Send Me a Sign

by Tiffany Schmidt

  Jinx yawned, crying out again from the motion. Her eyes, rimmed with gummy discharge, were full of trust and agony. One of her paws batted against my arm. I touched it softly and she flinched.

  “I can’t.” I turned my head away and muffled the rest of the words in the shoulder of the sweatshirt. “We have to do this now. I can’t make her suffer anymore.”

  “I’ll get the vet.” He paused to trace a finger around the edge of Jinx’s ear. She tried to purr, a reflex reaction, but the sound was stuttery. Gyver rushed out of the room, and I kissed her nose and wiped my eyes on her fur.

  The vet entered, followed by a stone-faced version of my best friend. He crossed the room and stood with his back toward me, engrossed in the pet medication flyers tacked to a bulletin board, his arms tight around his chest, gripping handfuls of shirt.

  The doctor began to explain how Jinx wouldn’t feel a thing. “It’s like falling asleep. You can even hold her while I administer it.” Tears flooded my cheeks, and I tightened my grip on the nearly motionless bundle on the table, clutching at the last moments I’d have with her.

  “This is an emotional decision. I spoke with your father while I was out of the room. He and your mother can’t get here before we close tonight. I’ll understand if you want to go home and come back with one of them tomorrow. Or I can recommend a twenty-four-hour vet.” I shook my head. “I don’t want you to have any regrets, Mia. If you’d prefer, you can wait in the lobby.”

  “No!” The word was knotted in a sob and shaken from my chest. Gyver turned and it was spelled in the set of his jaw and the shroud of his eyes: his heart was equally broken. “She has to know I’m here.”

  And Gyver was there too. At my side in four strides, arm around me and supporting me as I stood at the exam table. I was trembling, but he was steady. I gave Jinx a last kiss, whispered in her ear, and Gyver did too. Then I gave her a last, last kiss. With the dregs of my courage I turned to the doctor. “Ready.”

  If Gyver’s hands hadn’t been under mine, I would’ve sagged to the floor. I would’ve run from the room.

  When it was over, he had to nearly carry me to the lobby. He filled out the paperwork while I sobbed in the corner, pulling the hood up over my face. Turning to lean my forehead against the wall when an eight-year-old and his mom came skipping in with their calico kitten.

  By the time he said, “We’re done. Let’s go home,” my eyes were swollen to slits. He put an arm around my shoulders and led me to the car.

  I pulled my feet onto the seat. With my face lowered onto my knees and the hood obscuring everything, I’d built my own fortress of grief. If I could keep my arms around my knees, keep holding myself together, I might make it home in one piece.

  “We’re here.” Gyver turned off the engine. His hand stretching to fold back the fabric around my face. “I’m sorry about Jinx. I’ll get you a new kitten.”

  “Don’t,” I moaned.

  “It doesn’t have to be right away. When you’re ready. I’ll let you name this one.” He tried to smile, but it faltered and faded.

  “I don’t want a new cat.” I buried my head in my knees again. “She didn’t look like she was in pain, did she?”

  Gyver shook his head. “No, she looked peaceful.”

  I peered out the windshield, focusing on the clouds above his garage. “That’s what I want—when it’s my time. I want to go to sleep and have everyone I love holding my hand.”

  Gyver’s eyes went flat—like Jinx’s had at her final moments. He pressed his lips together, shook his head, and got out of the car. I mirrored his movements; using my puffy eyes to decipher his face and stiff body language. It wasn’t a difficult read: the walls had been reconstructed between us. His mask of detachment was firmly in place, and I was lost in my grief all alone.

  “Can I come over? I don’t want to go in.” Jinx’s toys and bowls flash-bulbed in my mind.

  He didn’t bother with an excuse. “No.”

  “But … I thought you’d forgiven me.”

  He shut his eyes and shook his head. “It’s not a matter of forgiving; I’m choosing not to hang out with you. I can’t do this to myself, Mi. I can’t.”

  “Am I that awful?”

