Chapter Twenty-Three
Just call me Princess Cancerella.
Aside from the whole cancer thing, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Because it was the Saturday night after my appointment with Dr. Ray, and Hana and Quinn were here with me. In a penthouse. In New York City. If I could have suspended the life-changing reality of my surgery looming before me, this was like a fairytale. And I was the princess. Except regular princesses never seem to have cancer, just the common mishaps with all the wicked witches and stepmothers and evil poisons disguising themselves as edible foodstuffs and so forth.
My surgery was scheduled for Monday. Dr. Ray had moved everything around to get me in so fast, and Mom made an arrangement with the school for me to do the work I could from afar. She also sorted out staying as long as we needed in the Synnestvedts’ place.
Everything had come together, but I was still freaked knowing that soon my left leg would be sliced from knee to hip, my femur bone temporarily removed from my body, and my life forever altered.
My stomach twisted for the eleventy-billionth time.
Thanks to Quinn’s mom’s surplus of frequent flyer miles from all her international travel, she flew Quinn and Hana to New York City for my farewell-to-walking-for-a-year weekend.
Even Craig, my dad, and Barb had flown out yesterday. Craig stayed with us at the penthouse, and Barb and Dad at a hotel close to the hospital where I’d have surgery.
I had a feeling after this little stint I’d be writing thank-you notes to people until I was twenty.
If only Jason could be here.
Don’t get greedy, Ellie.
After adventuring through Manhattan, we finished the day with some shopping. Mostly I got hospital necessities, but we splurged on one nice outfit for tonight, too. It was Mom’s treat for me because Quinn, Hana, Craig and I had a big evening out ahead of us, including plans to see a live improv show at the place I’d always dreamed of going: the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater.
My friends and I were in our bras and the bottom halves of our outfits, doing our hair and makeup in the master bathroom, where the walls were covered in a meticulous mosaic of shiny tiles.
“No wonder you’re all strong and muscley—that looks like a workout,” Hana said, looking into the bathroom mirror at me as I flat-ironed her hair.
“I know. My vanity makes me strong, gives me guns.” I smiled at her reflection and flexed my biceps. “It’s got nothing to do with walking around on crutches for a month.”
“That’s what I figured.” Hana nodded.
I finished straightening her hair and smoothing some shine-cream through the ends. “You look gorgeous.” I’d never seen this sleeker side. What I’d done made her black hair look even more dramatic against her smooth skin.
The door swung open. “Hey, are you three—” It was Craig. “Hey, awesome. I hope that’s what you all are wearing tonight, because that’s hot.”
“Craig!” We all shouted at him in unison as we covered our tops. Quinn dashed across the bathroom, growled at Craig, and slammed the door.
I couldn’t resist. “Ugh—brothers.”
We decided it would be wise to take a break from makeup and hair to finish getting dressed. Hana traded in one of her signature cute-things-in-nature T-shirts for a red top and a layered necklace Quinn loaned her. She looked older. I started to tear up thinking how I’d most likely be losing her to New York City for good next year. “I’m so excited to visit you when you live here.”
“Slow down there, Captain Pretender. Let’s focus on step one: get accepted to NYU.”
“You’ll get in, Hana, I just know it,” Quinn said as she swiped on another layer of lip-gloss and admired herself in the mirror. She’d gone for an eclectic look, with tights and a short skirt, mixing bright colors and multiple accessories in a way only she could.
I pulled on my new, low-cut blouse over my shiny black jeans.
“That color blue really brings out your eyes,” Quinn said.
I smiled at the three of us in the mirror. We might pass as people who belonged in New York City. “Do you two think I was crazy to waste good money on an outfit I won’t be able to wear again anytime soon?” My leg would be super puffy post-surgery, so these tight new jeans wouldn’t fit for a while.
