فصل سوم

CHAPTER 3

STELLA

I pull on the blue AffloVest, snapping it into place around my torso with Barb’s help. It looks an awful lot like a life vest, except for the remote coming out of it. For the quickest moment I let it be a life vest, and I stare out the window, picturing myself in Cabo on a boat with Mya and Camila, the afternoon sun glowing on the horizon.

The seagulls chirping, the sandy beach in the distance, the shirtless surfers—and then, despite myself, I think of Will. I blink, Cabo fading away as the barren trees outside my window swing into view.

“So, Will. He’s a CFer, then?” I ask, though that’s obvious. Barb helps me clip the last strap into place. I pull at the shoulder of the vest so it doesn’t rub into my bony collarbone.

“A CFer and then some. B. cepacia. He’s part of the new drug trial for Cevaflomalin.” She reaches over, flicking the machine on and giving me a look.

My eyes widen and I look over at my giant tub of hand sanitizer. I was that close to him and he has B. cepacia? It’s pretty much a death sentence for people with CF. He’ll be lucky to make it a few more years.

And that’s if he’s as dedicated to his regimen as I am.

The vest begins vibrating. Hard. I can feel the mucus in my lungs starting to slowly loosen.

“You contract that and you can kiss the possibility of new lungs good-bye,” she adds, eyeing me. “Stay away.” I nod. Oh, I fully intend to do just that. I need that extra time. Besides, he was way too full of himself to be my type. “The trial,” I start to say, looking over at Barb and holding up my hand to pause the conversation as I cough up a wad of mucus.

She nods in approval and hands me a standard-issue pale-pink bedpan. I spit into it and wipe my mouth before talking.

“What are his odds?”

Barb exhales, shaking her head before meeting my gaze. “Nobody knows. The drug’s too new.” Her look says it all, though. We fall silent except for the chugging of the machine, the vest vibrating away.

“You’re set. Need anything before I hit the road?”

I grin at her, giving her a pleading look. “A milk shake?”

She rolls her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. “What, am I room service now?” “Gotta take advantage of the perks, Barb!” I say, which makes her laugh.

She leaves, and I sit back, the AffloVest making my whole body shake as it works. My mind wanders, and I picture Will’s reflection in the glass of the NICU, standing just behind me with a daring smile on his face.

B. cepacia. That’s rough.

But walking around the hospital without a mask on? It’s no wonder he got it in the first place, pulling stunts like that. I’ve seen his type in the hospital more times than I can count. The careless, Braveheart type, rebelling in a desperate attempt to defy their diagnosis before it all comes to an end. It’s not even original.

“All right,” Barb says, bringing me not one but two milk shakes, like the queen she is. “This should hold you over for a bit.” She puts them on the table next to me, and I smile up at her familiar dark-brown eyes. “Thanks, Barb.” She nods, touching my head gently before heading out the door. “Night, baby. See you tomorrow.” I sit, staring out the window and coughing up more and more mucus as the vest does its job to clear my airways. My eyes travel to the drawing of the lungs and the picture hanging next to it. My chest starts to hurt in a way that has nothing to do with the treatment as I think of my real bed. My parents. Abby. I pick up my phone to see a text from my dad. It’s a picture of his old acoustic guitar, leaning against a worn nightstand in his new apartment. He spent the whole day setting it up after I insisted he do that instead of take me to the hospital. He pretended not to be relieved, just like I pretended Mom was taking me so he wouldn’t feel guilty.

It’s been a lot of pretending since the most ridiculous divorce of all time.

It’s been six months and they still can’t even look at each other.

For some reason it makes me want to hear his voice so badly. I tap on his contact info and almost press the green call button on my phone, but decide not to at the last second. I never call the first day, and all the coughing that the AffloVest makes me do would make him nervous. He’s still texting me every hour to check in.

I don’t want to worry my parents. I can’t.

Better to just wait until morning.

My eyes shoot open the next morning and I look for what woke me, seeing my phone vibrating noisily on the floor, having free-fallen off the table. I squint at the drained milkshake glasses and mound of empty chocolate pudding cups taking up practically the entire space. No wonder the phone fell off.

If we’re 60 percent water, I’m closing in on the remaining 40 percent being pudding.

I groan, reaching over the bed to grab my phone, my G-tube burning with the stretch. I gently touch my side, lifting my shirt to unhook the tube, surprised that the skin around it is even redder and more inflamed than it was before.

That’s not good. Irritations usually go away with a little bit of Fucidin, but my application yesterday didn’t seem to make a difference.

I put a bigger glob of the ointment on it, hoping that will clear it up, and add a note to my to-do list to monitor it, before scrolling through my notifications. I have a couple of Snaps waiting from Mya and Camila, looking sleepy but happy as they boarded the plane this morning. Both of my parents texted me, checking in to see how I slept, if I’m settled in, and saying to give them a call when I get up.

