فصل سی ام

Eight month later.

CHAPTER 30

WILL

The speaker in the airport terminal crackles to life, a muffled voice breaking through the morning chatter and the suitcase wheels clunking over the tiled floor. I pull out one of my earbuds to hear the voice, worried about a gate change and having to go cross-airport with a pair of shitty lungs. “Your attention please, passengers for Icelandair flight 616 to Stockholm . . .” I put my earbud back in. Not my flight. I’m not going to Sweden until December.

Settling back into the armchair, I pull up YouTube for the millionth time, making my way as usual to Stella’s last video. If YouTube kept track of individual views, the police definitely would have been sent to my house by now, I’d seem like such a stalker. But I don’t care, because this video is about us. And when I press play, she tells our story.

“Human touch. Our first form of communication,” she says, her voice loud and clear. She takes a deep breath, her new lungs working wonderfully.

That breath is my favorite part of the whole video. There’s no struggle. No wheezing. It’s perfect and smooth. Effortless.

“Safety, security, comfort, all in the gentle caress of a finger, or the brush of lips on a soft cheek,” she says, and I look up from my iPad to the crowded airport around me, people coming and going, heavy bags in tow, but even so, she’s right. From the long hugs at arrival, to the reassuring hands on shoulders in the security line, even a young couple, arms around each other, waiting at the gate, touch is everywhere.

“We need that touch from the one we love, almost as much as we need air to breathe. I never understood the importance of touch, his touch . . . until I couldn’t have it.” I can see her. Five feet away from me, that night at the pool, walking to see the lights, on the other side of the glass that last night, always that longing between us to close the gap.

I pause the video just to take her in.

She looks . . . so much better than I ever saw her in person. No portable oxygen. No dark circles under her eyes.

She was always beautiful to me, but now she is free. She is alive.

Every single day I still find myself wishing I hadn’t left, reliving the moment of walking away, my legs like cement blocks, being pulled like a magnet back to her window. I think that pull, that hurt, will always be there. But all I have to do is see her like this to know it was worth it a million times over.

A notification appears on my screen from her app, telling me to take my midmorning meds. I smile at the dancing pill bottle emoji. It’s like a portable Stella that I always have with me, looking over my shoulder, reminding me to do my treatments. Reminding me of the importance of more time.

“You ready to go, man?” Jason says, nudging me as they open the door to start loading the plane to Brazil. I give him a big smile, down my meds dry, and slide my pillbox back into my backpack, zipping it up.

“Born ready.”

I’m finally going to see the places I’ve dreamed of.

I have a checkup in every city, which was one of three conditions my mom put in place before letting me go. The other two were simple. I have to send her as many pictures as possible, and Skype her every Monday evening, no matter what. Aside from that, I can finally live my life how I want. And, for once, that includes fighting right alongside her.

We’ve finally found common ground.

I stand, taking a deep breath as I pull the strap of my portable oxygen farther up on my thin shoulder. But the breath gets caught in my throat almost as soon as I inhale. Because through all the airport chatter and chaos, just above the rattling of the mucus in my lungs, I hear my favorite sound in the world.

Her laugh. It tinkles like bells, and I pull out my phone immediately, certain I’ve left the video playing in my pocket. But the screen is dark, and the sound isn’t tinny or distant.

It’s just a few feet away.

My legs know I should just go, board my flight, keep moving. But my eyes are already searching. I have to know.

It takes me about six seconds to spot her, and I’m not even surprised that when I do, her eyes are right on mine.

Stella was always the one to find me first.