Always and Forever (3 page)

“Mia? Are you okay?” He clutched me to him, frowning, his eyes dark with worry. “Mia?”

“Hmm?” I shook my head. Once. Twice. That was weird. “No. I mean, yeah, I'm fine. Just got a little dizzy there for a moment.”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes darkened even more, his fingers digging painfully into my arms. “I'll take you home. You shouldn't be out here. It's too cold. I don't care if the sun is shining. I should've known better than to—”

“Kal, I'm fine,” I cut in, hating to see him flog himself for nothing. “Really. I am.”

He stared at me for a long minute, not at all convinced. “Are you sure? Because we can leave—”

“I'm fine. Really.”

He bit his lip, considering. “Okay,” he said. “If you're sure…”

I nodded quickly. Anything to get his mind off my health issues.

“Okay,” he repeated, more to himself than to me. His fingers loosened their grip on my arms and slid around my back, pulling me in closer. “Hold on,” he ordered before I could ask what this was all about.

I'd just curled my fingers into the front of his coat when he rocked us forward. In the next second, we were flying, slicing through the snow as the board rocketed down the side of the hill.

Laughter pealed out of Kal—mingling with my own gleeful shrieks—as the wind whipped around us. It was over all too soon. Kal turned the board sideways to bring us to an effortless stop at the bottom.

I was still clutching the front of his jacket when I stepped off the board to put some space between us, but I just couldn't let him go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “Again,” I demanded, a bit breathlessly.

“Yes, ma'am,” he responded, snapping a quick salute, making me laugh all over again.

We repeated the tandem rides a few more times, each one wringing more and more laughter out of me, pushing the conversation in Dr. Lambert's office further and further away. I wanted to bury it way down deep, so I could forget, so none of us would remember the terrible truth lurking just beyond the horizon waiting to surge forth and destroy everything.

As the sun was sinking in the sky, Kal consulted his watch and pronounced playtime over. We still had those papers to finish, and I had to be home early, he reminded me. Like either of us could forget for very long.

The short drive to the library was made in complete silence. Neither of us spoke for fear of bringing up the pain and despair that was simmering just below the surface. How many more trips to the library would we have? How many afternoons spent trolling the mall, walking in the park, or just playing video games in his living room? I didn't want to think about any of that. I wanted to continue on with my life, blissfully ignorant of the time slipping away.

Too bad I was all too aware of how little I had left.

T
HREE

I WALKED THROUGH MY FRONT DOOR
at 8:58, expecting to be greeted by Mom's glare and Dad's gritted,
‘Cutting it rather close, aren't you, darling?’
but the living room was deserted, television off, no signs of life. I kicked off my shoes and wandered deeper into the house, my every footstep clanging off the walls and ceiling.

“Mom? Dad? I'm home,” I called, feeling strangely alone.

Muffled sounds from the back of the house where their bedroom was located and then a door swinging open. “Okay, honey,” Dad croaked, his voice sounding oddly phlegmy. “I'll be right out.”

I moved into the kitchen and opened up the microwave. As per unspoken law in the house, if you were late for dinner, you were still expected to eat when you got home, no matter what time you rolled in, or even if you were hungry. In the microwave, I found my plastic-wrapped plate of Mom's famous chicken and pasta with a basil cream sauce. Famous because it was the only thing she'd ever been able to cook without burning the tar out of it and almost torching the house in the process. Never mind that it was from a box. She still bragged about how good it was and how
she'd
made it.

“Cutting it a little close, aren't you, sweetheart?” Dad asked as he entered the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Did I know him, or did I know him?

I punched the start button on the microwave, and it hummed to life. “I got home before nine, didn't I? And, no worse off than when I left.”

“Mia,” he sighed. “We need to talk about this.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” I returned, keeping my gaze locked on the plate going round and round as it heated through. “I'm fine.”

“You're sick.”

I whirled around to pin him with a frigid glare. “So says Dr. Lambert. He doesn't know shit, Dad. I'm not sick. How can I be? I feel fine.”

