by Piper Lennox
I chew my cheek and study him.
Finally, I nod. “You’re right.”
Walt’s eyebrows lift.
My coffee’s cold, but I sip it slowly anyway, stalling. When it’s drained and I can tell Walt’s getting impatient for more info, I stare down into the mug and gather my words.
“But that’s for normal people. I’m not. I’ve got a clock.”
He presses his forehead to the tabletop. “Ry.”
“Even if this kidney works out,” I go on, “that gives me another...let’s say ten years, which is being generous, I think. Yeah, I could get lucky and get more than that. But I’m not going on luck, here. I’m going on facts. Then it’s back on dialysis until I find another one. Then another few years and the same thing happens all over again.
“So...yeah, I’m picky. But that’s because I’m looking for a woman who could be London’s mom even when I can’t be her dad anymore. Either because I’m too sick, or because I’m...because I’m gone.”
I pause, staring at the top of his head. Even that alone tells me he hates this conversation. But once the truth starts coming out, there’s no stopping it.
“And if this kidney doesn’t work out...I might get even less time. It took years for this one to come along. I mean, shit, they only found me a match because the donor was on drugs and nobody else wanted it.” The truth catches in my throat, barbed. Dr. Jefferson never disclosed Eden’s drug use to me, never said I was getting a kidney other doctors or patients wouldn’t touch. But after hearing Colby’s story, it wasn’t hard to figure out.
“If this one fails,” I add, “it could be years before I get another. If I ever do.”
Walt shakes his head, rolling it back and forth on the table. He doesn’t want to hear it.
But, hypocrite that I am, I’m going to make him listen.
“And if that happens, I don’t have time to look. My goal’s going to change. Instead of looking for London’s stepmom, I’d have to focus on just finding her some stability.” I chew my cheek again, until copper floods my tongue. “Even if it’s not with me.”
Walt turns his head to the side, peeking. “What’s that mean?”
“I’d...I’d probably send her to live with Cassandra.”
“Cassandra?” Walt’s head snaps up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
My back hits the chair, like he’s slapped me. “What?”
“Cassandra,” he says again, venom in every syllable.
“What’s wrong with Cassandra?”
“What’s wrong with me?” His hands practically stab himself in the chest. “I’m good enough to raise the kid with you, but not on my own?”
“Walt.” I hold up my palms, glancing at the hall. I know better than to actually shush him, though. “It’s not like that. It—it’s just something I’ve thought about a lot, you know? I mean, when I was sick, that was so hard on her. If it happens again—”
“If it happens again,” he says, jaw squared, emphasizing the if, “then we’ll handle it. Just like we did—just like I did—the last time you were on dialysis. Even when you were too sick to leave your bedroom, and then the hospital, who took care of London? Actually, forget that—just this week, when you got the biopsy: who took care of her then? You can’t—”
He sits back against his seat, deflated. The water in eyes scares the hell out of me.
“You can’t just take her away from me.”
My explanation dries up inside my mouth. I rest my hands on the table and listen to the air conditioner click on.
“Walt,” I manage, after what seems like hours with us sitting here, staring at the paper doll he threw, “I didn’t mean to.... It wouldn’t be something I was doing to you. It’d be for you. So you wouldn’t have to have your life disrupted like that.”
“Disrupted?” His laugh sounds so strangled, I feel my breath pick up in some sympathetic response. Eighteen years. I’ll probably always feel whatever he feels, to some extent, even when I wish I wouldn’t. “I chose to move in here with you guys, remember? What did it disrupt—getting wasted every night? Blowing my money on bullshit?” He lifts his shirt collar over his face, wiping his eyes before dropping the fabric. “Taking her out of my life would disrupt it. No, fuck that—it’d break it into a million fucking pieces.”
I don’t go after him when he leaves. He’ll come back soon. He always does.
“And another thing,” he shout-whispers, bursting back from the hall a few minutes later, “why would you send her away before you’re even dead? You wouldn’t want to spend your last days with her?”
