A Messy, Beautiful Life

by Sara Jade Alan

  There was a knock, and Mom checked that I was fully clothed before she opened the door and someone stepped beside her.

  “Jason?” I said, stupid with shock. I stuttered then managed to get out, “Mom, this is Jason Cooper. He does improv at Porter Township and had the party last night.”

  There was so much weirdness about this moment it was hard to keep it straight. What girl had to introduce her mom to the cute boy she’d just met? At a hospital? After getting scans for a tumor? I probably-not-so-covertly brushed my hand through my limp, greasy hair.

  Mom shook his hand. “Hi, Jason. It is so kind of you to check in on Ellie.”

  “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. And it’s my policy to check on all house guests who are rushed off to the hospital in ambulances.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave a firm nod.

  Mom stared at Jason oddly until the dry humor clicked. “Ah, yes, good policy.” Her eyes flickered between us, and then she gathered up her stuff. “I’ll just go make sure our release papers are in order and be back in a minute.”

  Jason thanked my mom and stepped further into the room. “Sorry. Did I get here at a bad time?”

  I just stared at him, jaw open, brain overloaded.

  “Should I go? I should go, I just…did you get my text? I had to see you.”

  Had to. A smile bubbled up. “No, don’t. Stay for a sec…if you can.”

  “So, are you okay?” He smiled, little creases forming around one side of his mouth, and I didn’t know what to say or how to explain. I’d been given zero answers.

  “Were you going to kiss me on the porch last night?” I blurted at him instead. The radioactive tracer has made me bold.

  “I, uh, wasn’t expecting that question.” He stepped closer, a mock-serious look on his face. “The better question is, did you think I was going to kiss you and therefore throw yourself down a flight of stairs?”

  I scoffed. “I can’t believe it. I’m in the hospital and you’re going to point out my lack of grace?”

  He laughed. “For the record, I’m not calling you graceless. I’m asking about your flight response, because I might have gone over it a few times last night…” His voice got so quiet that I could just make out the rest of his sentence under his breath. “When I didn’t sleep at all, thinking of you.”

  I internally and silently bounced and squealed. “Thinking about me?”

  “Well, first, obviously, I wondered if you were okay, but once Quinn let me know you hadn’t broken anything, I came up with the top five reasons you didn’t want to kiss me.”

  I smiled too big, heat filling my face. Trying to act calm, I asked, “So? Reasons?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Well, if you want to go there, um, one: Maybe I had beastly breath and so you threw yourself off the deck to escape me.”

  “No. Your breath smelled like sugar and sunshine.”

  “Hmm, specific. Okay, two: I opened up about my mother and freaked you out. So, you chose to jump down a flight of stairs to get away before I mentioned cancer.”

  My blood cells collided to a stop. “No, that wasn’t—wait, what do you mean cancer?”

  “That’s how Mom died. Stage four breast cancer.” He took a deep breath. “This hospital reminds me of her, actually. It’s where she was treated. Sorry. How are you? You never said what you’re still doing here?”

  “I…” I couldn’t tell him the details. No way. Not now. Tumor, biopsy, those words would remind him of his mom. My brain scrambled. “I…” I’ll get the results back and find out it’s nothing, and I won’t have to bring any of it up. “Nothing, really. They saw something on my bone in the X-rays that they needed to check out, and…anyway, I can go home now.”

  “Sorry, Ellie. If only I hadn’t tried to kiss you, none of this would have happened.”

  “No, no, I’m the idiot who stepped away from the cute guy instead of toward him.”

  “Cute guy, eh? I’ll take it.” He gave me his irresistible side-smile again and took my hand in his.

  “Uh, so what were you saying? Reasons? I believe you were on number three.”

  He looked up to the ceiling and then back at me. “My favorite reason: you were pretending to be pulse-stoppingly-pretty and hilarious and talented, with just enough weirdness to keep you interesting—but deep down you’re a heartbreaker who likes to entice boys from other schools and then leap out of reach just when they think they can go in for the kiss.”

  “Excuse me? Heartbreaker?” Pulse-stoppingly-pretty? He said pulse-stoppingly-pretty.

