فصل بیستم

CHAPTER 20

WILL

I watch my mother sleepily from the edge of my bed as she argues back and forth with Dr. Hamid. As if screaming about it will somehow help change the results of my stats. There’s been no change from the Cevaflomalin.

Not exactly the best birthday present.

“Maybe there’s an adverse drug interaction. Something keeping the new drug from working as it should?” she fires back, her eyes practically frantic.

Dr. Hamid takes a deep breath, shaking her head. “The bacteria in Will’s lungs are deeply colonized. Antibiotic penetration into lung tissue requires time for any drug.” She points at my daily IV of Cevaflomalin. “This drug is no different.” My mom takes a deep breath, gripping the edge of my bed. “But if it’s not effective—” Not again. I’m not leaving again. I stand up, cutting her off. “Enough! It’s over, Mom. I’m eighteen now, remember? I’m not going to any more hospitals.” She spins around to look at me, and I can tell she’s ready for this moment, her eyes filled with anger. “Sorry I’m ruining your fun by trying to keep you alive, Will! Worst mother of the year, right?” Dr. Hamid slowly backs toward the door, knowing this is her cue to leave. My eyes flick back to my mother, and I glare at her. “You know I’m a lost cause, don’t you? You’re only making it worse. No treatment is going to save me.” “Fine!” she fires back. “Let’s stop the treatments. Stop spending the money. Stop trying. Then what, Will?” She stares at me, exasperated. “You lie down on a tropical beach and let the tide take you? Something stupid and poetic?” She puts her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “Sorry, but I don’t live in a fairy tale. I live in the real world, where people solve their . . .” Her voice trails off, and I take a step forward, raising my eyebrows, daring her to say it. “Problems. Go ahead, Mom. Say it.” It’s the word that sums up what I’ve always been to her.

She exhales slowly, her eyes softening for the first time in a long time. “You are not a problem, Will. You are my son.” “Then be my mom!” I shout, my vision going red. “When was the last time you were that, huh?” “Will,” she says, taking a step closer to me. “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to—” “Do you even know me at all? Have you looked at a single one of my drawings? Did you know there’s a girl I like? I’ll bet you didn’t.” I shake my head, the rage pouring out of me. “How could you? All you see of me is my fucking disease!” I point at all the art books and magazines stacked on my desk. “Who is my favorite artist, Mom? You have no idea, do you? You want a problem to fix? Fix how you look at me.” We stare at each other. She swallows, collecting herself and reaching over to take her purse from off the bed, her voice soft and steady. “I see you just fine, Will.” She leaves, closing the door quietly behind her. Of course she left. I sit down on my bed, frustrated, and look over to see an elaborately wrapped gift, a big red ribbon carefully tied around it. I almost throw it out, but instead I grab it, ready to see just what she could possibly think I’d want. I rip off the ribbon and the wrapping paper to reveal a frame.

I can’t understand what I’m seeing. Not because I don’t recognize it. Because I do.

It’s a political cartoon strip from the 1940s. An original of the photocopy I have hung up in my room.

Signed and dated and everything. So rare, I didn’t even think any still existed.

Shit.

I lie back on my bed, grabbing my pillow and putting it over my face, the frustration I was feeling toward her transferring to myself.

I resented so much the way she was always looking at me that I didn’t realize I was doing the exact same thing.

Do I know where she’s off to now? Do I know what she likes to do? I’ve been so focused on how I want to live my own life, I’ve entirely forgotten she has one.

It’s me.

Without me, my mom is all alone. All this time I thought she only saw my disease. A problem you fix. But, instead, she was looking right at me, trying to get me to fight against it alongside her, when all I did was fight her tooth and nail. All she wanted was for me to stay and fight, when all I kept doing was getting ready to leave.

I sit up, pulling down the photocopy and replacing it with the framed, one-of-a-kind original.

She wants the same thing as Stella. More time.

She wants more time with me.

