by Lily Jenkins
This, finally, acts as the cold slap she needs. I continue.
“It’ll be hard on you, but it’ll be hell for me. We’re talking about trying to torture the cancer out of my body. I’m not going to put up with that shit for nothing. I need to know that it’ll be worth it for you too. Because I’ll have enough to worry about without thinking of you unable to manage after me.”
“Adam,” she starts, but I stop her.
“My mom told you what it was like when my dad died? Did she tell you about after? About how she had to live off credit cards for the rest of her life? The hospital bills wiped out our savings. My mom figured once my dad got better, he could go back to work and they’d be fine. He was an engineer. We weren’t rich, but he made good money. Except he didn’t get better. He died. And my mom had tons of debt and no way to pay it off. We lived in a trailer, Erica. She worked late waiting tables, and I was stuck at home alone most of the time. It was a shit way to grow up, and it was all avoidable.”
She looks a bit confused, and I realize I’m rambling.
“My point is, you have to prepare for the reality of being on your own. You can’t be counting on me to survive to take care of you. I won’t be here. Which brings us to our first condition: When fall comes, you’re going to college.”
She opens her mouth to object, and I wave her away.
“I don’t mean New York. I don’t really care where, and from what you’ve said, you don’t either at this point. But you’re going to care. You’ll take classes and you’ll do well in them. Figure out what you’re good at, what you enjoy doing. Prepare yourself for a career. You’re not allowed to be a waitress. You’re too smart for that.”
She’s opening her mouth again, and I add:
“I know. My mom isn’t dumb. But she’s been dumb about life.”
“I was going to mention Nicole,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow. “I think Nicole acts as an argument in my favor.” I raise two fingers. “Two: you can’t stop driving.”
She relaxes with this one. “I drove here, actually.”
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about cars. I’m talking about life. I won’t be there to hold your hand, to kiss you and make it all better. I’ll be dead, and you’ll be alone. You have to promise not to hide. To do things, even if you’re afraid. Do them like I taught you: one step at a time.”
Erica frowns, thinking about this. Her whole face is slack. I know she’s picturing what it would be like without me. Finally, she nods.
“And number three.” I pause, trying to figure out how to word this. “I want you to promise to live, Erica. I want you to live a life that’s big enough for the both of us. I want—I want you to grow old and fat and happy, and if that means forgetting about me, that’s okay. But you have to live the kind of life that would make me proud. The kind of life we should have had together. If you can’t do that, the whole deal’s off.”
She looks up at me, her eyes glassy with tears. Her mouth trembles when she says, “I promise.”
“What do you promise, Erica? I need to hear you say it. To know that you understand.”
She takes a deep breath. “I promise to live my life as fully as I would live my life if we were together.”
I nod. Then I put out my hand. “Shake on it?”
She looks at my hand. She doesn’t move hers. “I have a condition, too,” she says.
“I thought I already agreed to the condition. I’ll take treatment.”
“That’s not enough. Yes, I promise to live my life without you. But you’ve got to promise to fight to be there with me. As much as you can. All this talk about how you’re certainly going to die. It’s not certain, not yet. I refuse to believe it, and you can’t believe it either. So if I’ve got to promise to act under the assumption you’re going to die, you have to act under the assumption you might live.” She puts out her hand. “Deal?”
I take in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. My body feels so tired. It feels ready to give up already. I look into Erica’s eyes, seeing them welling up with tears as she holds out her hand, her fingers shaking.
And I know I’ll try. I want to steal every moment of life I can to be with her.
“Deal,” I say, and shake her hand. And because I’m not ready yet to let her see me cry, I pull her close into a hug. It feels so wonderful to be holding her again, to be with her after I thought I’d never see her again. I realize I’m not ready to say good-bye. I kiss her face, first her cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears. Then I find her mouth, and we meet, desperately, two souls pulled apart by circumstances, struggling to stay together.
I’ll try, Erica. I’ll try for you.
We manage to call Adam’s mother before she has gotten too far out of town. It turns out she drove here from San Diego, nonstop, and was planning to do the same for the return trip. Only when I called, she was still nearby at a diner on the outskirts of town. And I get the feeling that she was waiting to leave until I had talked to Adam. Even though I hadn’t told her I would.
Anyway, I am on my way out of the hospital, trying to get home to change and maybe take a shower before she gets back, when I literally bump into someone in the hallway. I am too wrapped up in my head to stop in time, and run right into Levi.
We both startle back, and realize who the other is.
“Levi!” I say in surprise.
He looks flustered. I am apparently the last person he expected to see here. Then I realize that he doesn’t know about Adam yet.
“Erica. Where have you been? I came back from work and you were both gone. I got your message and tried calling, but kept getting voicemail.”
I realize Adam must have just sent every call to voicemail before I arrived. When we called his mom just now, it was on his phone, but he dialed and handed it to me, and I was so overwhelmed I didn’t think of Levi after.
He’s waiting for me to explain, and the thought of telling him about Adam in the middle of the hallway, in passing, seems disrespectful. I guide him over to a waiting area, and we sit down together. I take a deep breath. Then I say it.