  “Four: you fell instantly in love with me but lost your courage, so you hurled yourself from great heights to get away.”

  “Whoa.” I laughed, my stomach feeling like Harold the goldfish was in there doing his freak-out laps. “So, you really think I’m hilarious?”

  “Out of all of that, that’s what you take away?”

  I shrug-nodded. Energy thrummed between our hands.

  I couldn’t resist asking, “What was the last reason?”

  “Number five. The hard facts: you really didn’t want to kiss me. But I can handle—”

  “Definitely not it,” I said softly.

  “Definitely not?” he asked, looking happy.

  “Definitely not.”

  “You know, it’s a funny thing about this room we’re in.” He pointed all around me, as if this was crucial info. “There aren’t any patios, stairways, or cliffs from which you could fling yourself right now.”

  “Huh.” I examined the room as if this was real news. “Interesting. Should I call you Sherlock?”

  “No. You should let me kiss you now.”

  He didn’t make a move at first. He held my gaze in a way that made it impossible for me to think of any more words to say. It was just like our moment onstage together, when we could read each other wordlessly. But this time, no audience. I don’t know who moved in closer first, him or me, or when, but there was definitely less space between us. His head leaned toward me, my chin tilted up. His other hand moved to gently touch my cheek as his lips finally, finally met mine. Gurneys and IV stands creaked and wheeled by outside the door. Names were announced over the intercom. Beeps emitted from medical monitors in some other room. It didn’t matter. My whole body was light and bubbly. And his lips felt amazing, more amazing that anything I could have imagined.

  Chapter Six

  The members of Las Palomas del Disco, the working title of our sketch for the Comedy Hub contest, were sprawled around Craig’s living room the Thursday night after Jason’s party, tasked with our different assignments. I was ignoring texts and phone calls from Mom and plotting how I could get Jason away from everyone else so we could continue what we’d started in the hospital. There were also the star shapes I was tracing, of course, but ignoring and plotting were my important tasks.

  Craig worked on his laptop and keyboard playing Una Paloma Blanca over and over again, its zippy snare beats and chirpy flutes filling the house. He’d found an instrumental version (karaoke saves the day) so he didn’t have to recreate the whole track, but he was adding a few of his own layers, plus the random dove coos featured in the Spanish version we’d loved so much.

  “Is it a bad sign I’m already sick of this sickly-sweet tune and it’s only our first session?” Hana asked in that clipped way of hers.

  “Maybe you could use some headphones, and spare-us the snare-us?” Owen suggested from his spot next to Quinn, organizing piles of gold spandex. We all groaned at the way he tried the spare/snare thing. I liked Owen, but he was punny.

  “If Craig has to suffer, we all suffer together,” Quinn said. “Anyway, I like the song. It makes me feel like I’m a butterfly flying around the Alps.”

  I stared at her, waiting for her to get it. “Or, say…a dove?”

  “In Spain?” Jason added. He was cutting a star out of glitter paper next to me, and he had a particularly charming way of holding scissors.

  A charming way of holding scissors? Maybe
there is a tumor in my brain.

  Quinn stopped her sewing machine, her face pensive. “No, I’m sticking with a butterfly in the Alps.”

  We all laughed.

  “I get what you’re all suggesting, I’m just saying, that’s how it makes me feel. And I like it.”

  “Craig, I can’t believe you live in a house by yourself. Is it awesome? Does your mom check on you a lot? How’d you pull that one off?” Owen asked.

  Craig shrugged. “I told her there was no way I was moving to bumble Wisconsin my last year of high school. That I was already eighteen and supposed to go off to college next year anyway, so if she was going it was without me. She agreed.”

  “Sweet,” Owen said.

  “Yeah, she said she’d come home every weekend, but she rarely does. Now she just sends a grocery delivery service. So, it’s the best of both worlds—all the food, none of the rules.”

  My heart broke a little for him, and for Jason, who was sitting next to me completely still, his head low. How cruel is the world that the good mom dies and the bad mom just voluntarily moves away?

  “What do you mean supposed to go to college?” I asked.