“I wouldn’t want her last memories of me to be when I’m...not me,” I whisper.
Walt nods, even that motion somehow sarcastic. “Right. But you packing her up and sending her away to live with a woman she basically only knows from a distance—that’s a great last memory, huh? Feeling totally unwanted?”
I stare at the wall past his head. Thinking of the day my mom left.
“Low blow,” I mutter.
“But appropriate,” he counters. “Ignoring the fact that none of this has happened yet—that you might get the biopsy results back and find out everything’s fine, false alarm—I just can’t fucking believe you didn’t think I’d want to raise her.”
“You never said you wanted to.”
“It’s called subtext, Ry.”
“I’m so tired of people thinking things are ‘obvious,’ using that as an excuse not to be direct.” Colby’s voice rings through my head, suddenly.
Suddenly, I get it.
Even when you’ve known someone most of your life, it’s impossible to know everything they’re thinking. You can still say stuff the wrong way. It’s still hard to be completely honest.
“I love her, too,” Walt finishes. He wipes his face again, cursing into the fabric.
“You think you’re the only one that loves that kid.”
“I’m sorry, Walt,” I say softly.
He shakes his head, cursing again as he stomps down the hall to his bedroom. After eighteen years, I know to expect this, as well: the best thing I can do is give him his space for a little while. In an hour or two, he’ll be ready to forgive me. All I have to do is stay out of his way, maybe go for a walk.
And there’s only one place I can think to go.
Colby
“I can’t thank you guys enough.” I hug Georgia and put my hand on Clara’s shoulder behind her. “It felt so good sending my mom’s money back.”
“Bet the two-hour lecture afterwards didn’t feel so good,” Georgia quips, both of them laughing when I cringe.
Mom killed my phone from a full charge, she scolded me so long. After a lot of pretend listening, many promises to reschedule the flight so I can at least visit Kona in August, and a surprise endorsement from Dad in the background—“If she wants to stay out there, let her stay. She’s not borrowing from us, so we can’t stop her. Maybe it’ll work out”—we hung up with a tentative peace between us.
“I promise, I’ll pay you back every penny,” I tell the twins now, even crossing my heart for good measure. “The clinic in Solvang is bigger than Dr. Aurora’s, so I’ll probably earn more, too. I mean...assuming my interview goes well.”
“It will.” Georgia turns up the K-pop and dances into the kitchen, finishing up her prep work for the celebratory margaritas she was making when they presented me with the cashier’s check. Never mind the fact it’s not even noon yet. When you make your own schedule—or when you’re unemployed—happy hour gets a little more flexible.
“This is the most money I’ve ever seen on a check with my name on it.” I tumble onto the couch over the back, feet in the air. “I thought we agreed I’d only borrow one month’s expenses. This is, like, three times that.”
“We wanted you to know you’re welcome here,” Georgia calls, licking lime juice off her thumb, “no matter how long you have to mooch.”
Clara nods. “It’s what friends do.”
I sm
ile at them, folding the check into my pocket.
“Orion’s awake.” Clara lets the curtain fall back into place and grabs the manila envelope from the makeup desk. “Go!”
This is the first time I’ve seen her display emotion at an intensity that could rival her twin’s. They’re both giddy, hopping back and forth as I get up and grab my shoes.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I warn them. I hold the envelope in both hands and inhale, hold it, and exhale, my stomach turning. I’m excited and terrified. A preemptive margarita is tempting, but I open the door and step out before I can give in. Yes, this will be hard. Yes, I have no idea how it’ll go. But I want to be clear-headed and alert. Myself.
My stare keeps drifting to the envelope as I walk. I don’t even notice the person coming right at me until we collide.
“Shit, sorry,” I stammer, crouching to snatch up the envelope. The glimpse I catch before I stand reveals neon yellow Toms. “Oh, hey, Walt—”
It isn’t Walt. It’s Orion, giving a soft, unsteady smile as he helps me to my feet.