  “You were someone incredible. You were my best friend. And now?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes again. “The way you’ve handled your cancer … Who are you?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m just trying to survive.” Hillary’s acid voice had nothing on mine. “If I’m not the perfect person while dying from cancer, that’s okay with me.”

  “If I’ve noticed? I was there every day this summer! Did you forget? I was the only one there. I’ve seen how awful and painful this is, and how terrified you are. But when this is over—because you will beat this—who are you going to be? Regardless of whether or not you have cancer, you’re not someone I want to know anymore. My Mia Moore wouldn’t just give up.”

  “Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to know me much longer.”

  His eyes sparked with fury, then glazed with tears. He walked into his house without looking back. It felt like Jinx had been the last link between us, and now that was severed.

  I sat on the front porch and curled into myself, trying to breathe.

  I was still there when Mom drove up. “Oh, kitten, I’m so sorry …,” she began.

  At the sound of my nickname, I began to wail.

  If I couldn’t hold Jinx, I wanted to be held, so I called Ryan.

  “Where were you? I called your phone and your parents and the hospital.” His voice was a tangle of panic, anger, and relief.

  I gulped a breath and tried to answer.

  “Do you know how freaked I was when you were gone at the end of the day? I thought you were …”

  “Will you come over?” I sounded five years old.

  “I need some space.” His panic and relief had faded, leaving frustration-coated anger. “Now that I know you’re okay, I need to, I don’t know, breathe and calm down.”

  “Later?” I asked.

  “Let me take a drive, clear my head, then I’ll come.”

  But he didn’t. He called later, but I was already two hours into a sleeping pill. Apologies, explanations, and kisses waited until the morning. Exchanged with forced smiles. My chest ached, my pulse pounded in my temples, and the hallway focused and unfocused as I blinked past tears.

  “We’re okay, right?” Ryan asked, raising our intertwined hands and brushing his lips across my knuckles.

  I swallowed and coughed before I could answer. “We’re fine.”

  We had to be.

  Chapter 45

  I sat in the kitchen and stared out the window. Tapping my nails on the counter while I pretended to listen to Mom’s pre-dance blather. Gyver came out of his house carrying a trash bag; I bolted out the door and cornered him on the driveway.

  “Gyver!” I paused and caught my breath. “Wait. Please?”

  He replaced the trash can lid and turned toward me with an impassive face.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Talk.” He gave me a palms-up, go-ahead gesture.

  “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I miss you.” So much so I’d found myself sobbing at three a.m. when I discovered Mom washed his sweatshirt and it no longer smelled like him. It had been three awful days since Jinx died. Three days of Gyver acting like I didn’t exist.

  “I miss you too, but it doesn’t change things.” He raked his hair into chaos and hooked his thumb in his pocket.

  “Will you forgive me?” I ached to reach for him, so I clasped my hands behind my back.

  “It’s not forgiveness. It’s self-preservation. God, Mi—don’t you get it?” He hesitated, then walked over to his car. He reached in the driver’s door and fumbled in the console before pulling out a battered envelope. “I’ve been carrying this for weeks. It’s a mix for you.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to sigh, but my chest was too tight, my lungs crowd
ed by the hammering of my heart. I didn’t want a CD; I wanted him back in my life.

  “Listen to it.” And he left.

  I flipped the CD around in my hands. I could more or less decipher the title. He’d written it in all caps: it was “MUSIC FOR …” and a scrawl of my name.

  I slipped the CD in my car as I pulled out of the driveway to go to the nail salon. The first song was an oldie. I twisted the volume, and the lyrics to a Stevie Wonder song filled the car:

  Very superstitious, the writing’s on the wall.

  I frowned but continued listening:

  When you believe in things you don’t understand, you suffer. Superstition ain’t the way.

  I punched the advance button; the next song was familiar; we listened to it every year at cheer camp. It was the “I’m sexy, I’m cute,” song from the beginning of Bring it On—a movie Gyver loved to hate.

  Was this whole CD songs that mocked me? I shut it off and pulled into a spot in front of the salon. The door was open and I could see the customers inside. All girls from my school in chatty, smiley groups.

