by Ali Novak
“He’s a busy guy, Drew,” I said. “He probably didn’t have time to hang out and play cards.” I knew I was being short with Drew, but I didn’t want to explain my relationship problems to my brother. Not that there was a relationship to have a problem with since Oliver and I were over.
The thing was, even though I found comfort in knowing the truth about what had happened between us, and despite the fact that I’d forgiven Oliver, I still felt heavy on the inside whenever I thought about him. Before he ruined us, I’m fairly positive that I was on my way to loving him, and that wasn’t a feeling that would disappear overnight. It would linger in my heart for a while, and that was something that I would have to deal with. But not right now. Not here in this moment with Drew, and most definitely not when I had more important issues to wrestle with, such as my sister’s health.
“I guess you’re right,” he said.
“But?” I asked.
He rubbed his chin. “Dunno. I thought maybe there was something going on between you two.”
“Are you asking if we’re dating?” I narrowed my eyes. “’Cause we’re not.”
“Okay,” he said and held up his hands. “I was just wondering.”
After that, Drew slumped back into his seat. He looked worn out, which, after everything, was not surprising, but what bothered me was the look in his eyes. Or maybe it was a lack of a look, his eyes dull and distant.
“Drew,” I said, my mouth suddenly parched. “Are you okay?”
He took a moment to respond. “Yeah,” he said at last, but his expression was still slack.
“You don’t seem like it,” I told him.
“You know,” Drew said, rubbing his face, “you can be a real pain in the butt sometimes.”
“It’s my specialty,” I said and pressed my lips together into a tight line. He wasn’t going to joke his way out of this one. “Just tell me.”
“Fine.” He tipped his head back on his neck and stared up at the ceiling instead of looking at me. “I guess it’s just—I can’t help but think that this is her last chance.”
“What?” I asked with a frown.
“Cara’s,” he clarified, a slightly faraway look clouding his eyes. “I’m afraid this is her last chance to get better.”
Oh. Drew had never been as positive about Cara’s recovery as she had been over the course of her illness—nobody was. But at the same time, he’d never openly expressed his fears, especially one as bleak as this. A few months ago, I’d been anxious about the same thing, and I braced myself for the cold, creeping feeling of dread that would most certainly infect my mind.
But it didn’t.
“Cara doesn’t need any more chances,” I said when I realized I wasn’t scared. “She’s going to be fine.”
Drew’s eyebrows scrunched together. “How can you be sure?”
“Because,” I said, “I just am.”
When I found out Cara’s first transplant had failed, I’d been terrified. I knew I should be now too, because there was no guarantee that this treatment would work, but my pulse and heart were steady. Drew was right—this was Cara’s last chance. But it didn’t matter. This time things were different. I couldn’t know for sure, but I could feel it.
• • •
Three weeks later we brought Cara home from the hospital. Her platelet, red, and white blood cell counts were still low, but the second transplant had been a success.
Although she was being discharged, Dr. Mitchell explained that Cara’s recovery would take a long time. It could be months before she started to get some of her strength back and, if her cancer didn’t relapse, it could take an entire year for her full health to return. During this time, there would be a huge risk of infection and Cara would have to visit the outpatient clinic on a regular basis so her progress could be tracked.
But there wasn’t anything Dr. Mitchell could say that would ruin my high of emotions—I was hyper and ecstatic and overwhelmed all at the same time, but more than anything I was relieved. Cara’s last chance had actually worked.
A few days after her official release from the hospital, the two of us were curled up in her bed watching a movie. Since she was still exhausted from her treatment, we spent a lot of time in her room. I didn’t mind; I’d always loved the scarlet walls, lacy gold pillows, and vanity covered in mounds of jewelry, makeup, and perfume. Every inch of space reminded me of my sister.
When the credits came on, Cara switched off the TV and turned to me. “So,” she started. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?”
I had yet to take off my hospital bracelet, and I slipped a finger under the plastic and spun it around my wrist. I liked fiddling with it. In black type was all my patient information: my full name, doctor, date of birth, and other important information the nursing staff needed to know. There was no reason for me to still be wearing it, but I’d grown attached—maybe because it was a reminder of what Cara and I had overcome together.
“It’s about Oliver,” she said. “I know what happened between you two.”
My entire body stiffened and I let go of the wristband. “What?” I asked. “How did you find out?” It wasn’t that I was purposely keeping the breakup a secret from Cara, but I figured the less I talked about it, the easier it would be to forget.
“He told me,” she said, her tone slightly tart. “After visiting you that day in the hospital he came to talk to me. I don’t know what was more shocking: actually meeting Oliver Perry or him breaking down and telling me everything. It was like he was still trying to apologize by admitting it all to me.”
“He did what?” I gasped. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Cara’s glare was glassy. “Oh, like how you gave me all the details about your breakup?”
Her comment stirred the guilt inside me with a jolt, and unable to face my sister, I tossed off the blanket and climbed out of bed. Cara was right. I should have told her about everything, from Oliver standing me up to his explanation and apology, because she shouldn’t have had to find out from him.