“Couldn’t find my shoes,” he explains. “I was kind of in a hurry.”
“Oh.” I feel my stomach drop to the asphalt. “Do you need to be somewhere?”
“Actually...” He pushes back his hair, clearing his throat. “...I was coming to talk to you.”
My laugh is about as sturdy as the plastic bag tumbling across the other end of the lot. “I was coming to talk to you.”
We stand there, toe to toe, like the day in his bedroom. It feels completely, wonderfully different, this time.
“I’ll go first,” he blurts, surprising me. “Uh...well, first: I’m sorry. For yelling at you, making you leave, all of it. I shouldn’t have done that. And...and you were right, about there needing to be a learning curve.” Slowly, he reaches for my free hand, slipping his fingers into the spaces between mine. “About me needing to give you that chance.”
I look between his eyes and think back to the day we met, how different he looked: haggard and pale and miserable. His eyes are the only thing that didn’t change. Then and now, I see the same silvery blue I stared into when he pleaded with me to do whatever I could to save that semi-adopted stray cat.
Behind him—as if the universe wants to remind me it does, in fact, have a sense of humor—I see Buttons leap from the upper deck of his building, onto a minivan and then down to the pavement. He whines his way over to us and nuzzles Orion’s legs, startling him.
I laugh, slip my foot out of my shoe, and scratch the cat behind the scar where his ear used to be. Two seconds later, he takes off after that plastic bag crinkling near the field.
“Thank you for apologizing,” I tell Orion, pulling my eyes back to his. Back into that cool, grayish blue, the color of the ocean here in Cali before a big storm. Even with my surfing days long gone, I love seeing clouds gather at the shore and thinking about how, in just a few days’ time, the same waves breaking on the beaches here might make it to Kona.
That’s the thing about storms and swells—silence and scars. You have no idea how far they’ll reach, or the impact they’ll have, when they first happen.
“I guess my little speech isn’t really necessary, anymore.” My laugh is awkward, but Orion’s smile, with his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he waits, spurs me on. “Maybe I should still say it, though.”
He glances at the envelope, confused, but waits.
“You said you’d give up anything to keep London safe,” I remind him. “To keep her happy. That she’s the most important piece of yourself, and you’d give up all the other pieces, if that’s what it took.” I wait until he nods before opening the envelope, sliding out the contents, and passing them to him. “Well—so would I.”
Orion’s lips move silently as he reads each piece of paper, brow creasing. He looks at me. “What is this?” he whispers. I can tell he already knows, but won’t dare let himself believe it. Not until I lay it out: the clear facts, the simple truth.
“It’s my compatibility panel.” My head’s swimming from the heat, from him. “For kidney donation.”
Orion’s Adam’s apple rises and falls as he reads the papers again.
And when he smiles, my mouth can’t help but do it back.
“I’m not a perfect match,” I add quickly, “but it’s close enough. If...if you ever need it.”
“Dr. Jefferson,” he says, pointing to the name on one of the papers. “How’d you—”
“Walt,” I say. In the tonal equivalent of duh.
“Colby.” He laughs, running his hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”
“For her.” I catch his hand before it can drop to his side and put my fingers back where they belong. “I love both of you, Orion. And this?” I step closer, looking down at the papers, then back to him. “This is nothing. Just one small piece. If I have to give it up to keep the other pieces safe, and happy...then I will.”
“It...it isn’t that simple, though,” he says, beginning to pull back. “Donor kidneys don’t last—”
“I know. Trust me, I’ve learned more about kidney transplants and timelines than I ever thought possible,” I interrupt, laughing. Weakly, he does, too. “And I don’t care. One year, five, ten.”
The closer I bring my mouth to his, the softer his breathing becomes.
“You love us?” he asks, one eyebrow up, like he’s testing me.