“Adam has lung cancer,” I say, unable to meet his eyes. I can maybe get through this without crying if I don’t have to see his eyes, his reaction. “He collapsed after our drive to the beach. His mother is in town now, and…”
I feel Levi’s hand on my shoulder, and I lose my defenses. I start to cry. Levi leans over and surrounds me in a massive bear hug. If I weren’t so broken up about Adam, I’d probably have felt really uncomfortable. But right now I feel the opposite. An all-encompassing hug is what I need.
I regain myself and pull back, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
“I had no idea,” Levi says.
I shake my head. “I didn’t either. He didn’t tell anyone.” I take in a shuddering breath. “But he’s going to start treatments now. He’s going to get better.”
I stare ahead, wondering if I’m lying to myself. I feel Levi put his hand in mine, and I squeeze back gratefully. Then I look over at Levi, and something occurs to me.
“Levi,” I say, “if you didn’t know about Adam, what brought you to the hospital?”
Now it’s Levi’s turn to look away. “You know old lady Eliza Burnside? The one with the big motorcycle and the dog?”
“Yes,” I say.
“She’s got laryngitis. It’s pretty bad.”
I don’t know how to react. I feel sorry for the woman, but I’m still too wrapped up in the Adam situation to have a proper reaction.
“It’s all the rain,” Levi continues. “She’s been riding around in it.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say. Then, “I’m sorry.”
Levi nods. “She doesn’t have much family anymore. I only found out because she had the hospital call the shop. She needs someone to look after the General.” Then he adds, “That’s her dog.”
“I remember,” I say.
“But I thought I’d check up on her myself.” He looks up at me, an ironic s
mile on his face. His eyes are so open, so sad, that I realize I’ve completely misjudged Levi. “I’d like to visit Adam while I’m here, if you think he won’t mind.”
“I’ll have to ask,” I say, “but I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”
I really, really hope that’s true.
Levi and I exchange numbers before we part ways. I make a quick trip home, driving my dad’s car, and take a much-needed shower. When I get out, my mother makes me eat something before I head out again.
“It’s cold and wet out there,” she insists. “You have to keep up your strength.”
I nod, thinking of Eliza. Then, after a quick sandwich, it’s back to the hospital. As I pull up, I think of Conner. I was brought to this same hospital after the accident. Now I’m here for Adam. Levi’s here for Eliza. And I wonder, is there any good reason to go to a hospital?
Rachel is already back and in Adam’s room. I walk in to find them sitting in silence. Not a calm silence, but the type of angry moment right after a fight.
But Adam’s eyes soften when he sees me, and I go up to kiss him as I walk in.
“You look great,” he says.
On reflex, I’m about to say he does too, but the truth is, he looks spent. The lighting in the room is fluorescent, which only accentuates his paleness. His eyes look shadowed and hollow, and the plastic tube that runs up his nose and the ugly pattern of the hospital gown make him look terribly pathetic. He looks sick and hurt, and I want to hold him until he’s better.
“Erica,” his mother says, standing up, “can I speak to you for a minute?” She motions outside.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Adam, and I follow Rachel out the door and around the corner.
As soon as we stop, she hugs me. It’s not the huge hug that Levi gave me. Rachel is smaller and her frame is bonier, but it’s a tight, insistent hug nonetheless. “Thank you,” she whispers into me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I don’t say anything, just hug her back, feeling a little awkward. Eventually she pulls away, her eyes moist with tears, and she sniffles.
She looks at me a moment, her face growing serious. “You give him a purpose,” she says. “He would be dead within a week if it weren’t for you.”
My stomach flips at this statement. I can’t think of Adam dead.
“But if he’s going to make it, he’ll have to start treatment immediately,” she says. “I’ve already been talking with his oncologist. The hospital sent over his scans, and he’s agreed to go ahead with emergency surgery next Tuesday. That should give us enough time to get him there.”
I blink, confused. “Get him there?”
“San Diego,” she says, and then she explains. “Our insurance will cover most of the costs, but only if we do it in network. We can’t afford to treat him here.”
San Diego? How will I see him? I start to panic, running my hands through my hair. I can’t lose him now.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rachel says, and she starts rubbing my shoulders. “Take it easy. You’ll be coming, of course.”
I look at her, and she smiles. It’s a warm, motherly smile. She takes both my hands in hers.
“Come live with me,” she says. “Adam needs you near him. He won’t make it without you.”
I look at her, and the logistics of a move to a strange place make all of this feel suddenly real. I’ve never been to San Diego before. I’ve never lived anywhere but Astoria.
But then I think of Adam, and the choice is easy.
“Yes,” I say, finding my strength. “I would like that, very much.”
“Great,” she says. “We’ll pack up tonight and head out tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.” I say it’s okay even though I’m reeling at how quick this all is. But I know it’s the right choice. “Okay, I’ll pack tonight. We can stop by Levi’s to pack Adam’s things too.”
She looks at me blankly for a moment, and I explain that Levi is who Adam was staying with.
“Actually, I’m sure Levi would like to say good-bye. He and Adam were good friends.”
She nods, and then hugs me again.
“No matter what happens,” she says, “I will always be grateful for you, Erica. You saved my son. You saved my son.”