I’m about to answer the both of them when my phone vibrates, and I swipe right to see a text from Poe: You up?

I shoot back a quick message seeing if he wants to have our usual breakfast date in twenty, before putting the phone down and swinging my legs over my bed to grab my laptop.

Less than a second later my phone buzzes with his reply: Yees!

I grin, hitting the nurse-call button by my bed. Julie’s friendly voice crackles through the speaker. “Morning, Stella! You good?” “Yep. Can I get breakfast now?” I ask, turning my laptop on.

“You got it!”

The time on my laptop reads 9:00 a.m., and I pull the med cart closer, looking at the color-coded clumps I laid out yesterday. I smile to myself, realizing that this time tomorrow, after I get the beta version of my app fully up and running, I’ll be getting a notification on my phone telling me to take my morning pills and the exact dosages of each that I need.

Almost a year of hard work finally coming together. An app for all chronic illnesses, complete with med charts, schedules, and dosage information.

I take my pills and open Skype, scanning the contact list to see if either of my parents is on. There’s a tiny green dot next to my dad’s name, and I press the call button, waiting as it rings noisily.

His face appears on the screen as he puts his thick-rim glasses over his tired eyes. I notice that he’s still in his pajamas, his graying hair jutting out in every direction, a lumpy pillow propped up behind him. Dad was always an early riser. Out of bed before seven thirty every morning, even on the weekends.

The worry starts to slowly wrap itself tighter around my insides.

“You need a shave,” I say, taking in the unusual stubble covering his chin. He’s always been clean shaven, except for a beard phase he went through one winter during elementary school.

He chuckles, rubbing his scruffy chin. “You need new lungs. Mic drop!”

I roll my eyes as he laughs at his own joke. “How was the gig?”

He shrugs. “Eh, you know.”

“I’m glad you’re performing again!” I say cheerily, trying my best to look positive for him.

“Sore throat doing okay?” he asks, giving me a worried look.

I nod, swallowing to confirm that the rawness in my throat has started to subside. “Already a million times better!” Relief fills his eyes, and I change the subject quickly before he can ask any more treatment-related questions. “How’s your new apartment?” He gives me an over-the-top smile. “It’s great! It’s got a bed and a bathroom!” His smile fades slightly, and he shrugs. “And not much else. I’m sure your mom’s place is nicer. She could always make anywhere feel like home.” “Maybe if you just call her—”

He shakes his head at me and cuts me off. “Moving on. Seriously, it’s fine, hun. The place is great, and I’ve got you and my guitar! What else do I need?” My stomach clenches, but there’s a knock on my door and Julie comes in, holding a dark-green tray with a pile of food.

My dad sees her and brightens up. “Julie! How’ve you been?”

Julie puts down the tray and presents her belly to him. For someone who insisted for the past five years that she was never having children, she seems ridiculously eager to be having children.

“Very busy, I see,” my dad says, smiling wide.

“Talk to you later, Dad,” I say, moving my cursor over to the end-call button. “Love you.” He gives me a salute before the chat ends. The smell of eggs and bacon wafts off the plate, a giant chocolate milk shake sitting on the tray next to it.

“Need anything else, Stell? Some company?”

I glance at her baby bump, shaking my head as a surprising swell of contempt fills my chest. I love Julie, but I’m really not in the mood for talking about her new little family when mine’s falling apart. “Poe’s about to call me.” Right on time, my laptop pings and Poe’s picture pops up, the green phone symbol appearing on my screen. Julie rubs her stomach, giving me a strange look before flashing me a tight-lipped, confused smile. “Okay. You two have fun!” I press accept and Poe’s face slowly comes into view, his thick black eyebrows hanging over familiar warm brown eyes. He’s gotten a haircut since the last time I saw him. Shorter. Cleaner. He gives me a big ear-to-ear smile, and I attempt to grin back, but it ends up looking more like a grimace.

I can’t get the image of my dad out of my head. So sad and alone, in bed, but the lines of his face still deep and filled with exhaustion.

And I can’t even go check on him.

“Hey, mami! You are looking WORN,” he says, putting his milk shake down and squinting at me. “You go on one of your chocolate pudding benders again?” I know this is where I’m supposed to laugh, but I seem to have used up my pretending quota for the day, and it’s not even nine thirty yet.

Poe frowns. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Is it Cabo? You know sunburn is nothing to play with anyway.” I wave that away and instead hold up my tray like a game-show model to show Poe my lumberjack breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and a milk shake! The usual for our breakfast dates.

Poe gives me a challenging look, like I’m not getting away with that subject change, but he can’t resist holding up his plate to show me the identical meal—except his eggs are beautifully embellished with chives, parsley, and . . . Wait.