“Well, Stella?” Cara said when I didn’t respond. “No comment?”
“Okay,” I said as my cheeks started burning. “I should have filled you in on the whole thing, but between my donation and your second transplant, I figured we had enough to worry about.”
The sour look on her face dissolved as she sighed. “I get that, Stella,” she said. “I really do. You’re always looking out for me and I’m so grateful for that, but sometimes you have to let me look out for you too. That’s what sisters are supposed to do. Even if all I can be is an ear to listen, I’m here.”
“I know that,” I said, glancing down at the carpet. “Thank you, Cara.”
“Do you though?”
My head snapped back up. “Yes,” I said, looking directly at her. I could never forget what she’d been willing to sacrifice to give me my life back.
“Good,” she said with a crisp nod, “because this isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Oh great. There was a strange look on Cara’s face, like she was suddenly apprehensive about our upcoming conversation, and that made my stomach fluttery and uncomfortable. Unwittingly, I started to twist my nose stud between my fingers.
“All right,” I said. “What’s up?”
She bit her bottom lip before taking a quick breath and clearing her throat. “Do you miss him?”
Rather than answering, I focused my gaze out her bedroom window, because I didn’t want her to see how much that one question affected me. Across the street, the neighbor kids were playing on their front lawn. They were taking turns raking up the fallen autumn leaves and then jumping into a blazing pile of red, orange, and yellow.
Halloween was at the end of the month and their porch was already decorated for the holiday, a collection o
f pumpkins waiting to be carved, all lined up on the wooden steps. For a moment I wished I was out there with them, enjoying the last bit of nice weather before winter came.
“Stella?” Cara prompted me.
I sighed. Of course I missed Oliver. It was impossible not to. As hard as I tried to block him from my mind, he kept slipping in through windows and cracks. The cycle was vicious. I’d go a few days without thinking about him, but then I’d see the Heartbreakers posters in Cara’s room or hear one of their songs on the radio, and then all the memories and feelings I was keeping at bay would surge into me like I’d been plugged into an outlet.
There were so many things I missed about him, like his easy smile and how he ran his fingers through my hair. Most of all, I missed how being around him turned me into someone new, someone who was strong and confident and ready to take on the world. I was still that person now, but there was no doubt in my mind that if it weren’t for Oliver Perry and the Heartbreakers, my new self would still be trapped inside the older, scared version of me.
Minutes of silence lapsed before I could turn back around and face Cara. “Yes,” I finally said when our eyes met. “I miss him more than I should.”
“More than you should? What do you mean?”
“That moving on is hard.”
Cara was slow to answer, and she sat for a long while considering my response. “Did you ever consider,” she said hesitantly, “that you can’t move on because it’s the wrong thing to do?”
I sighed. “It would be nice to think so, but trust me, I’m doing the right thing.”
“How can you know that?”
For the past four years, I’d been preparing for my heart to be broken. I knew that Cara’s chance of survival was just as great as her chance of dying, and that was something I’d privately acknowledged but never spoken of. There was nothing I could have done to prepare for Oliver though—I never saw him coming.
When I’d been left heartbroken by him instead of my sister, the surprise was so crippling that I was still trying to pick up my shattered pieces. Yes, I’d forgiven Oliver. But was I willing to hand back over my heart when there were still a few cracks left to be sealed? Not a chance in the world.
“Because he hurt me, Cara,” I said. “Even if he’s sorry, there’s no guarantee he won’t do it again.”
Cara shook her head. “But there’s no guarantee about anything in life. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”
I knew she was trying to help me, but there was no way she could understand how it felt to have your heart fractured by someone you possibly loved. And beside, after all the pain and hardship of the past few months, I wanted to feel safe and whole again. Talking about this brought the hurt back up in stinging waves, and I took three deep breaths to curb my ache.
“You’re wrong,” I said, hugging my arms to my chest. “By letting him go, I’m guaranteeing that he can’t hurt me again.”
She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, but it didn’t matter because I could hear it in her words. “If you think it’s for the best, then fine,” Cara said. “But just so you know, it seems like you’re still in pain.”
Chapter 24
I woke up on Thanksgiving Day to a layer of snow outside my bedroom window. Only a few inches were on the ground, but they were enough to transform our lawn from a sea of brown grass to a pristine white blanket.
“Good morning,” my mom said when I wandered into the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee. “Happy Turkey Day!” She was standing at the counter with an apron on, already working on tonight’s feast. I frowned and looked up at the clock above the stove.
“Morning, Mom. Why are you cooking already? It’s only nine.” As soon as the question left my mouth, I realized what I’d just said. “Wait. Why are you cooking?” My mom’s lack of culinary skills had ruined many meals in the past, and suddenly I had an image in my head of the entire turkey on fire.
“Don’t worry,” said my dad. He was sitting at the kitchen table with his usual breakfast: half a grapefruit, a cup of green tea, and the sports section. “I’m cooking the bird. Your mother’s help is restricted to the mashed potatoes.”