“Don’t be silly, Ellie.” Quinn came up and side-hugged me. “Think of it this way. You won’t be going to homecoming or probably prom, so this outfit is a steal compared to those dresses.” After the words spilled out of her mouth, we all froze for a second. My mood sank. I’d realized homecoming was out, but the thought of not being able to dance at prom because I’d still be on crutches made the rest of my senior year sound bleak. Quinn pulled away to look at me, biting her lip, eyes wide.
“Don’t worry, Quinn. I wasn’t exactly excited about prom. I mean, Hana and I spent last year’s dance watching a Harry Potter marathon, so you know formal school functions aren’t on the top of my list. I just sometimes get these little shockwaves over what I won’t be able to do.”
“Hey. If you decide you do want to go to prom, we’ll just have Gary and Steven pull out the bird dress and ol’ disco ball, and you can hover above it all,” Hana said. “That’d be way better than having to support your own weight the whole night anyway. I mean, that crap’s exhausting.”
“Huh. That sounds…frightening.” I laughed, losing the flash of sullenness as quickly as it came.
“Ooh. Dancing. We need to go dancing after the show tonight.” Quinn clapped her hands together.
“What?” Hana and I asked.
“What better way to spend the eve of the eve of your surgery than shakin’ like crazy? Or gently swaying on the surgery leg, but shakin’ everything else.” One leg firmly planted, she demonstrated shimmying the rest of her body.
I laughed.
“Yes, let’s,” Hana said, mimicking the inflection we used in our improv warm-up that required everyone to respond with “Yes, let’s!” to any suggestion anyone shouted out.
The doorbell rang. Wondering who that could be, I cocked my head at Quinn and Hana, whose faces had transformed—Quinn’s now had a teeth-baring grin, and Hana’s features had shifted to mischievous.
Jason.
He stood in the doorway looking taller, handsomer, and smilier than ever. I couldn’t help it: I squealed and sprang toward him. He hugged me tight and said, “Surprise!”
When we calmed down enough for him to set me back down, I sputtered questions at him. “What are you doing here? How? When? Are you here alone?”
“Dad’s downstairs finishing up a call right now, but he’ll be up in a second. I gave him a multi-layered pitch for why we should come to New York right now, but my main point was that I would hold it against him for a lifetime if he didn’t let me fly out here for this.”
“Ah, yes, that would be convincing.” I smiled, heat spreading across my cheeks.
Jason flew to New York City to see me.
We’d just finished watching the most awesome improv show at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater, and then froze our butts off getting to a club that was having an under-twenty-one night. There’d been a cold snap in the city, and we hadn’t brought jackets, so we were all happy to be dancing in the heat of the club.
“I mean, that show makes you embarrassed you ever tried improv,” Quinn said as she flitted and swayed around. “And scared to ever try it again because you know it won’t even orbit the same universe of brilliance and hilariousness.”
“Or, it makes you want to immediately move here and sign up for every single improv class and go to every single show possible,” Hana shouted over the music. “If I don’t get into NYU, I’m gonna freak.” She froze mid-spin, a guilty look on her face. “I’m so sorry, Ellie.”
“Stop it. Just because we don’t know if I’ll be in any condition to go to college next fall, doesn’t mean I can’t be excited for you. It can’t be about The Leg all the time.”
Jason and Craig came back with som
e bottled waters for us. I stopped in my dance-tracks to stare at Jason. He’d taken off his long-sleeved shirt and was wearing a tight-fitting white tee. His hair was sweaty and unruly, and he ran his hand through it, making it stick up even more. He flew here to surprise me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
We stared at each other stupidly.
He took a big inhale. “So, yeah. Wow. Have I mentioned you look totally amazing?”
He had. Repeatedly. He leaned in and kissed my neck lightly, causing little flares to leap around my pores like whack-a-moles.
The music transitioned to the next song, one we all knew, and the moment between Jason and me gave way to all of us bopping up and down—me not actually lifting my feet off the ground, since no jumping was allowed—and taking turns singing out loud.
We were all cheesing it up big-time. Even Craig was swaying side to side a bit, as Hana circled him in a dancing fury. It went back to the chorus, and we formed a circle of karaoke-dance-off abandon.
