Make It Last

by Megan Erickson

  He sighed and pulled his phone out of the glove box. He could just let her sleep. Nothing was changing overnight, right?

  Oh God, what if she changed her mind?

  He thunked his forehead on the steering wheel and groaned. There was no missed call, no text message. Nothing. So she was either torturing him on purpose or it was bad news.

  By the time he got home, he was fuming and assumed she was torturing him. Because he’d rather be pissed off than depressed.

  He didn’t shower like he always did when he got off work. He signed right into Utope, planning to leave a flaming bag of shit on her door or a severed horse head in her bed. Go big or go home on the revenge, right?

  But when he signed into Utope, he saw Tate had been in several hours ago. In the game, there was a note on the kitchen table. He clicked on it.

  I know you’re mad I didn’t call. Probably want to put a bag of flaming shit on my doorstep, don’t you? Well, before you get the lighter, check out the bedroom.

  Love, T

  He’d actually already grabbed the lighter so he put that back in a kitchen drawer and walked his little avatar body to the bedroom.

  And when he opened the door, he swore his eyes in real life got misty, or maybe that was from staring so hard at the television screen. Because Tate had found posters in the game and plastered the walls of the bedroom of their house with them. The Empire State Building. Central Park. A Lion King Broadway advertisement. 30 Rock. Macy’s. And more iconic New York City landmarks.

  He spun his avatar in a circle, checking out all the posters.

  And then Tate sauntered out of the adjoining bathroom, wearing an I <3 NY shirt. And Cam started laughing. He clicked for his avatar to laugh, and then the room filled with two deep chuckles.

  Chapter 16

  CAM TONGUED THE corner of his mouth as he filled in his spreadsheet on the computer. He loved spreadsheets. Everything all nice and orderly and color-coded. His roommate in college, Alec Stone, had shown him the genius of spreadsheets and Cam had been hooked ever since.

  This spreadsheet was organized with possible apartments for his mom. He had columns for security deposit, estimated utilities cost, insurance and on and on. If he was out of state, he wanted to make sure she was in a place she felt comfortable and could afford. Of course, he’d be sending her money. Every month. Like clockwork. She was Ma.

  He liked the complex called Nichol Way Estates. An available apartment was on the first floor and she could look out her kitchen window every day and see a small flower garden courtyard. She loved flowers, especially peonies, so he’d make sure they had a peony tree or bush or whatever the hell those things were.

  He’d officially accepted the job that morning. With a fancy e-mail to his new boss. That was still a weird word to say. Boss. Every time he thought about, his stomach flipped with nervous excitement. He had a future, doing what he loved, with the girl he loved. He wondered how the hell he got so lucky.

  His phone rang and he picked it up with one hand while typing with the other, because he had one more column to fill. He jammed the phone in between his ear and shoulder so he could still type with two hands. “Hello?”

  The first sounds on the other end of the line were breathless, like the person was breathing hard, then, “Cam.” It was Jamie’s voice.

  Cam reached up and grabbed the phone, pressing it to his ear. “Yeah, what’s up? Why are you out of breath?”

  “I need your help, man.”

  “Of course, whatever you need.”

  “It’s . . . it’s Dad.”

  Only three words. But they were said with an unmistakable tone of dread. The oxygen sucked out of the room like a vacuum and Cam’s lungs gasped. He braced himself on the desk in front of him. “What happened?”

  Jamie’s voice was a little muffled, like he was looking around him. “He said he had chest pains and then collapsed. I don’t know what’s going on. We’re waiting for the ambulance right now.”

  “Is he conscious?”

  Jamie sounded like he sucked in a breath, and when he spoke, his voice was almost a squeak. “Sort of?”

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “I can’t get ahold of her.”

  Cam squeezed his eyes shut, because Jamie must be completely freaked, dealing with this all on his own. How he was holding it together this well was a mystery to Cam.

  “Okay, buddy. I’m on my way over, okay? Just—”

  “Oh, the ambulance just pulled up outside so—”

  “I’ll meet you at the hospital, and I’ll keep trying to get ahold of your sister.”