I feel my heart kick up at the sight of his head tilting, the feeling of his hands as one spreads across my hip and the other slides to my face, bringing me the rest of the distance as the papers flutter to the asphalt. “Wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
Before his lips touch mine, I pull back, just a bit. “And, uh...what about you?”
Orion smiles again. He brings his hand from my hip to the other side of my face, eyes sliding shut as he leans close.
A kiss, not words, in the middle of a parking lot in the middle of summer. It’s not the kind of answer I’d give. But it is just as straightforward, and brutally, beautifully honest.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Orion
“Don’t go.”
Colby groans as I wrap my arms around her waist again. In the buzz of the airport, I push my face into her neck and whisper all the things I’ll do to her if she stays.
“I can’t. Come on, I’m gonna miss my flight.”
Reluctantly, I let go and pass her the carry-on. “Have fun at your dumb wedding.”
“Thank you, I will.” She kisses my nose, a pathetic consolation. “And will you let this no plus-one thing go? Kai invited me with my parents. Same invitation. It’s not personal—they’re just inviting their families and a few locals.”
“He knows me, though!”
“He met you,” she corrects, touching the spot she just kissed with her finger, “once.”
I pretend to sulk. “I’m not inviting him to our wedding, then.”
“Orion,” she deadpans, hefting the bag onto her shoulder, “it took you ten months to ask me to move in with you. Don’t make me laugh.”
My arms slide around her again, pulling her body back to mine, exactly where it should be. “Promise you’ll call me as soon as you land?”
“Ooh,” she inhales, pretending to wince. “I already promised that time block to London for a video chat.”
“Fine. Go to Kona. Forget all about me.”
Her fingers slide into the hair at the base of my neck, finding my pulse and pressing down, until I relent and kiss her.
I don’t leave until she’s out of sight at the security point, her ponytail swinging in time to the sparkly pink unicorn keychain on her duffel bag—a last-minute parting gift from London.
Back in my car, I text Walt that I’m on my way. ABOUT TIME, he answers. ROYAL HIGHNESS IS GOING NUTS. WE’LL BE IN THE FIELD.
As soon as I pull into the complex, I hear London. Her voice can certainly carry. Maybe choir would have been a bette
r choice than soccer, but at least it burns plenty of energy.
I nod hello to Mark, who’s chugging water on an overturned recycling bin. We watch as, across the field, Walt demonstrates dribbling to a very pouty London. “How’s the off-season training coming along?”
“Catastrophic for Walt,” Mark smirks. “He’s already pulled a muscle. I’ll be hearing about that for days, I’m sure. But your girl scored four goals against me before the meltdown hit. She’s still upset about Colby leaving.”
“She’ll get over it.” By this time tomorrow, the four of us will be on a flight to Hawaii, scheduled to land right as Colby leaves the wedding reception.
Actually, the six of us.
“Walker!”
I shut my eyes and take my time turning to face the twins. “Yes, Georgia?”
“Why didn’t you tell us Colby was leaving so early? We didn’t even get the chance to see her off!”
“First of all, you’ll see her in less than twenty-four hours.” I push a log onto its side and offer it to them as a seat. “Second—if you guys came to the airport, Walt and London would’ve wanted to see her off, too.”
“He wanted to say goodbye in private,” Clara says calmly, nudging her sister as they sit. “Can’t blame him.”
Mark offers each of us a water from his cooler. I pass them out and add, “Exactly. It’s bad enough my little family vacation turned into a Myrtle Grove convention.”
“We are family,” Georgia yawns. “Deal with it.”
“We’ll stay out of the way when you guys want privacy,” Clara promises. Georgia rolls her eyes, but I give her sister a look of appreciation.
“Rain’s starting, you guys!” Mark shouts. “Let’s wrap it up!”
It takes a good twenty minutes to wrangle everyone into Walt’s apartment for dinner. London gives me a sweaty hug and throws a minor fit when I tell her to wash her hands, but I talk her down.
“Got a surprise for you, bug.”