Freaking truffles!

“Poe! Where the hell did you get truffles?”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking. “You gotta bring ‘em with, mija!” he says as he moves the webcam to show me a med cart that he’s converted into a perfectly organized spice rack. It’s filled with jars and specialty items instead of pill bottles, sitting under his shrine to his favorite skateboarder, Paul Rodriguez, and the entire Colombian national soccer team. Classic Poe. Food, skateboarding, and fútbol are by FAR his three favorite things.

He has enough jerseys pinned up on his wall to fully clothe every CFer on this floor for a poor-playing, no-cardiovascular-strength B-team.

The camera swings back to him, and I see Gordon Ramsay’s chest peering out from behind him. “But first—our appetizers!” He holds up a handful of Creon tablets, which will help our bodies digest the food we’re about to eat.

“Best part of every meal!” I say sarcastically as I scoop my red-and-white tablets out of a small plastic cup next to my tray.

“So,” Poe says after he’s swallowed his last one. “Since you won’t spill, let’s talk about me. I’m single! Ready to—” “You broke up with Michael?” I ask, exasperated. “Poe!”

Poe takes a long sip of his milk shake. “Maybe he broke up with me.”

“Did he?”

“Yes! Well, it was mutual,” he says, before sighing and shaking his head. “Whatever. I broke up with him.” I frown. They were perfect for each other. Michael liked skateboarding and had a super-popular food blog that Poe had followed religiously for three years before they met. He was different from the other people Poe had dated. Older, somehow, even though he had just turned eighteen. Most importantly, Poe was different with him. “You really liked him, Poe. I thought he might be the one.” But I should know better; Poe could write a book on commitment issues. Still, that never stopped him on the quest for another great romance. Before Michael it was Tim, the week after this it could be David. And, to be honest, I envy him a bit, with his wild romances.

I’ve never been in love before. Tyler Paul for sure didn’t count. But even if I had the chance, dating is a risk that I can’t afford right now. I have to stay focused. Keep myself alive. Get my transplant. Reduce parental misery. It’s pretty much a full-time job. And definitely not a sexy one.

“Well, he’s not,” Poe says, acting like it’s no big deal. “Screw him anyway, right?” “Hey, at least you got to do that,” I say, shrugging as I pick at my eggs. I can see Will’s knowing smirk from yesterday when I told him I’d had sex before. Asshole.

Poe laughs midsip of his milk shake, but he sputters and begins to choke. His vital monitors start beeping on the other side of the laptop as he struggles for breath.

Oh my god. No, no, no. I jump up. “Poe!”

I push aside the laptop and run into the hallway as an alarm sounds at the nurses’ station, fear in every pore of my body. Somewhere a voice shouts out, “Room 310! Blood oxygen level is in free fall. He’s desatting!” Desatting. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. “He’s choking! Poe’s choking!” I shout out, tears filling my eyes as I fly down the hallway behind Julie, pulling on a face mask as I go. She bursts through the door ahead of me and goes to check the beeping monitor. I’m scared to look. I’m scared to see Poe suffering. I’m scared to see Poe . . .

Fine.

He’s fine, sitting in his chair like nothing happened.

Relief floods through me and I break out in a cold sweat as he looks from me to Julie, a sheepish expression on his face as he holds up his fingertip sensor. “Sorry! It came unplugged. I didn’t tape it back down after my shower.” I exhale slowly, realizing I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. Which is pretty hard to do when you have lungs that barely work.

Julie leans against the wall, looking just as shocked as I am. “Poe. Jeez. When your O2 drops like that . . .” She shakes her head. “Just put it back on.” “I don’t need it anymore, Jules,” he says, looking up at her. “Let me take it off.” “Absolutely not. Your lung function sucks right now. We’ve gotta keep an eye on you, so you need to keep that damn thing on.” She takes a deep breath, holding out a piece of tape so he can tape the sensor back on. “Please.” He sighs loudly but reattaches the fingertip sensor to the blood-oxygen sensor worn on his wrist.

I nod, finally catching my breath. “I agree, Poe. Keep it on.”

He glances up at me as he tapes the sensor onto his middle finger, holding it up to me and grinning.

I roll my eyes at him, glancing down the hallway to the asshole’s room: 315. The door is tightly closed despite the commotion, a light shining out from under it. He’s not even going to poke his head out to make sure everybody’s okay? This was practically a floor roll call, as everyone opened their door to double-check that everything was fine. I fidget and smooth my hair down, looking back over at Poe in time to see him raise his eyebrows at me.

“What, you trying to look good for someone?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I glare at him and Julie as they shoot curious looks in my direction. I point at his food. “You’re about to waste some perfectly good truffles on a bunch of cold eggs,” I say, before hurrying off down the hallway to finish our breakfast chat. The more space between room 315 and me the better.