  “I want to do music. I’m doing music. Why start my life in debt when music is most likely never going to bring in enough cash to pay off student loans?”

  I opened up my mouth to argue. I’d always been focused on college, and I still wasn’t sure what I want to major in or do with my entire life. Craig was right—it didn’t really make sense for him. I kind of envied his assuredness. My world is officially upside down.

  Craig stopped the track. A second later, a different version of the same song started up, this one in English. “Owen, dude. This British guy from the seventies looks just like you.” Craig pointed at his screen, and we all dropped what we were doing to gather around his laptop.

  The singer doing the cover did look like Owen, with his reddish hair, thin face, and wire framed glasses.

  “This one might be even cheesier than the first,” Jason said.

  “And why are they singing all the words in English, except Una Paloma Blanca, which they’re saying with the most British accent possible?” Craig said. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe we should do this version and Owen can be this British guy?” Quinn suggested.

  We all paused and considered this.

  I shook my head. “This version is funny, but no one will know that this guy looks like Owen so that will be lost on the audience. I’ve been thinking about it, and instead of trying to have one of the guys look and act just like the tall, debonair Spanish singer, we should have Hana dress in drag and be the lead.”

  “I like it,” Owen said.

  “I have just the thing.” Quinn ran to the bin of props she’d brought and came back with a brown poufy man’s wig. She put it on Hana, and we all reveled in the glorious sight.

  Jason started nodding and slow clapping. “That’s it.”

  Hana said, “I’m down. Short Korean girls like me never get to be the lead. This is why I love comedy. But what about, um, my ladies.” She pointed to her ample chest. “They’ll be hard to hide in a spandex jumpsuit.”

  Quinn pursed her lips. “I’ve got it. We stuff the rest of you to make you look either really muscular or really chubby.”

  We all shouted out our votes and were evenly split.

  “Okay, TBD on that choice,” Quinn said. “Or, maybe we’ll have to do something entirely different with your costume, Hana.” She got out her measuring tape.

  Jason and I sat down and started tracing and cutting again.

  “Do you think you and I should pause on the stars and work on choreographing the dance while we’re all together?” Jason asked. “Since that will take time to memorize?”

  “You have a point.”

  Dancing alone with Jason? Um, yes, please.

  Dr. Nichols’s warning about my leg popped into my mind. I’ll take it easy.

  Jason and I went into the kitchen and I set my phone up on the table so we could watch the video for ideas.

  Pointing to the screen I said, “I think that’s a good, easy way to start. All of us in a row doing low kicks to the side in unison.” I demonstrated, mimicking the dancers in the video by overly gyrating my hips and shoulders as I stepped and kicked from side to side in time with the music.

  Jason looked like he was trying to stifle a laugh. He had really nice lips. Really nice.

  “Are you laughing at my mad dance skills?”

  He shook his head with a playful grin, stepping closer to me. “I don’t know how I’m going to focus on studying this choreography, when you’re doing all that…uh, bouncing and wiggling.”

  I paused and bit my lower lip to try and stop from smiling. “This is serious, Jason Cooper.” I gave him my best high-and-mighty tone. “Dance is an art form, and I like to win. Head in the game and do not let yourself get distracted.”

  He moved even closer. “Too late.” We were only an inch apart.

  How is it possible for someone to smell so good?

  My phone pinged. My mother, the kiss-thwarter.

  Jason widened his eyes at my phone. “Ellie, do you know you have seven missed texts from your mom?”

  I didn’t realize there’d gotten to be so many. I scrolled through them:

  “Call me!”

  “Did you see I called?”

  “Call me back.”

  “It’s important. I didn’t want to text you this, but Dr. Nichols called. I need you to come home now.”

  “Ellie I’ve called three times. You’re in big trouble.”

  “I’m on my way to get you.”

  My hand shook as I pocketed my phone. “Sorry, I have to go.”

  “Is everything okay?” Jason asked again as he followed me back into the living room.

  “It’ll be fine. She’s mad I ignored her.” I couldn’t look at him.

  I hate Dr. Nichols.