  Predance preparation had always been a Calendar Girls gossipfest. We rotated whose house we got ready at and brought in nail and hair stylists so we could nibble and giggle as we were pampered. Fall Ball meant I should be at Lauren’s right now.

  My chest tightened. I coughed and punched the steering wheel, clipping the horn. The girls inside turned. I flushed as they gave puzzled looks, half waves, then turned back to each other and laughed. It wasn’t worth it. Why did it matter what my nails looked like?

  I put the car in reverse and drove home.

  Gyver was waiting on his driveway when I pulled into mine. After spending so many nights wishing he’d acknowledge me, I cursed as he sauntered over and opened my door. “Did you listen to it?” There was an unnerving intensity in his voice.

  “I listened.”

  “And?” He leaned down and offered me a hand.

  “I don’t know. Is there an answer you’re looking for?” I ignored his hand and stood.

  “That’s your whole reaction?” He hadn’t stepped back; I was squeezed between the open door and him. I fought the urge to hug him and inhale his familiar scent—the smell of my childhood and seventeen years of Saturdays.

  I rubbed my throbbing forehead and closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to cry. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I’m superstitious. Yes, I like cheerleading. Great.”

  “How much did you listen to?” His voice tightened.

  “Enough. Thanks. I have to go get ready.” I put a hand to his chest and pushed gently. I needed space and air before I choked.

  He stepped out of the way but caught my arm. “Listen to all of it, Mi.”

  I masked pain as annoyance. “I will. God.”

  “You know, for someone who’s always looking for signs, you’re pretty blind to the ones I’ve been giving you for years.” His thumb caressed the inside of my arm before letting go. “You see what you want to. Maybe you’re looking for signs you won’t get better because it’s easier to give up.”

  He was walking away. “So is this it?” I called. “You’re back to ignoring me because I didn’t like the mix. Friendship over again?”

  He spun and walked back. “You’ve made your priorities clear over and over. I knew we were done the day you switched your lucky necklace for one The Jock gave you. If he was more important to you than your superstitions, more important than …” He locked his jaw, looked at the ground, and gave his head an angry shake.

  “I lost my necklace! I would never have taken it off. Ryan bought me a replacement because I was so upset. What was I supposed to do? Not wear it? What is this really about? You feel threatened by him?” I scoffed on the last word.

  It was a minor lifetime before he lifted his eyes from the crack in the driveway to drill them into mine. “I won’t watch you self-destruct. You can’t ask me to do that.”

  This time he didn’t stop when I called after him. The door banged shut and I was alone. I wasn’t going to cry, but I couldn’t stop the choking coughs.

  “Let me see.” Mom held out her hand for one of mine when I entered the kitchen.

  “I didn’t like any of the colors,” I lied.

  “Well, we have polish. If you can’t find one you like, I’ll run out to the store.”

  I wanted to get upstairs and give myself room to think. And breathe. I forced words around gasps and hid shaking fists in my pockets. “I’ve got something.”

  I sank to the bathroom floor with a bottle of Merlot Mission polish and smeared some on my unsteady hands.

  Ryan. It couldn’t go on this way. I clung to his hand, clung to him, because I was scared. But it wasn’t fair; I couldn’t keep pretending to feel more than I did. And I wasn’t the only one pretending; he knew we didn’t work. The question was: Which of us was brave enough to say it? My lungs and heart clenched: more good-byes. I bent over, bracing my hands on my knees, and tried to take deep, slow breaths. All I accomplished was convulsive coughs.

  Blowing on my nails caused another coughing fit—I needed to calm down. I gulped air and stood up. Too fast. The room spun and I steadied myself on the towel rack.

  I yanked my dress from the closet, spilling memories from the shopping trip I’d had with Mom. Finding a formal dress that covered a port wasn’t easy. Mom had vetoed anything in black or white—saying both colors made me look “washed out and sickly.” I’d bitten back a laugh and let her choose. She’d settled on a mint one-shouldered dress. It was important to her, so despite the amount of fluff and tulle in the skirt, I’d agreed.