I push back from my desk, ripping out my earbuds as I go. I’ve spent the past two hours drawing, trying to shake off my confrontation with my mom.

I know I should say something. Reach out, with a call or a text, but I can’t help but still feel a little pissed. I mean, this is a two-way street, and she definitely hasn’t been doing a perfect job on her end either. If she would have just shown me she was listening, even a little . . .

I sigh, grabbing a chocolate pudding cup and my afternoon pills from off my med cart and dutifully taking them. Pulling out my phone, I sit down on the edge of my bed and aimlessly scroll through my messages on Instagram to see a bunch of birthday wishes from my old classmates.

Nothing from Stella, yet. She hasn’t sent me anything since last night, when I asked about a second date.

I give her a call on FaceTime, grinning when she picks up. “I’m free!” “Wha—?” she starts, her eyes widening. “Oh right, happy birthday! I can’t believe I didn’t—” I wave my hand, cutting her off. No biggie. “You busy? Wanna take a walk? Barb’s not around.” She pans the phone over a bunch of textbooks sitting in front of her. “I can’t right now. I’m studying.” My heart sinks. Really? “Yeah, okay. I just thought that maybe . . .” “How about later?” she asks, the view panning back up to her.

“My friends are visiting later,” I say, shrugging sadly. “It’s cool. We’ll figure something out.” I look sheepishly at her. “I was just, you know, missing you.” She smiles at me, her eyes warm, her face happy.

“That’s all I wanted to see! That smile.” I run my fingers through my hair. “All right. I’ll let you get back to your books.” I hang up, lying back on my bed and chucking my phone onto my pillow.

Barely a second later it starts to ring. I grab it, answering it without even looking at the screen to see who is calling. “I knew you’d change your—” “Hey, Will!” a voice says on the other end. It’s Jason.

“Jason! Hey,” I say, a little bummed that it isn’t Stella, but still glad to hear from him. This thing with Stella has been happening so fast, I haven’t really had a chance to catch him up.

“Something came up,” he says, but he sounds weird. “I’m sorry, man. We can’t make it over there today.” Seriously? First Stella and now Jason and Hope? Birthdays are sort of in short supply for me. But I shake it off. “Oh, yeah, okay. I totally get it.” He starts apologizing, but I cut him off. “Seriously, dude, it’s fine! Not a big deal.” I hang up, sighing loudly, and as I’m sitting up, my gaze falls on my nebulizer. I grab the albuterol and shake my head, mumbling, “Happy birthday to me.” * * *

I jolt awake from an evening nap as my phone chirps, a message coming in. I sit up, my eyes focus on the screen, and I swipe right to read a text from Stella.

HIDE AND SEEK. You’re it. XOXO S.

I roll out of bed, confused but curious as I slide into my white Vans and throw the door open. A bright-yellow balloon almost smacks me in the face, its long string tied to the doorknob. I squint, realizing that there’s something sitting inside the balloon at the very bottom.

A note?

I double-check that the coast is clear before stomping on the balloon to pop it. A boy walking back to his room with an open bag of chips jumps about ten feet at the noise, the chips flying out of the bag and scattering on the floor. I quickly grab the rolled-up Post-it note from inside, unfurling it to see a message written in Stella’s neat handwriting.

Start where we first met.

The NICU! I sneak down the hallway, past the boy resentfully picking up his potato chips, and take the elevator up to the fifth floor. I sprint across the bridge into Building 2, dodging nurses and patients and doctors, and head through the double doors into the east entrance of the NICU. Looking around, my head flies in every direction, searching for another—there! Tied to an empty crib behind the glass is another bright-yellow balloon. I carefully tiptoe inside, fumbling with the knot on the string to untie the balloon.

Jesus, Stella. Is she a freaking sailor?

I finally get it undone, and creep back out into the hallway, looking both ways before— POP.

I unfurl the note to read the next clue.

Roses are red. Or are they?