  When Jamie spoke again, his voice was steadier. “Great, great. Thanks, Cam.”

  “Glad you called me. Hang in there. See ya soon.”

  There was a muffled “Bye” and then the call disconnected.

  Cam called Trevor and told him he wouldn’t be in to work. Then Cam called Tate. Her phone went right to voice mail. He called the diner, and Margo said Tate and Anne had run a quick errand. It was unlike Tate not to have her phone with her, but he figured her guard was down now. This was a blow none of them had expected.

  He made it to the hospital in half the time it normally did, because he ran a couple of lights, and found Jamie in the emergency room waiting area. “Any news?” He slid into the seat beside Tate’s brother.

  “Last I heard, they’re admitting him. They told me they’d come out and tell me when I could see him.” Jamie’s eyes were huge, a little boy in a man’s face. “That’s not good. That they’re admitting him.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jamie hung his head. “Thanks for coming.”

  “ ’Course.”

  Jamie’s phone rang, and he fumbled in his pocket before pulling it out. He glanced at the caller ID, his eyes shooting to Cam’s when he answered. “Tate.”

  Cam could hear her voice on the other end, firing off questions. She must have listened to their voice mails.

  Jamie muttered a couple of words and then hung up. “She’ll be here soon.”

  Cam squeezed Jamie’s shoulder. “We all gotta be strong for your dad, all right? We can do this.”

  Jamie bit his lip and then nodded. “Okay.”

  WHEN TATE BURST into the waiting room, she saw Cam sitting with her brother. His arm was around Jamie’s shoulders as Jamie slumped forward, his clasped hands smashed against his forehead between his legs.

  Cam was talking in low tones, his fingers rubbing slow circles on her brother’s shoulder.

  She filed that away in the back of her mind, Cam’s attention to her family. How he’d make an amazing father.

  But today was about her father.

  Cam looked up and saw her, then he patted Jamie’s back. Her brother nodded and raised his head, giving Tate a watery smile.

  She couldn’t return it. Not now. When she didn’t know if her dad was okay.

  Cam stood up and held his arms out. And all she could do was run into those arms and burrow into Cam, as deep as she could go.

  He squeezed her tightly and pressed kisses on the top of her head. “We’ll figure this out, Tate. It’ll be okay.”

  Cam pulled back and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, marring the tear tracks she could feel on her skin. “A nurse came out a little bit ago, letting us know the doctor will be out soon to give us an update, okay?”

  She nodded and turned to Jamie, who’d stood up beside Cam. She grasped him in a hug and he squeezed back, his breath hot along her temple.

  When the diagnosis had come, Jamie had been a few inches shorter than her. He’d clung to her as she smoothed his shaggy hair off his thirteen-year-old face.

  But now the stubble along her jaw rubbed her forehead as he stood above her. His arms were longer, his chest broader.

  When had he grown in to a man? How had she missed this?

  “No ice cream in the bathtub this time,” he said quietly.

  “I even had moose tracks in the freezer for you.”


  He chuckled softly as her head bounced off his chest. “When we get home. I think we still have some of that chocolate that hardens when it gets cold.”

  “And waffle cones.”

  “And rainbow sprinkles.”

  She started crying again then, wishing they were back at home, arguing over the umpire’s strike calls. Tate curled up on Cam’s lap. Jamie in the corner of the sofa so he could reach his dad in the armchair for good-natured shoulder punches.

  Jamie’s grip tightened and she was jostled as a solid heat warmed her back. She took a shuddering breath as the tears slowed, and she relaxed in a cocoon of the two most important men in her life other than her father.

  Eventually, they migrated to the chairs, Cam and Jamie beside each other, Tate sitting on Cam with her legs over Jamie’s lap. She wasn’t sure how long they sat there. At one point, someone force-fed her a granola bar and poured water down her throat. But the food tasted like cardboard and the water did nothing to settle her stomach.