  I tugged it on and zipped it up. Stuck a rhinestone clip on my wig, painted on some makeup, and headed downstairs, pausing a moment on the landing to clench and unclench my hands until my pulse calmed.

  “Hey, beautiful.” Ryan greeted me with a kiss. I frowned at the scent on his breath and the flush in his cheeks; turned away from a second beer-flavored kiss. Mom was too busy with the requisite oohing and aahing to notice.

  She waved a thermometer at me, but I shook her off with unveiled annoyance. “I’m not messing up my makeup. I’m fine. We need to go.”

  “Just a few photos.” I forced smiles through the dizziness of camera flashes.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  Mom frowned. “He’s been on the phone for an hour. I knocked a few minutes ago to tell him you were almost ready, and he snapped at me that he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Dad did?” I’d never heard him yell at Mom. Ever.

  “I know!” She seemed less upset than surprised. “I’m sorry, kitten. I know he wanted to see you—it’s got to be a very important phone call. Maybe it’s that doctor in Boston he’s been trying to get in touch with? I don’t want you to be late; I’ll just show him the pictures when he gets off the phone. Have fun, you two.”

  Then she was shooing us out the door, and all my worries about his odd behavior were forgotten as I inhaled outside air. It had gotten colder in the last few hours. There was a feeling of snow in the air, and it burned like icy fire when I breathed.

  Chapter 46

  “Aren’t I driving?” Ryan asked when I stopped at my car and opened the door.

  “Are you kidding? You’ve been drinking—I can’t believe you drove here. Get in the car.”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “Let me just grab my bag—we’re still staying over at Chris’s, right?”

  I ignored his question and the accompanying raised-eyebrow grin, waiting until he’d shut his door to demand, “What were you thinking?”

  “You look great.” Ryan reached over and touched my knee, trying to slide his hand across the endless tulle until I swatted him.

  “Thanks.” There wasn’t any enthusiasm in the word. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”

  “I like your dress. You look hot. Sometimes I forget …” His words and caresses bypassed playful and seductive and escalated to turmoil. He sighed and pulled his hands back into his
lap.

  I turned into the Scoops parking lot. It was closed for the season, the picnic benches coated with a lace of frost and the neon ice cream cone turned off. “What’s going on?”

  “Do we have to do this now?” he asked, not looking at me. “Can’t we just go to the dance and the party and not do this?” Instead of waiting for my answer, he got out of the car.

  I followed. The icy air of the parking lot sawed at my lungs, providing some clarity but cutting into my breathing. I choked my way from the car to the picnic bench.

  “You okay?” Ryan asked, his concern shooting through multiple levels as my inability to catch my breath continued.

  “Fine,” I gasped. “It’ll pass.” I dabbed my eyes and shrugged farther into my coat, taking slow, shallow breaths until the choking stopped.

  We sat on the bench closest to the building. Ryan wasn’t filling the silence or trying to overpower my raspy breaths with compliments and reassurances. Not a good sign.

  “Ryan? Talk to me.”

  “I can’t do this anymore.” His head was in his hands. His voice was shaking.

  “Do what?” Although I knew, and knew I couldn’t do it either.

  “This isn’t what I thought. I’m scared shitless all the time. What if Mia gets a cold? What if I kiss her and get her sick? Can I touch her without bruising her? What if you don’t get better?”

  He turned toward me, his eyes wet and face crumpled. “I shouldn’t say that—I shouldn’t even think it, but it’s all I think about. Mia, I love you, but I can’t handle the idea of—I can’t handle that.” He dropped his head into his palms.

  “I know.”

  I put a hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own. “I just wanted to get through high school and get away to college. And you … shit! I thought I could handle this, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

  He kissed me and it felt nice, but no longer necessary. He tasted of tears, longing, and farewell. “I’m sorry.”

  I remembered when his blue eyes had laughed instead of worried and his hand had tickled instead of clamped. “Don’t be sorry. You were the best part of this year. The only good part.”