I frown, staring at the message. “Or are they” . . . Oh! I picture her face from the other night, the white rose tucked carefully behind her ear. The vase. I head straight for the atrium, sprinting down the steps of the main lobby and into the glass-enclosed room. Pushing open the doors, I see the yellow balloon floating, its string tied tightly to the vase.

I wave to the security guard, who peers at me suspiciously as I rip the balloon off the vase, struggling to catch my breath, my lungs protesting all this running. I grin at him, popping the balloon loudly, and shrugging sheepishly in explanation. “It’s my birthday.” I grab the message from the inside, opening it up to read:

If only I could hold my breath for this long . . .

I barely finish reading before I spin around to the tropical fish tank, the bright oranges and yellows of the fish jumping out at me as my eyes scan furiously around the outside of the tank for a balloon.

Did I get it wrong?

I think again. The pool.

I hurry out of the room, heading to the gym in Building 1, the last note clutched in my hand as I go. Pushing open the doors to the gym, I move past all the empty exercise equipment and see the door to the pool is promisingly propped open with a chair. Stepping inside, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the yellow balloon floating on top of the water, a few feet from the edge.

Looking to the side, I see the pool cue from Friday.

Sweeping the cue under the balloon, I grab the string and pull the balloon out of the water, noticing a tug at the end as something on the bottom of the pool weighs it down.

Pulling it up, I laugh, recognizing the bottle of Cal Stat from Stella’s video.

I use the pool cue to pop the balloon, sifting through the dead remnants to get to the message inside.

At exactly forty-eight hours from our first date . . .

I flip the note over, frowning, but that’s it. I check my watch. Eight fifty-nine. One more minute until it’s forty-eight hours from our first— My phone chirps.

I swipe to see a picture of Stella, looking cute as hell in a chef’s hat and holding a yellow balloon, a big smile on her face. The message reads: . . . our second date begins!

I frown at the picture, zooming in to see where she could possibly be. Those metal doors are just about everywhere in this hospital. But wait! I slide to the right edge of the picture to see a corner of the milk-shake machine in the cafeteria. I power walk to the elevator, taking it up to the fifth floor and down the hall and across the bridge into Building 2. I hop on another elevator and swing back down to the third floor, where the cafeteria is, catching my breath and smoothing out my hair in the reflection in the brushed-stainless-steel walls, pool cue still in hand.

I casually swing around the corner to see Stella leaning against the door to the cafeteria, a look of pure joy filling her face when she sees me. She’s wearing makeup, her long hair pulled away from her face with a headband.

She looks beautiful.

“I thought you’d never find me.”

I hold out the pool cue, and she takes the other end, pushing open the door and leading me across the dark cafeteria.

“It’s late, I know, but we had to wait until the cafeteria closed.” I frown, looking around. “We?”

She looks back at me as she stops in front of a pair of frosted-glass doors, her expression unreadable as she punches a code into the keypad. With a click, the doors open, and a bunch of voices yell out, “Surprise!” My jaw drops. Hope and Jason, but also Stella’s friends, Mya and Camila, just back from Cabo, sit at a completely set table covered in a hospital sheet, white candles sitting on either end of it casting a warm glow on a basket filled with fresh bread and a perfectly chopped salad. There are even medicine cups with red-and-white Creon pills set in front of three seats at the table.

I am completely stunned.

I look from the table to Stella, knocked speechless.

“Happy birthday, Will,” she says, tapping my side gently with the pool cue.

“He’s real!” Camila (or is it Mya?) says, and I laugh as Hope rushes over to me, giving me a big hug.

“We felt so terrible ditching you!” she says.

Jason hugs me too. Patting me on the back. “But your girlfriend over there tracked us down through your Facebook page and convinced us to surprise you.” Mya and Camila high-five at his word choice, making Stella shoot them a glare before glancing over at me. We share a look. Girlfriend. That has an awfully nice ring to it.

“This is definitely a surprise,” I say, looking around at all of them, so full of appreciation.