“Drew won’t be happy,” I said. Potatoes were his favorite food at Thanksgiving. Luckily, mine was pumpkin pie.
“Hey!” my mom said, brandishing the kitchen beater in my direction. Chunks of potato fell from the silver blades and splattered on the floor. “Just you wait. These will be the best taters you’ve ever tasted.”
“Can’t wait,” I said. “Food poison is my favorite flavor of potato.”
I tried not to laugh at my own joke, but then I heard my dad’s deep, wheezing chuckle and I couldn’t contain myself. My mom pretended to look angry for a few seconds, but it wasn’t long before she cracked a smile too.
“So,” I said, once we all calmed down, “you never told me why you’re cooking so early.”
“Your sister requested we celebrate at lunchtime,” my mom said. “She has something going on later tonight.”
As Dr. Mitchell had warned, Cara’s recovery was a slow process. She was still fatigued most of the time, but she’d gained back enough strength to start taking daily walks on the treadmill, and last week we took a trip to the mall. But even though she was steadily getting better, I didn’t understand how or why Cara would leave on Thanksgiving, especially when we had so much to be thankful for this year.
“What? Where’s she going?”
My mom smiled, and it was one of those I-know-something-you-don’t grins. “Can’t tell you.”
Right when I opened my mouth to grill her further, Cara stepped into the kitchen still wearing her bathrobe and slippers. “Have you guys seen outside? It snowed!”
“Yeah,” Drew said, yawning as he appeared beside her. He’d come home from school late last night for the holiday. “I have a feeling I’m going to be the one shoveling the driveway.”
“Just look at it this way,” my dad told him, turning the page of his paper, “you’ll burn off all the fattening food we’re about to eat.”
Drew grumbled under his breath as he headed toward the coffeepot, and I turned back to Cara. “What’s going on tonight?” I asked her.
“That would ruin the surprise,” she said, her eyes lighting up with a glow of mischief. “You know how those work, right?”
It turned out my mom wasn’t the only one in on the surprise. Four hours, two plates of stuffing, and one piece of pie later, my siblings and I piled into Drew’s beat-up Honda Civic. I still had no clue what was happening or where we were going, but apparently Drew did.
“Here, put this on,” Cara said, handing me a blindfold as Drew turned on the car.
“Wait,” I said, glaring at him. “You get to know, but I don’t?”
“Don’t complain to me,” Drew said, backing out of the garage. “Cara’s the mastermind behind the plan. I’m just following orders.”
“Relax, Stella,” Cara told me. “This is supposed to be fun. You’ve done so much for me over the past few years. I’m only trying to repay the favor.”
“I don’t need you to repay me for anything,” I said, but I slipped the blindfold on anyway. She was clearly excited about whatever she was planning, and I wasn’t going to ruin that for her.
I did my best to pay attention to the route that Drew took. He turned onto the highway after leaving our neighborhood, and when the trip started to stretch into an hour-long drive, I knew we were heading to Minneapolis. After that, it wasn’t long before I felt the quick stops and sharp turns of Drew’s horrible city driving.
“Are we almost there?” I asked, fidgeting with the bandana over my eyes. I wasn’t normally the type of person who got carsick, but sitting in the backseat and not being able to see anything was making me nauseous.
“Don’t take that off,” Cara said and swatted my hand away. “We’ll be the
re in five.”
“I was only readjusting,” I said. “This thing is itchy.”
Five minutes turned into fifteen, so when Cara told me we’d arrived, I ripped off the blindfold and looked around. The last thing I’d seen was my house, so the stark change of scenery was disorientating, not to mention that it was dark outside. I blinked a few times as I looked around, but finally I realized we were at the Target Center. Drew pulled up to the valet parking, and one of the attendants approached the car.
“Are the Timberwolves playing tonight?” I asked as we stepped outside into the crisp winter air. I wasn’t a big basketball fan, so I didn’t understand why Cara would take me to a game.
“Nope,” Drew said as he handed his keys to the valet.
“Okay, so what’s the event?”
“A concert,” Cara said. Her face was already rosy from the cold, but she had a wide grin on her face.
“What con—” I didn’t finish my question, because that’s when I noticed the suspicious number of teenage girls streaming into the arena.
My head dropped back, and I stared up at the digital billboard above the Target Center’s front entrance. Smiling down at me were four familiar faces, and one in particular made my stomach roll.
It didn’t make any sense. The Heartbreakers’ tour ended back in September. What were they doing in Minnesota? Better yet—why did Cara think taking me to a show where I’d have to watch my ex perform was a good idea? Was this some last-ditch attempt to get us back together?
Ever since our talk about my decision to end things with Oliver, Cara had let me be. I knew she wasn’t happy with my choice, but she didn’t press the matter. Occasionally she’d ask me how I was feeling, but other than that, we didn’t talk about Oliver. Had she been planning this all along, letting me think she’d dropped the subject only so she could ambush me later?
Crossing my arms, I cemented my feet on the sidewalk and refused to move. “I’m not going.”
“You have to,” Cara said. “This concert? The guys are putting it on for us.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Explain. Now.”