“Mia—”

“No!” I shouted, angry with him for bringing this up now.
Now
, when I'd at least had the illusion of normalcy. “There is nothing wrong with me. The tests were wrong, Dad. I have no symptoms of anything, so how can I be sick? How can I be dying? I'll tell you how. Because I'm not! Dr. Lambert made a mistake. A stupid mistake. We'll go to that other doctor next week, and he'll tell you the truth. He'll tell you that there is no cancer. There isn't even any leukemia. Not anymore.” I chuckled, a hollow bitter sound. “I mean, there's no way that I'd get two completely different types of cancer within five years. There's no possible way. And to not have any symptoms? At all?”

“The headaches,” he pointed out quietly. “All the sleeping you've been doing lately—”

“So, I've been tired. That doesn't mean I'm dying. And everyone gets headaches from time to time. I am perfectly fine. Healthy. He'll tell you that, Dad, and then we can just forget all this ever happened. You'll see.”

The beeping of the microwave cut into my tirade, yanking me back to myself. Dad and I stared at each other for a long time, each testing the other's resolve. The microwave beeped again. We continued our face off. One more beep, and I turned away, glowering at the food.

“I'm not hungry,” I spit out. “I'm going up to bed. I've got school tomorrow.” I skipped out before Dad could open his mouth to argue with me. I was done fighting with him. Soon enough, we'd see the other doctor, get that all-important second-opinion, and then we'd have the truth.

I'd be whole again.

I padded quickly up the stairs, closing the door to my room firmly behind me. After shedding my coat and changing into my
ratty, old flannel pajamas that Kal always called
‘Grandma wear’
I flopped face-first onto my bed. The jersey sheets and comforter, soft against my skin, soaked up the tears I hadn't realized I'd been shedding. This couldn't possibly be happening. Not now. Not again.

It was four years ago all over again. The seemingly harmless doctor's appointment that ended in the biggest catastrophe possible. Mom crying and crying and crying. Dad, tight-lipped, striving to maintain some semblance of sanity and failing miserably. Ben, scared and desperate after being told, but willing to do anything to make it all better for me—even shaving his head after the chemo had stolen my own lustrous locks—when as the older sister, I should have been the one to fix everything for him.

And, Kal…oh, God, Kal, trying to be so strong, so positive, even though he died a little inside with every one of my coughs, my sneezes, every pill I took, everything I threw up after chemo, and every strand of hair that fell out. Kal who told me no one ever looked more beautiful than I did as a baldie. Kal who promised that we'd be the best of friends, always and forever.

Forever never felt so short as it did right now.

No, this couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. I mean, I had cancer once already, for crying out loud. I'd beaten it down. It was gone, and I'd come out the victor. So, how could I have another form, one that would surely kill me? It was impossible. I'd have a better chance of getting struck by lightning. Or falling down an open elevator shaft. Or getting hit by a garbage truck. Maybe a combination of all three.

I'd rather that happen. Some unfortunate accident, a tragedy that would take me quickly and not some wasting illness that my family and friends would have to witness. That'd be the worst. Forget about me—it'd kill them. And, I just couldn't let that happen. I had to be okay. I just had to. They needed me here, just as I needed them.

A soft tap on my door scattered my tumultuous thoughts into the winds. Good riddance. I blew out a heavy sigh and sat up, pulling the blankets up around me in the process. “Yeah?”

The door opened, slowly, hesitantly, and then a mop of dark curls peeked in at me. “Can I come in?” He asked in a small, scared voice, his eyes betraying the fact that he knew everything and he—
like me—was desperately clinging to the hope that this was all just some crazy mix-up.

“Sure, Benj.” I scooted over to make room for him and patted the mattress. “Come on in.”

He needed no further encouragement. Three giant bounding leaps and he landed right next to me, snuggling deep beneath the covers and pressing his cold feet against mine.

“Jesus, Benji!” I screeched, cringing against his icy skin. “What have you been doing, kid? Hiking barefoot in the snow drifts?”

A peal of laughter rose out of him, bright and blinding, pure life. He grinned at me, his white teeth gleaming in the dark room. I started to reach across him to turn on the bedside lamp, but he stopped me.

“You're sick again.” It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.

“Do I look sick to you?” I couldn't lie to him, but I wasn't about to confirm something I still didn't believe myself.

