by Liz Hsu
She paused and caught her breath before continuing. “The second night here, late Sunday night or Monday morning, I started itching really bad. My skin and whole body hurt. It got hard to breathe, and I woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air. I was covered head to toe with a rash—with continuous hives almost half-an-inch high. My whole face and ears were swollen, and I was all pink.” She flicked her head toward her opposite wrist, and I saw pink running up her arm, too. “It hasn’t quite gone, but after three days, my facial swelling and most of the hives went away. They said it was good they caught it immediately. It’s why my lips are split.”
Her lip had almost started bleeding just from talking this much.
“They stopped the antibiotic and started me on steroids and antihistamines. They needed to start me on a new antibiotic, an IV one this time, because the infection had spread to my thigh and the test finally came back as hospital-acquired MRSA—basically, a bad drug-resistant infection. They were worried about a bloodstream infection. They wanted to keep me here while they monitored the new antibiotics, and also because the infection was so bad. They kept giving me fluids.” She exhaled, looking exhausted.
“Ray, I wish you’d told me. I would have dropped everything to be here.” It hurt I’d made her feel she couldn’t depend on me. I felt more disappointed in myself than I’d ever been. Tears threatened to fall again.
She nodded. “I should get to go home tomorrow. I switched to an oral antibiotic two days ago in addition to the IV medicine. I’m getting better, but because of the steroids I need to take for the allergic reaction, I’ll need to take antibiotics a full three weeks. My platelets are low but not dangerously so anymore. If that goes well, then I can come back to school on Thursday. The rash comes and goes. Dad wants me to take it easy and get caught up. I’m really tired.”
I wanted to crush her against me. Instead, I squeezed her hand again. “I want you to promise me you’ll tell me next time.”
Her eyes were glistening, but she nodded.
“I brought the guitar.” I motioned to it. “I could play a few songs, even though my voice isn’t as sweet as yours or as mellow as James’s.”
“Okay.” She gave me a hesitant smile, then grabbed some Vaseline for her lips.
I bent and picked up the guitar. “Speaking of James, how about a little James Taylor?” I played “You’ve got a Friend” and sang softly to her. I saw her dad lean into the room, smile, then walk back out.
“Call me next time, Ray,” I held her eyes and said, quoting the song.
She sniffled and nodded. I thought about it just a second and followed it with Cat Stevens’s “Hard Headed Woman,” mumbling, “Sounds like someone we know.”
She gave me a watery smile as it finished. I moved straight into “Run” by Snow Patrol. We both loved that song. I kept my eyes shut, fighting back tears as I thought about how much she lit up my life. After I strummed the last note, I set the guitar down a moment.
“Ray.” I squeezed her hand.
“Charles,” she whispered, reaching up to brush away a stray tear.
I played as many other songs as I could think of before her nurse came in with her dad. I stopped mid-song and put away my guitar, knowing she needed to rest. She looked sleepier and more peaceful now.
I kissed her on her forehead and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With those big blue eyes, she looked like an angel again. “Will you bring the keyboard? I want to hear ‘Let it Be’ again, but I love it on the piano best.”
“Of course.” My heart pinched as I nodded to her dad and left. It was so hard to leave her lying there looking so damn fragile. I promised myself I’d do better next time.
It had been more than two weeks since I was released from the ten-day hospital visit, and I had just three days left of antibiotics. Last week, I’d been able to restart yoga and church. Becky and James had made me feel so welcome there. My teachers, for the most part, were understanding. I’d missed the most in Chinese, so it was lucky my boyfriend and Knox could help me catch up.
October had gone, and with its departure came wind colder than I remembered, along with endless gray skies. It couldn’t be the truth, because it was always this cold—colder—when I visited my grandparents. But they’d always bundle me up in spare jackets, and I’d never stood waiting to catch the bus stomping my frozen toes.
Back home, they were likely still running the AC, and would be for another few weeks unless they got a cold snap. Here, I was freezing even bundled into multiple layers—wool sweaters and socks, boots, and the big, waterproof down jacket Dad bought for me. I’d almost forgotten what my skin felt like, but I couldn’t because my wrists still itched and turned bright red whenever I showered.
I’d needed mittens, not gloves. We’d learned after Friday morning I’d, when I’d taken the bus. After just a few minutes waiting for it, my fingers had turned painfully white and stayed that way long after I got into the heated bus. After school, Dad had walked with me downtown and bought mittens so poofy everyone but Charles made fun of me for. They were extravagant for people without Raynaud’s. Most people could dog-sled across Greenland in these mittens. Charles told me I looked like a cute boxer in them. He understood. He saw me, even if it frightened me how much he saw me.
Every night for the past week, he’d called me at exactly nine. It was a little compulsive—exactly nine, not a minute later—but I thought it was endearing. Some nights we’d talked, and others he’d just played for me while I drew. It was like he wanted to make sure I knew he was there. Sometimes at lunch, I caught him staring at me like I might slip away. I wanted to tell him I was right here, but I was scared too. I didn’t know what my body would do. My body didn’t know what it would do. So I’d given him feather kisses instead of saying anything. I poured my emotions into my drawing and belted them out in church between James and Becky.