  Eventually a doctor came out and explained that her father had recently been put on a new medication and he’d had a negative reaction.

  “So what does that mean?” Tate stood on wobbly legs. A strong arm rested on her lower back, supporting her more than she wanted to admit.

  “Well,” the doctor said, brushing her hands over her white coat. “We need to keep him for a little and run some tests. Make sure this isn’t a symptom of a larger problem.”

  “Did you do a blood test yet? How are his white blood cells?” Jamie asked.

  “We’re waiting for the results.”

  “Can we see him?” Tate reached for Cam’s hand and exhaled when he linked his fingers with hers. The doctor nodded and motioned them back. She eyed Cam, who clearly wasn’t family, but Tate set her face and plastered herself to his side. The doctor tipped up her lips and didn’t object.

  Hospitals were always described by smell and while Tate hated the smell, it was the sounds that she despised the most. The squeak of the nurses’ shoes, the swish of paperwork, the beep of machines, the soft voices. All of it grated on her nerves until every one felt raw and exposed. She wanted to yell, or blast music, or something. Anything to get rid of the weird faux silence that surrounded her.

  And this reminded her of when her father was first diagnosed. When she gripped the hand of a thirteen-year-old Jamie and felt like she was on an out-of-control roller coaster.

  Part of her didn’t want to admit it, but her hand in Cam’s steadied her. She finally felt like she could maybe make it through whatever life tossed at her next.

  Hospital beds always had a way of making the person in them seem pale and small. She hated that. Plus she was tired of seeing IVs in her dad’s arms. He bruised so badly now.

  “Hey guys.” He smiled at them. “Sorry for the scare.”

  “You better apologize.” Jamie sat at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to let your ice cream melt just for freaking us out.”

  Their dad smiled at them and then turned to Tate. “Hey baby.”

  Tate scrunched her lips to the side, resisting the urge to wail at seeing her father in a hospital bed again. “Hey Daddy.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I know.”

  He reached his hand out, the one that wasn’t attached to the IV, to shake Cam’s hand. “Glad you’re here.”

  Cam smiled. “Me too.”

  He leaned his head back on the pillow. “Lunch was a cold chicken sandwich.”

  “Ew.” Jamie wrinkled his nose.

  “Get me a burger?”

  “No.” Tate pointed a finger at both the men in her family. “Dad, you’ll eat what they tell you to while you’re here. When you get out, I’m sure Anne will make you something fancy and calorie-laden.”

  “I feel fine. I can go home now.”

  “Nice try, Dad.”

  He snorted. “It was a weak effort.”

  Jamie picked at the sheet. “They think it’s just the medication, though. You should be fine.”

  The “should be” hung in the air between them. Hovering. Waiting. They all saw it but no one wanted to acknowledge it. Cancer had knocked her dad down several pegs but it’d never once dimmed his light. Not when his hair thinned and not when chemo made him puke up water.

  Tate sat on the edge of the bed near her father’s hip and leaned down, wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  He hugged her back, and she could feel slight tremors in his arms. She hugged tighter.

  They stayed with him for another hour or so, leaving the room occasionally to get snacks at one of the hospital’s many delis.

  Her father was in good spirits, making jokes. Although sometimes a tenseness would pass over his face, and his lips would tighten, which made Tate nervous. But then in an instant it’d be gone.

  But when the doctor walked in, her shoes barely making a sound on the tile floor, and announced the results of the blood test were back, her face was carefully blank. Tate’s stomach slammed into her shoes.

  There were numbers and words coming from the doctor’s mouth, which Tate at one time had studied like crazy so she knew every bit of her father’s illness.

  She thought they were done with those. That the last round of chemo had been it. She’d happily wiped that area of her brain clean so it was ready for some other type of information.

  Which she shouldn’t have done. Because these numbers were back, and Jamie was crying. And her dad’s face was pale. And Cam looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

  And Tate? Tate felt . . . numb. Like she was floating above the room, listening to someone else hearing that their father’s cancer was back.