  I gathered my backpack and art supplies as fast as I could. “Guys, I didn’t realize it was so late. My mom’s coming to pick me up. I’ll finish the stars at home and plan out some more choreography that we can all rehearse next time.” The heat of fear and shame spread across my cheeks.

  “We should probably all get going. I can drive you,” Quinn said.

  “It’s okay—” The doorbell rang. I sighed and opened the door. Mom stood before me fuming, her eyes red and blotchy like she’d been crying. I was a terrible daughter. Why didn’t I answer one of her calls? “I’m sorry, Mom. I just saw all your texts a second ago. I—”

  “Did you have dinner?”

  “No, why?”

  This is the big concern?

  Mom peered over me, ignoring my question. “Hi, Craig. Hi, kids. We have to go, but please check in with your parents every once in a while. They’ll appreciate it. Craig, let me know if you need anything, okay, honey?”

  “I’m good, thanks, Sonia.”

  I started down the steps. “Why do you care so much if I had dinner?”

  “Ellie, Dr. Nichols had a cancelation and moved up your biopsy for first thing in the morning. You can’t eat for twelve hours before, and now it’s too late to eat. I didn’t want you to be hungry in the morning.” Her voice was terse yet tired.

  I glanced behind me and saw Jason’s stricken face right before the door closed. He’d heard what Mom said. They probably all did.

  We got in the car and both slammed our doors. “Why’d she schedule my biopsy so last-minute? What are they going to do to me that I can’t eat for twelve hours beforehand?”

  She let out a puff of pissed-off air. “Well, that’s what I’ve been trying all night to communicate with you, Ellie. You know you have to at least check in with me when you’re out of the house. It’s my one rule. Especially when we’re dealing with all this, I expect you to over-communicate with me from now on. Keep your phone on, by your side, and answer all of my calls and texts immediately.”

  She never freaked out on me l
ike this. “Mom. What is going on? What did Dr. Nichols say?”

  Mom gripped the wheel like she might tear it off, and steadied her voice. “She…she had a last-minute opening so they were able to get you in sooner.” She didn’t look at me. “You can’t eat because they’re going to cut through your leg to get to your bone, and you will have to be put under for that.”

  My whole body tensed and one whimper escaped. For some reason, I’d imagined they’d stick a long needle into my leg like drawing blood, which was scary enough. “I didn’t know I’d be knocked out and cut open,” I whispered. I didn’t want to do this. I couldn’t do this.

  “Oh sweetie. I’m so sorry.” Mom turned and hugged me to her. I buried my face in her hair and squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I possibly could.

  Chapter Seven

  The morning of the biopsy I waited with Mom in another hospital room, in another green gown, my stomach growling with the vengeance of a thousand told-you-sos. My phone pinged with a text from Jason. It was a cute picture of puppies. What else do you do when someone’s getting a biopsy? I’d texted with everyone last night, because of course they all overheard Mom tell me about the biopsy on the stairs and were worried about me. Which was super great.

  Jason was kind, but what did he really think? He lost his mom a little over a year ago. Now the first girl he’s kissed since then has a tumor? It was messed up.

  A nurse came in and handed Mom a big plastic bag with my patient ID number on it. “This is for Ellie’s belongings. She’ll be in post-op after surgery and then released, so you two won’t be coming back to this room.”

  The nurse had me climb onto the gurney and stuck an IV in my arm. Ouch. The pricked spot stung as the nurse wheeled me down the cold halls away from my mom. I caught glimpses into other surgery rooms with bright lights and huddles of masked faces as I prayed I’d be okay and drifted away.

  Waking up, I fought to resurface from the pool of pudding where someone must have tried to drown me. Muscles heavy, breathing tight, brain unfocused. I didn’t know if I was making noise, but a young nurse came over with a cup of ice chips. She encouraged me to open my mouth, and slipped in an ice-chip. It cooled my dry mouth. So thirsty. As if reading my thoughts, she told me I wasn’t allowed water yet. Tubes poked out of me, and the nurse pointed out the button I could press to ease the pain. Isn’t that nice—relief at the press of a button?