I was taking more pills than ever. The steroids had changed my easily coverable, dime-shaped bald spot to quarter-shaped. It took a little more styling in the morning, and I’d had to change my part to fully conceal it. My cheeks were chubbier from the steroids, too. Charles still looked at me like I was his favorite treat, so I was trying not to let it get me down. Some days, that was easier than others.
Today, he was bent studiously over his guitar. I sighed at his concentrated frown over the newest piece giving him trouble. He was right—he wasn’t perfect, but he worked damn hard to get as close as he could.
We were practicing in his basement again. Charles had handled me like a delicate flower since I’d been released, and while it was sweet, I wished he wouldn’t. I was still a girl inside and wanted more of his affection than he’d been giving me in his chaste kisses and brief hugs.
“What are you working on?” I asked so I had an excuse to lean closer to his sheet notes.
I felt his body tighten, then quiver slightly where we touched, and was glad he was as aware of me as I was of him. I looked down at those beautiful skilled hands and my core tightened with how badly I wanted them on me.
Before he could answer my question, I whispered just for him, “I want to tell them.”
He looked at me, confused. I flicked my head toward the others, and he whispered in my ear in a way that left me trembling: “About lupus?”
I stepped back and nodded, suddenly needing more space. I’d been craving more than he’d been giving me as I recovered, and I needed to remove myself from the distraction of his body.
I walked to the center of the room. Kevin was muttering over his bass guitar, and Knox was twirling his sticks in the air. It had felt good to have Becky, then James, then Greg know about lupus. It felt good not hiding what I was coming to realize was a part of me, just like having blue eyes. It was a piece of me now, and it felt wrong to keep it a secret from my friends.
“I want to tell you guys why I’ve been sick,” I
blurted out.
James’s lips turned up into a warm and welcome grin before he nodded reassuringly at me. I glanced at Charles and my heart beat faster. I love him, I thought, not for the first time as I gazed into his calm, comforting obsidian eyes. They held so much encouragement, bolstering my confidence.
I took a breath to steady myself. “I have lupus. It’s a chronic, lifelong autoimmune disease, but don’t worry. It’s not contagious.”
Knox was silent. I wasn’t sure why I’d felt so self-conscious about it before, but it felt good to say it. It wasn’t something to be embarrassed about.
James pulled me into his brotherly, engulfing hug. “I’m proud of you for finally speaking up, Ray.”
I squeezed him and stepped back.
“Are you going to die?” asked Kevin quietly.
We all looked at him. I almost wondered if I’d misheard him.
Kevin turned tomato red and began rambling. “You know, James’s aunt who had lupus died. It’s not like I want you to die. I was just—I thought it was one of the most common causes of deaths in girls your age. I don’t know—are you?”
I looked at Charles first, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I turned back to James, hurt filling me, but before I could speak, James did. “She wasn’t compliant with her medication or doctors. She wasn’t like you, Ray. She had kidney failure, but because she wasn’t compliant, she wasn’t on the transplant list. She stopped taking all her medicine and left the hospital against medical advice. She died two days later.”
I swallowed.
“That won’t be you,” James insisted. “Because you listen to the doctors. You take your pills. You don’t have any kidney issues. It’s the fifth cause of death in Latinx and African American women aged fifteen to twenty-four, but only tenth for all women that same age. For whatever reason, you should do better. Mom, Becky, and I read a ton about after her sister died. You’ll be sick a lot. I’m sorry—it sucks, but,” he glared at Kevin, “she shouldn’t die any younger than the rest of us if she’s compliant with her medications. And it looks like she’s responded well to them. Not everyone does. Aunt Ama never responded well to the medicine, so she didn’t take it.”
I felt numb. Suddenly, Charles was crushing me against him. His wiry frame and strong arms surrounded me, and I felt grounded—safe. I squeezed him and nuzzled his chest that seemed to always smell like the incense his mom liked to burn, and something uniquely him.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he whispered in my ear, still holding me tucked against him. “All right, practice is over for today.” He took my hand and led me outside to the car.
“Where are we going?”
“Cider mill.”
“What?”
“We are going to a cider mill.” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “We have just enough time. You need cheering up, and I need a donut.” He turned up, “All My Favorite Songs,” which just started on the radio.
After several minutes of driving that took us to the highway, I asked, “Did you know the whole time, about James’s aunt?”
“No. I remember James going to a funeral, but a few years ago but I didn’t pay attention, except she’d died. It was really sad. I didn’t know what lupus was when you were diagnosed. I eventually put two and two together a few weeks in. But like James said, his aunt isn’t you.”
“Becky never told me.”