  This wasn’t her life. In her life, her father had beaten cancer, and Jamie was maturing and she was off to start a life with her soul mate in New York.

  But then she made eye contact with Cam, and the devastation was written all over his face. He didn’t even try to hide it. And that’s when her bubble popped, and she slammed back into her body.

  Because this, right here in the hospital room, this was her life.

  She raised her chin and straightened her spine. This time, damn it, this time she wouldn’t let it defeat her. She wouldn’t crumble in this sanitary prison. She’d stay strong for her dad and she’d meet this head-on. And she’d break down and mourn her selfish thoughts in private.

  Because she couldn’t leave her dad. There was no way around it. She didn’t want to leave him, no matter if he had six months or six years left. The doctor was talking treatment again, but he seemed less confident this time around. She wanted as much time with her dad as she could get. She wanted to soak in his presence and learn all the lessons she still needed to learn.

  There’d be no New York for her.

  She stood up and walked to her father’s bedside, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

  His face was turned away, toward the window, as if he could lessen the blow of the doctor’s words if he didn’t meet them head-on. And then he met her eyes, and all she saw was defeat.

  “So it’s back,” he said quietly.

  She smoothed his thinning hair off his forehead. “It is, but we’ve been here all along. And we’ll always be here.”

  He must have known then what she was saying. Because his eyes welled up. Then Tate’s vision blurred and she turned around to allow herself to be wrapped into Cam’s arms.

  Jamie’s voice murmured behind her to their father.

  She clung to Cam, burrowing his face in his chest while one of his hands glided up and down her back.

  They didn’t stay the night. Her dad insisted they go home. Mostly, Tate was glad. She needed to be home and have the time to process the news.

  Cam stopped her with a loose grip on her biceps before she walked out of the doors of the hospital. “Do you want me to come home with you?”

  She looked at Jamie, who shuffled his feet, eyes on the glass doors of the hospital to the night sky outside. S
he wasn’t sure how much time she had left with Cam. And the news hurt him too. She could read it all over his face. If she really thought about it, all she wanted was to go home and fall asleep in Cam’s arms.

  She looked up into his dark eyes. “Could you?”

  Relief softened his features as he nodded. “I’ll follow you in my truck.”

  She drove home with Jamie in the passenger seat in silence. No radio or anything. Like they both needed time to clear their heads.

  When she turned onto their street, she felt a light touch on her arm. She looked over at Jamie. In the dark light, his expression was hard to read. Then that light touch migrated toward her hand. She took it off the steering wheel, and he linked his fingers with hers. He squeezed, and she squeezed back.

  “You’re not leaving anymore, are you?” His question wasn’t a plea. It was more of a statement than anything.

  She didn’t dare speak, just shook her head.

  Jamie made a sound, like a small sob. “I’m sorry.”

  She squeezed his hand again. “We’ll do it right this time. Spend as much time together as we can. Okay?”

  Jamie nodded. And she let go of his hand so she could put her truck in park.

  Cam’s headlights cut across the front of her house as he pulled into her driveway. Jamie stepped out but she sat at the steering wheel, staring at her house until Cam opened her door for her, unbuckled her seat belt and led her into the house.

  She wasn’t sure what came next. He helped her out of her clothes and shoved a toothpaste-laden toothbrush into her mouth. Slipped a pair of pajama cotton shorts up to her hips and a big T-shirt over her head. Then she was in bed, wrapped in Cam’s arms. She hadn’t shed a tear yet. Not one.

  She rolled into Cam, who wore only a pair of boxers, and ran the tip of her nose along the side of his neck. She walked her fingers up each rib, along the grooves of his stomach, tracing the cut muscles at his hips.

  He made a sound in the back of this throat, gripping her arm. She felt a slight push, but she wouldn’t let him dislodge her. She wouldn’t let him turn her down. She opened her mouth and latched on to his neck, sucking the smooth skin and humming. The pressure on his arm eased and when she added a nip of teeth, he relented, his motion switching directions, and now he was pulling her tighter to his body.