Craig picked up Hana. She wrapped her legs easily around his waist as he spun them around, their smiles so radiant I imagined teeny lightning bolts zapping between them.
Jason tugged on my hand, pulling me close. I nuzzled into him, resting my head on his shoulder. More of this. But without the loud music and the standing. “Do you want to go?” I asked. He nodded, and I tapped on Quinn’s shoulder. “Hey, are you guys cool if we take off early and meet you back at the penthouse later?”
“Never let it be said I was a nookie-thwarter. Go. Go,” Quinn said.
“There will be no nookie,” I mouthed back at her.
By the time the cab pulled up in front of the apartment building at 5th Ave and 88th Street, there was already a thin sheen of snow covering the city, frosting it clean and new. We exited on the Central Park side of the street, and I imagined scaling the brick wall that surrounded the park and skipping through the moonlit night batting at the million puffy flakes.
“I can’t believe it’s snowing,” Jason said.
“Our global climate crisis’s little gift to us.” I twirled around once—because I could—as snowflakes fell thick and wet on my lashes. “I love it.”
“Me, too.” With his snow-drenched eyelashes, he leaned in and gave me butterfly kisses.
“I wish there was enough for a snowball fight.” But it wasn’t sticking to the ground.
“I’d totally win.”
“No way. My snow ammo would fly so fast and furious, I’d bury you in snowballs.”
“You think so, huh?”
“I know so.”
“Get ready to be proven wrong.” He reached down and pretended to scoop up a pile of snow and mash it into a ball.
“Really? A mime snowball fight? How improv-nerdy are we willing to get here?”
“Full-on. You’ve been warned.” He pulled his arm back and launched the air-ball at me.
Despite its nonexistence, I yelped and ducked, shaping my own fake snowball low to the ground and then flinging it at Jason.
He acted like it was a direct hit, jolting back, his hand to his chest. “Argh!”
I pretended to pull on a utility belt and pack to hold my snow-ammo and then formed snowball figments at warp speed, complete with sound effects. “Shhik. Whoom. Ch-kunk.”
Not to be outdone, he built an ice fortress with cannons.
“Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?” I granted myself magic powers, conjured my inner Elsa, and created an even bigger ice fortress. Then our battle really began. We were shooting and flinging, recoiling and rolling (me in slow-mo to protect my leg) all along the patch of grass between the park’s brick wall and 5th Ave. We ignored the looks from strangers and played and laughed until we crumpled to the ground.
When our laughs simmered to light giggles, and I’d caught my breath, I said, “I won.”
“Uh, no way. I had catapults.”
“Clunky and old-school. Didn’t you see how my ice lasers demolished your entire weapons stash?”
“What? No, they did not.”
I tsked. “Ah-ah—no denials.”
“Well, you must have denied my storm shields that blocked your lasers.”
“You’re making that up just now, or you made them up when I wasn’t looking. There were no storm shields.”
He grumbled and tickled me until I giggled again. “Those were pretty awesome ice lasers,” he finally admitted as I pushed his hands away.
“Thank you.” The snowy leaves arching over from the park sparkled with the reflections of the streetlights. “I feel so alive, you know?” The words came out quietly, causing a weird traffic jam in my throat.
He held my hand and gave a small smile. “I do.” He leaned his head back onto the cold ground and closed his eyes. I did the same, reaching my chin toward the night sky, the snowflakes pattering against my face.
“Every first snowfall of the season, my mom would say ‘put your face toward heaven so you can receive all the angel kisses.’”
“I like that. She was a good mom.”
“The best.”
I imagined each soft droplet was a connection from somewhere, something beyond my understanding, showering love and reassurances down on us. I wondered if Jason was thinking about his mom’s angel surrounding him tonight.
“Okay, I’m freezing now,” Jason said, jumping up and reaching down to pull me up by the hand.
