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I could almost see my sister pouting beside me as she scoffed, “They got my lashes wrong.”
I would have laughed if I hadn’t been wilting from blood loss. Because losing her felt exactly like that—like I’d slit both wrists and waited for my turn to join her.
It felt like a cruel joke that after years of auditions and sacrifices, years of growing up half in, half out of my life, Mortie had finally landed his biggest role, only for Leah to fall sick.
“One of the rarest blood cancers known to man,” the doc had said after sitting us all down with her results in an office that smelled like rubbing alcohol and greed.
The chances of survival were practically zero.
Dad simply nodded as if the doctor had told him there was a slight chance of rain. Then, with Leah bawling her eyes out and Mom’s face the color of ash, he asked us to gather our things and proceeded to do what he did best—figure out our next step, no matter the cost.
Mom says when the three of us were born, we were never content unless we were together. No matter how hard she tried to get us to sleep in our own beds once we got older, she always found us in Leah’s, tucked into either side of her while we slept.
We protected her then and always. So how can I blame my father for stooping as low as he had? Reaching in to the darkest corners of Hollywood for help, desperately seeking a cure for a near-incurable illness.
Two men dressed in all black with nothing more than a single briefcase came to speak with us. They painted the experiments as ‘new age’ and ‘infallible.’ Just a signature on the dotted line and Dad’s princess, Mom’s pride and joy, and our best friend would go through a series of trials before she was as good as new and walking the runway once more.
I tried to talk her out of it, but Leah was the kind of person who was either all in or all out, leaving no gray area. And that doubtless surety was what made her such a star. She was never afraid of a challenge, and she’d already made up her mind.
Over the months following that meeting, her treatments were showing surprisingly positive results. After Leah’s accounts were drained, our parents sold some of our most valuable assets to keep on top of the looming debt and to maintain the Matthews’ public persona.
I took on more freelance projects, building furniture and creating sculptures for clients while working toward my dream of having my own woodworking business in Seattle. Mortie showed up to set, bright-eyed and inspired, climbing his way to the top of the A-list, and together, we were making a difference. Best of all, our sister was going to survive.
Except, no one survives a cancer so new that it hasn’t even been exposed to the general public, and within six months, Leah’s health started to plummet.
We did everything, and exhausted every avenue, to try to save her.
But in the end, none of it mattered.
“Take this,” she said to me when she was admitted to the hospital for the last time.
I took her most prized possession and cradled it in my hand. “Leah…”
Tears brimmed my eyes, but I held strong. I wouldn’t let her see me break down, no matter how badly I wanted to.
“Don’t think of it as a goodbye, Marcus. Just keep it safe for me.”
And after carefully tucking it inside my pocket, that’s exactly what I did.
Two weeks later, in that same hospital, I held her frail hand and recalled some of my favorite memories with her.
Like the time she wanted to give herself bangs but decided to practice on me first.
“You cut my hair so short it didn’t touch my eyebrows.” I smirked at her sleeping form. “Mom was so mad at us.”
Or how she’d roll her eyes anytime I snuck myself a popsicle late at night, saying she still loved me, even though I was dumb for only eating the orange ones. Or the way she would hug someone tight enough to crack their ribs.
There wasn’t anything about her that didn’t add to how special she was, but it was her death and Mort’s way of coping which ultimately shoved a wedge between us.
Leah was like a string of lyrics I could never get out of my head. The kind of song a person could sing on repeat and come back to over and over again without getting tired or bored. She was brighter than every color in the rainbow, individually beautiful, and altogether unforgettable.
But Mortie was the one who was there any time we needed him. He would hype me up before I took a girl out because he knew I was always a sweating, nervous mess beforehand. He would stay up with me until the wee hours of the morning, playing video games, knowing I was shit at them but letting me win, anyway.
He could read me like a book and knew me better than I knew myself. Being friends with people came effortlessly for him, as did his talent for acting, and though I know that wasn’t the path I was destined for, I’ve always wished I had his charisma.
I didn’t cry at Leah’s funeral, but I did that night in the hospital, knowing it would be the last time I saw her. I couldn’t stand how disturbingly thin she was or that she couldn’t hear me say how much I loved her.
And as I thanked her for being the best sister I could ever ask for, I cried until my chest cracked in half and my lungs gave out.