He sighed and turned down the radio so we weren’t shouting over it. “She probably didn’t see the need to, Ray. You are going to have this forever, and that really stinks, but no one has said your life has to be shorter. Bumpier, but not shorter. You said your lupus been doing well since you started the medications. Yes, your last hospitalization was because of your drugs, but not lupus. Your lupus is much better. That’s what’s important. Those drugs are crap, but you just need to be more careful on them. They are working.”
We fell silent as his hand slid into mine. What he said made sense, but it was still scary. Finally, we arrived at the cider mill. It was cute, with a little water wheel. Charles was excited for me to taste the apple cider, so I didn’t tell him I thought it was way too sweet.
It was cold as we walked around outside, but he nestled me under his arm and we found ourselves alone and kissing like we hadn’t in weeks. His hard body pressed against me and I pulled him closer. Our hands tangled in each other’s hair and gripped each other’s backs as we closed the breath of space between us. He seemed as thirsty for me as I was for him when our tongues met. How I’d missed the feeling of him.
Finally, we broke apart, breathing hard and staring at each other. “I’ve missed you,” I said, like I hadn’t seen him every day for two weeks.
“Me too,” he said as he leaned forward to kiss me again.
We hadn’t been very physical lately. Almost like he was afraid I would break. But now we were both hungry for each other. I could feel it in his jeans as he pressed against me, and I wanted more. Suddenly, I wanted so much more from him. I wrapped my arms around him, greedy for what he’d been denying me.
A loud throat-clearing reminded us we were at a no-longer-deserted side of a public building. We broke apart, laughing, and made it back to the car, hand in hand.
Charles stopped at a diner on the way back to Ann Arbor, where we shared some pretzels and cheese sauce, him a burger, and me my usual grilled cheese, before getting back on the road.
“So,” he said as we approached my highway exit. “Want to swing by my place for a little while? We can watch a movie.”
I leaned over and kissed his neck. My whole body tingled from nerves and the awareness of him. “Or other stuff.”
He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice as he repeated, “Or other stuff.”
I felt myself flushing and kissed his neck again before I slid back over to my side of the car.
We both laughed as we ran down into his basement. He fiddled with the music a minute as I twitched nervously on the sofa before he came back over. His eyes were black and mysterious in this light, but still so expressive and beautiful. No one had ever looked at me the way he did, not just with desire, but like I was something to be cherished.
His hand came down gently and cupped my jaw, then his lips were on mine and my tongue in his mouth. I tugged him, grabbing his shirt, and he almost tumbled on top of me. He tried to pull away, probably to see if he had crushed me, but I wrapped my legs around him and didn’t let him escape.
I needed this. I’d been hospitalized twice this year, and wanted to feel something that reminded me I was still beautiful and alive. I let my hand slip under his shirt and felt his tight warm back muscles under my hand. He shivered under my touch, twined his hand in my hair. I moaned into his mouth and whimpered when he pulled back.
“Can I take off your shirt?” he whispered, like it would break the spell to say it any louder.
I tugged it off and pulled at his. I wanted to feel his heat against my skin. He didn’t start kissing me again like I thought he would. Instead, his gaze traveled along me in my turquoise bra. Heat stirred along my skin and traveled all the way to my core. The way he looked at me made me eager for more. For him and his touch.
Finally, he said, “You are stunning.”
“Please,” I whispered, not really sure what I was begging for, but my body was demanding something from him. “Don’t stop kissing me—touching me.”
He leaned back in. His lips trailed along my neck and chin with kisses and nips, as his hands wandered. Fire burned through me, almost scalding me with desire. I wiggled under him, wanting more still. He seemed to realize the same thing, because he lifted off and found my gaze. His hand hovered over the waistband of my jeans. “Do you want more?”
I held his eyes for a minute, then nodded.
His hand stopped again at my jeans button. “Sure?”
“Yes, but not, you kno
w, sex?”
He kissed me and chuckled. “Yeah, I think there would be more conversation before sex.” He nibbled the side of my neck. “I’ve never done this before, but…I could touch you. I can try to make you feel good.”
His normally self-assured voice sounded hesitant, so I whispered back, “Please.”
He had no reason for nerves. His agile, dexterous fingers took me to a place I’d only imagine possible. After, as I opened my eyes to stare into his molten ones, my breath still coming in pants, he told me tenderly, “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I reached up and touched his face. “I think so too.”
Before I could consider returning the favor, my phone rang loudly, and I saw it was Dad, who rarely called me. I briefly considered letting it go to voicemail but answered instead. “Hej hej, Pappa,” I said, still slightly breathless.
“Ray, there is a winter storm warning. The freezing rain and snow have started. I just wanted to let you know, I’m driving to get you right now. I don’t want you in the car with a teen driver.”
“Okay.” Despite my best efforts, I could still hear how deep and loud my breaths were.
“Are you at Charles’s?”
I looked down at my flushed, shirtless form. “Yes.”
“Can I speak to him?”
“Sure.” I switched to English and said to Charles, “My dad wants to speak to you.”
I hastily dressed and couldn’t hear what my dad said, but it was short, and Charles had suddenly turned into a tomato. He said simply, “Yes, sir.”