We bought two cups of hot cocoa at a corner store and took them back to our building. Tiptoeing inside the dark penthouse holding hands, we shushed each other so we wouldn’t wake our parents. The room I was now staying in was a tiny thing off the kitchen, about the size of a large walk-in closet. The bigger room I’d been sleeping in for the last week I’d given over to Jason’s dad. Mom was in the master bedroom, and Quinn and Hana were sharing the bunk-bed room. Craig and Jason had been relegated to the couches.
Jason grabbed the comforter off my bed, and we took it and our cocoa outside to the patio. We sat on a bench and wrapped ourselves up in the blanket. We still had the snow and the view and the night and each other, but now with zero probability of frostbite.
When we finished our drinks, he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. His hand brushed along my back and the sides of my waist.
“Your body is incredible,” he said.
I frowned. “Except for one thing.”
“No. Your body is incredible, and it’s getting ready to evict that squatter for good.”
It was. It would.
I cupped his face and kissed him back, tearing up that I even got the chance to love him. In this world, there was nothing to fear about that.
“I love you, Jason.”
His smile filled my hands. “I love you, Ellie.”
His words filled my bones. He was my lucky star in this maelstrom of misfortune. I wondered how it was possible that my life was at its very best and its very worst simultaneously. Messy and beautiful. Heartbreaking and inspiring.
Chapter Twenty-Four
’Twas the night before Surgery, when all through the penthouse…
It was Surgery Eve. Mom, Mr. Cooper, Quinn, Hana, Craig, Jason, and I were gathered in a circle in front of the gas fireplace in the living room. We’d all gone out to dinner, with Barb and Dad, too, though they were now back at their hotel for the night. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as weird as I would have imagined having Mom, Dad, and Barb eating together at the same table. I guess cancer really puts people on their best behavior.
Two points for cancer?
The little lights of the big city twinkled through the windows. I wondered how many other people like me were out there, people knowingly on the verge of everything changing. How many surgeries were scheduled every day? How many people would wake up the next morning and learn their lives had been flipped upside-down for good or bad? And what about the other people? Those whose lives wouldn’t significantly change tomorrow, people simply sitting in front of the TV, waiting to get up for another ordinary d
ay, never even considering how incredibly awesome their legs were.
Everyone in our circle was in their pajamas, except me. I wore a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt Quinn and Hana had made for me. On the front, it had a cartoon version of the three of us holding hands, each with a different cute animal on our heads—a bunny, a bird, and a hedgehog. So cute.
“Okay, Hana, you’re a talented artist, I think you should start,” Mom instructed, handing Hana a green marker and pointing to my leg.
On my left thigh, Hana drew a funny, smiley femur-bone character doing a happy jig.
Quinn took a red marker and added a big heart on my leg, writing inside the heart the words: We love you, Dr. Ray.
“Ah, that tickles,” I said, as the marker made smooth wet loops on my leg. I hoped Dr. Ray would at least get a smile out of all the messages to him, and not be annoyed by the visuals on his surgery site.
Craig leaned over to my right leg. He drew a big X on my thigh and then wrote in big block letters: Not this leg. We all laughed. Mom took the red marker and added, Take extra special care of this one, and drew smiley faces and stars all around it.
Mr. Cooper took a blue marker to my calf and drew a little sailboat with words trailing behind like waves that read, Bon voyage, cancer.
“Good one, Michael.” Mom patted him on the back. He smiled at her. It was quick, but I caught it—their eyes sharing this moment of understanding. I had to turn away, not wanting to think too much more about what it must be like for them.
Jason grabbed the black marker. He covered his work with his other hand as he drew for a while. “What are you putting on there that’s so involved?” I asked.
“Wait for it.” He switched to the red marker, then green, then blue, adding more and more. “There.” He finally finished and revealed his handiwork. He’d written, Pimp my leg, in funky letters with a picture of a leg with all these added gadgets—tires, speakers, springs, and a bucket labeled Magic Healing Dust.
A Messy, Beautiful Life Page 16