*
It doesn’t take me long to pack. It takes much longer to work up the nerve to tell my parents that I’m leaving—and leaving right away.
I set my suitcase in my room and go downstairs to find them sitting together on the couch. My dad has his arm around my mom, and she’s leaning her head on his shoulder. It shocks me for a moment, seeing them so close. I’ve barely seen them in the same room this past year, let alone acting like newlyweds. There’s a drowsy, content silence to the room.
I feel almost as if I’m intruding.
I clear my throat as I enter, but my presence seems to startle them nonetheless.
“Erica,” my father says. His arm lifts away from my mother, as if I’ve caught them doing something wrong. He must realize how silly this is, because after they both sit up a little, he puts his arm back around her shoulder.
My mom is watching my face. She must sense that I have come to tell them something. She studies me as I sit down in the chair opposite from them. She’s preparing herself, and I know what she’s expecting: that Adam is dead.
“I have some news,” I say. It’s an unnecessary preamble, but it feels too rushed to simply say I’m leaving. “Adam has decided to start treatment.” My mom starts to talk, but I keep going quickly, and she quiets. “His mom and I agree that it would be better for Adam if I’m there for him. Especially since he’s really only undergoing treatment so that he can be with me.”
My father’s eyes look away so he can take this in. My mom’s eyes hold steady on me. She’s anticipating a catch. That this isn’t the real news yet.
“Where will he be getting treatment?” she asks.
I have to give my mom credit. She’s a smart woman. “California,” I say, meeting her eyes. “San Diego. He has to be there to be covered by his mom’s insurance.”
My mother keeps her eyes on me, and takes in a deep breath. My dad looks to my mom. His reaction will be based on whatever she decides.
My mom breathes out. “Go,” she says. “You should be there for him.”
“I have to leave soon,” I say, making sure she understands. “Really soon. Tomorrow.”
My dad’s eyes widen a little, but he keeps his mouth shut. My mother only nods.
When it seems like no one is going to say anything, I ask, “Are you going to be okay, Mom? I know you’ve been through a lot—”
“Don’t worry about me,” she says, her voice cross. “Live your life.” She puts a hand on my father’s. “I’ll be fine.”
My father nods. “We’ll both be fine. We want you to be happy.”
This is going better than I would have guessed. My parents have completely transformed this past week, and now it seems they are both intent on making up for lost time.
I look at my dad. “It will mean saying no to Columbia.”
I can see the disappointment on his face as he realizes this, and then his expression grows stubborn as he shakes the regret away. “You said yourself that it wasn’t where you wanted to go. And if you decide you’d like to later, well, you can reapply.”
“I’ll be taking classes,” I offer. “In San Diego. I have to fill out the application, and since it’s so late it’ll be at a community college at first. But Adam’s made me promise to go to school somewhere. To…”
To have a back-up plan. I can’t say it though.
My mom sits up suddenly. “Tomorrow? You said you were leaving tomorrow? Do you have clean clothes? How are you getting there?”
I sit with them a little more, answering their questions, reassuring their concerns. It feels almost suspiciously normal, given the circumstances. In a way, it would almost be easier to leave if I didn’t like them right now. But their support makes me miss them already. And I realize how litt
le I know Rachel. How alone I’ll be in a new city.
Then I think of Adam—not just being with him, which is comforting in itself, but what he’ll be going through. My minor fears about getting used to a new place to live seem petty in comparison. They’re almost comforts compared to the huge, elephant-in-the-room fear I hold: that Adam might not make it.
I spend the rest of the day with my parents. My mom goes over my luggage and insists I pack a few warmer pieces, just in case, and adds some items to my toiletry bag.
“Sunscreen,” she insists. “You’re used to clouds and rain. Your fair skin has never really seen the sun.”
We have lasagna and garlic bread for dinner, my parents working together in the kitchen. The house feels warm and alive in a way that it hasn’t since Conner died. I tell myself he’d want me to go. He’d want me to be happy.
Before bed I make some phone calls—first to Rachel, to arrange our plans for the morning. We’re setting out bright and early, and I want to be sure we’re all prepared. Then I call Levi. He’s dropped off Adam’s things at Rachel’s hotel. “It won’t be the same without Adam around,” he says. “It’s a good thing I’ve got the General to keep me company now. Otherwise the house would be too lonely.”
Then third, because I knew it would be the longest call, I call Adam.
“You’re incredible, you know,” he tells me. “You make me feel lucky.”
We talk about everything but cancer: the hospital food, what to expect weather-wise from San Diego, tips on not letting Rachel talk too much.
“She’s a waitress. It’s her job to be social. If you let her start, she’ll just keep going and going.”
After we say goodnight, I plug in my phone on the charger. I look around my room, the warm light of my lamp making the space look small and dear. My desk, my mirror, my bed. I’ve got so many memories in this space: sleepovers with Nicole, that time Conner spilled red nail polish all over my desk by accident, and then later how I was glad he did, as it gave me something to remember him by after he was gone.
Then there were moments that only I know: the way it felt to wake up here in the morning, getting ready in front of the mirror, working on school projects past midnight.