He stared at me for an eternity, his big baby blues holding a wealth of understanding that far surpassed his twelve years. Twelve. That's how old I'd been the first time. How old he'd be when he lost his sister forever. Slowly, he shook his head. “But you didn't look sick last time either…not at first anyway.”

I slid my arms around him, and his head dropped gratefully onto my shoulder while his arms hooked around my waist. “It's going to be alright,” I whispered in his ear. “You'll see. Everything will be fine.”

He sniffled, and nodded. “When…when will we need to go in again? To do the transplant?”

Pain seared through my chest, slicing my heart into tiny ribbons. It was all said so simply, so matter-of-fact. As if it was a forgone conclusion that he'd lay himself out on a cold sterile table and let some stranger saw into him, hacking out his most vital parts and forcing them into my defective body. And he was perfectly fine with it, with his sister being a parasite.

“We're—” I bit my lip, fighting the tears that were aching to break free. “We're not, Benj. I don't need another transplant.”

His body jerked back, bewilderment lining his features. “But why?” He tugged on me as gently as possible when I still hadn't responded. “Mia, why? We're a match. The doctors said I could give
you anything you needed. Bone marrow. Blood. Organs. Anything. You don't…” He swallowed, his eyes bright and glassy with his desperation. “You don't even need to ask. I'd do anything for you. I'd give you anything you needed.”

I already knew that. He didn't have to tell me, but that just made it all the more difficult to bear. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. I shook my head and pulled him back to me. This is what I needed most right now, his love for me bleeding out, saturating the air around us, swaddling me in soothing colors and textures.

“I know, Benj. I know you would, and I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me. Everything you would do,” I murmured in his ear, my tears flowing silently into his hair, drenching his curls. “But what I need now, you can't give me.”

“What, Mia?” He sobbed. “What do you need? I can give it to you. I promise.”

Time
, I thought.
I just need a little more time.

F
OUR

BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING
was a silent affair. Everyone was already gathered around the table when I entered the kitchen. Dad had his nose stuck in the newspaper; Ben was beside him, staring morosely into his cereal bowl while Mom hovered over the sink, coffee mug in hand as she gazed blankly out the window.

“Whoa, don't get too crazy, you party animals,” I said, hoping for a bit of levity. “The neighbors might call the police to restore order.” They all looked at me, sad smiles turning up their lips. No one responded. “Jeesh, you guys. You all look like somebody just died—” My tongue froze in my mouth as I realized what I'd just said. Yeah, real smooth, Mia. Real smooth. “Er…yeah…well, I got to get going. School. Don't want to be late.”

Snatching up my coat and bag, I ducked out the back door, not turning when Dad called my name or Mom started crying again. I crossed the backyard quickly and rapped lightly on the Patels' backdoor, inching it open as I did so. The fragrant spices that Mrs. Patel used in all her recipes hung like a thick fog in the air, wrapping me in the smells and tastes of India. My mouth watered instantly, and my stomach rumbled, reminding me that I'd skipped my usual Pop-Tart breakfast in my haste to be away from the house of doom.

“Mia.” Kal's mother smiled broadly, but her eyes—normally large and luminous—were shadowed with grief. “How are you feeling?” She didn't wait for me to respond, but reeled me in, wrapping me up in the warmth of her embrace.

“I'm fine,” I squeaked out as she squeezed me. “Really. It's fine.” Was I trying to reassure her or myself? “We're getting a second opinion. It's all just a mistake. Mixed-up test results or something.”

One more bone-rattling squeeze and she released me. “I'll be praying that it is.” She nodded solemnly before dragging in a deep, cleansing breath. “Are you hungry?” My stomach growled in response, and we both laughed. While she fixed me a plate, the door to the kitchen slammed open.

“Mia!” Danna cried, launching herself at me, nearly knocking us both to the floor. “Last day of school for two whole weeks! We're going to the mall tomorrow, right? Can Chelsea come, too? She really wants to come, and I told her I had to ask you, but that you'd probably say yeah, but if you don't want her to, that's okay, too. So, can she? Come with us?”

I shook my head, dizzy from Danna's frenetic line of questioning. “Yeah, sure,” I laughed. “The more, the merrier.”