
Or worse, that it’s about me and Brendon.
This is the scene where they meet. I have it all in my head. He’s across the room at a coffee shop. Sitting there. Reading. Some stranger she never expects to see again.
Until her best friends comes in. Kisses him. Introduces him as her boyfriend, the one who just moved to town.
I have plenty to say about his eyes. His concentration. His hands.
But after that…
It’s scary, jumping into a project that will be all mine.
What if I can’t do it?
I want to. I want to prove I can. To myself and to Grandma. If she’s sicker than she’s letting on, if there really isn’t much time, then I want her to know I’ll be okay.
That I’ll keep doing the thing I love, the thing that brings us together.
It’s an ugly thought.
If Grandma’s dying.
But I let it flow through me. I let it tighten my throat. I let it sit on my chest. I let it make the warm room cold.
I let it make the—
Oh.
There’s a knock on my door. Then Brendon’s voice. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” My voice is soft. It’s hitting me there. “Come in.”
He steps inside. Presses the door closed with his back. He looks the same as always—jeans, t-shirt, bare feet—but there’s something different about him today. An expression. I don’t know how else to explain it.
“Kay.” He moves to me. Drops to his knees in front of me. His palm presses against my cheek. A tear catches on his thumb. “What’s wrong, angel?”
I want to collapse in his arms and tell him everything. Not just Grandma but all the other ugly stuff in my head. Those words are clutching at my throat.
I need someone to know.
I need them to know and to stay.
“Grandma. I don’t know. She keeps saying she’s okay. That Mom is over-reacting. That she has plenty of time. But I don’t know if I believe her.”
He takes my hand between his. Rubs the space between my thumb and forefinger with his thumb. “I’m sorry, Kay.”
“Thanks.” I blink and a tear catches on my lashes. I’ve been pushing this away for so long. Can I really hit the release valve? I might overflow. “I just… I don’t know what to do. Everyone is treating me like a kid. Like they need to protect me from reality. So I don’t know how bad it is. If she’s dying… how am I supposed to live in the world without her?”
His eyes meet mine. He nods. An I’m listening kind of nod.
I like that he does that.
That he lets me talk.
Okay, I like almost everything about him.
More even.
“She was my first friend,” I say. “She taught me so much. And she’s still my confidant. As much as Em is. As much as you are.”