Poe appears, wearing a face mask, a scrub cap, and gloves, and swings a pair of tongs in the air. “Hey! Food’s almost ready!” We sit down, keeping a safe distance between all CFers. Stella at one end, me at the other, and Poe in the middle with Hope and Jason on either side of him. Mya and Camila sit on the opposite side of the table, securing the distance between Stella and me. I smile, looking around the table at everyone as we dig into the salad and the bread. My heart feels so full, it’s disgusting.

I look across the table, smiling at Stella, and mouth a “thank you.” She nods, blushing and looking down.

Girlfriend.

• • •

Poe serves the most beautiful-looking lobster pasta dish I have ever seen, garnished with basil leaves and fresh Parmesan and even truffles! Everyone stares at it in complete awe.

“Where did all this come from?” I ask him as my stomach grumbles noisily.

“Right here!” Poe says, gesturing behind him to the kitchen. “Every hospital has a VIP kitchen where they keep the good stuff for celebrities, politicians.” He shrugs. “You know, the important people.” He grabs a glass off the table, raising it. “Tonight, birthday boy, it’s for you! Salud!” Everyone raises their glass. “Salud!”

I look across the table at Stella, winking. “Too bad I’m allergic to shellfish, Poe.” Poe stops dead midserve and slowly looks over at me. I crack a grin, shaking my head. “Kidding, kidding!” “I almost threw a lobster at you,” Poe says, laughing.

Everyone laughs with us, and we all dig in. It is by far the best pasta I have ever eaten, and I’ve been to Italy. “Poe!” I say, holding up a forkful. “This is incredible!” “You’re going to be the best chef in the world one day,” Stella says in agreement, and Poe gives her a big smile, blowing a kiss in her direction.

Pretty soon, we’re all swapping stories. Jason tells a story about how we convinced our entire school to wear nothing but underwear the day before summer vacation two years ago. Which was especially impressive considering we’d get detention if our tie wasn’t straight.

That’s the one thing I don’t miss about school. The uniforms.

Stella starts talking about all the mischief she and Poe used to get into here at the hospital, from trying to steal the milk-shake machine in the cafeteria to holding wheelchair races in the children’s ward.

It sounds like I’m not the only one Barb nearly killed on a regular basis.

“Oh, have I got one for you guys!” Poe says, looking over at Stella. “Halloween that one year?” She starts cracking up already, her eyes warm as she shakes her head at him.

“We were, what, Stella? Ten?”

Stella nods, taking over the story. “So, we put on sheets and . . .” Poe starts making ghostly OOOOHHH sounds, holding out his arms and floating around the room. “We snuck into the dementia ward.” You’ve got to be kidding me.

I start coughing because I’m laughing so hard. I slide my chair back from the table, waving my hand for them to continue while I catch my breath.

“No!” Jason says. “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh, man,” Poe says, wiping away a tear. “It was absolute pandemonium, but it was by far the best Halloween ever. We got in so much trouble.” “It wasn’t even our idea!” Stella starts to say. “Abby . . .”

Her voice trails off, and I watch her struggle to speak as I apply some Cal Stat from my travel bottle. She meets my gaze from across the table, and I see how hard it is for her.

“I miss her,” Camila says. Mya nods in agreement, her eyes teary.

“Abby was wild. Free,” Poe says, nodding. “She always said she was going to live wide open because Stella wasn’t able to.” “And she did,” Stella says. “Until it killed her.”

The room goes completely quiet. I watch as she meets Poe’s gaze, both of them sad but smiling as they share a moment, remembering her.

I wish I could’ve met her.

“But she lived big. A lot bigger than we do,” Poe says, smiling. “She would’ve loved a clandestine party like this one.” “Yeah,” Stella says finally. “She really would have.”

I hold up my glass. “To Abby,” I say.

“To Abby!” everyone else chimes in, holding up their glasses. Stella looks at me across the table, the look in her hazel eyes by far the best birthday present I could ever get.