I scream, an ugly, screechy sound that startles me in its intensity, and my heart pounds like I’m racing. “God! You scared me.” I pause, my hand on my chest. “You scared me.” Then: “What are you doing here?”
She keeps walking. “Getting my stuff. Not that it’s any of your business.” But her hands are empty, and her shoulder is light with that small purse on the gold chain. They’ve been over for weeks now. What’s left to get?
“Leave your key,” I call after Arielle, a challenge in my voice. Maybe this time I’m the one protecting my property. “You don’t need it anymore.” Somehow she wrangled one out of Gabriel, in the days and weeks after Natalie first told me she didn’t have one.
But the front door just shuts, no reply, and when I go to follow, there’s nothing on any of the polished surfaces along the route, no speck of dust that doesn’t have its own rightful place of rest.
I walk into the kitchen, lost in thought, as Michael rushes out of the bathroom. “Shai! Instead of talking today, can we make paper airplanes? I read an article that talks about the aerodynamics of folding and how to achieve the best loft and distance. I think I can even improve on one of the designs.”
“How about we do it while we talk?” I hand him a dish towel because he didn’t take the time to dry his hands. “Today we were going to talk about difficult kids at school and bullying. How to handle it, what to say if someone is rude or pushy. Maybe we can incorporate that into our airplanes talk.”
“Okay.” This kid, once he puts his mind to it, can learn anything: Poetry, aeronautics, math. He’s crazy smart. I feel lucky to spend time with him. “Just like the airplane rises on the air currents and floats above the world below, you have to rise above the bullying and look down on it as if you were looking at a distant situation. Think before you respond.”
“That’s good,” I encourage him. “Maybe we can role-play it, too.”
“Okay. I’ll be the bully and you be the kid.” He smiles at me.
Our talk is good; then he goes to his room to do stuff while I gather my things. I usually spend a few minutes on debrief with Gabriel before I go, even these days, while he’s being distant. But today he’s at the office, so that can’t happen. I’ll find Natalie—I think she’s doing laundry—and say goodbye.
But then I hear Gabriel enter the house, his footsteps, the clatter of his keys on the counter. My heart leaps with excitement. I want to tell him how I really feel, how I don’t want to leave him even when my job is over. That I love him and Michael.
“Gabriel!” I call.
He greets me, but his voice is stern. “Shai. I need to talk to you right away. In my office.”
I close the door behind me. He speaks the moment I’m close enough to hear. “Arielle told me you had chemo. What… what was she talking about?” His voice is taut, his face full of worry.
I stop and stare. Arielle—what? What? All I can think is—what?
My mind races, spinning. Wheels stuck in ice, going so fast they’ll blow out the engine. “I don’t—what are you talking about?”
“She said that you had chemo.”
The words hang between us in the air, a fog. I bite my fingernail. I can taste chocolate from my donut I had before I came here. “My past is none of her business.” My words do nothing to erase the haze between us.
“It’s mine, though. Shai.” His tone softens. “Are you all right? How recent was this?” There’s concern, I can tell, but it’s layered with fear and anger, and those things come right through the barrier and grow in me, too, metastasizing into something fierce.
“Not recent at all. And yesterday. Today. Every day. It’s something that’s in you forever, even when it’s over, Gabriel. Surely you know that.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“You’re not sick.” He searches my face, his expression unreadable.
“No. No! Gabriel, this was over ten years ago. It’s completely gone. It won’t come back. It’s—it’s old history.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice raises.
“I wasn’t ready. It’s personal.”
“You don’t keep something like that from a person! A person you’re…” He breaks off. “It’s dishonest. Deceptive.” He pauses. “Aren’t we… personal? I told you how I felt about illness, the fear of losing someone. Why didn’t you respect that? What am I to you here, Shai?”
“What am I? Not anything, apparently. Not your girlfriend, not your lover. You wanted space, remember? So I guess I’m that. Empty space.”
“Fuck.” He hits one fist into his palm. “You know what I mean, Shai. Why didn’t you tell me this before. When we were sleeping together. Didn’t I mean anything to you?”
“Gabriel!” My tension snaps. “How can you ask that? Don’t you know?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you lied about your past.” He puts his hands to his face, growls, tugs his hair. “Fuck me.”
I cross my arms and raise my voice. “It was a long time ago. I’m healthy now. It won’t come back, Gabriel. It’s a kind of tumor that doesn’t come back once it’s gone. Okay?”
One hand fists at his thigh. “Was that was caused your scar? You said it was an accident. But you had cancer?”
“No. Not cancer, Gabriel. It was a tumor. Mine was benign. Totally benign.”
“So—but you had it removed?”
I touch my abdomen, press, and nod. “It was a benign growth that was removed entirely. It’s called a teratoma. They gave me a short round of chemo as a precaution. These days the same procedure would be even simpler and follow-up would be with fewer drugs. I didn’t even need the chemo. My parents, later on? They said we could have sued them for giving me medicine I didn’t need.” I shake my head. “I don’t understand why this is so upsetting to you.”
“It’s upsetting to me because you lied.”
“Forgive me if I don’t understand how I lied.”
“It was a lie of omission, Shai.” He sounds pissed.
“I don’t recall that you ever treated me to a recitation of your medical history. Why should you know mine?” My voice is icy, although I feel anger bubbling under the surface, and guilt at the other lie of omission, the even bigger one.
“Because I had to deal with cancer once, in someone I love. I don’t need it again.” He shouts it at me and I flinch back at the words. “I do not fucking need this, do you understand? You don’t have the right to get close to me and leave something like that out. Didn’t you think I might want to know a little detail like that? Maybe might want to make a decision based on that and whether we’re right for each other?” His face is red and his voice raised. He looks like he’s in shock.
“It was not cancer! And excuse me for being human!” I snap right back. “I thought we were getting to know each other on a deeper level, starting to care for each other. I didn’t know that there was a checklist I forgot to fill out. Please forgive me. Just so you know, I had my wisdom teeth removed in high school. Once, I broke my left wrist roller-skating. Oh, and last year I got the flu. Fuck you.”
I wipe at my face. My voice shakes. “I guess I forgot to give you my checklist, too. The one where you have to check the box for asshole or not asshole. That would obviously have saved me some heartbreak. Well, live and learn.”
I push past him hard and add, “Let’s not talk anymore, all right? I’ll give you updates on Michael and apart from that, you leave me and my medical history alone.”
“Don’t walk away from me,” he says, his voice angry and sad at the same time. “Shai?”
“Oh, really? You want me to stay? Maybe I’ll get my gross chemo germs on you. Better watch out.” My voice is so ugly I don’t recognize the person talking.
“I want you to admit that you lied to me. Explain why.” He sounds anguished, and part of me sees he’s hurting.
I whirl around to face him. “Gabriel.” Now I’m pleading. “Look, I fell for you, okay? I fel
l in love with you. I’m sorry that there are things about me that are not perfect. God, I wish I never had that tumor, okay? I wish it all the time. There are so many things I wish—”
I break off as tears blur my vision, and I push back the memories. “If I could go back and make things different, I would, but that’s something out of my control. What I can control is how I take care of myself now, and how I take care of the people I love. You.”
His face changes. “Don’t use that word right now.”
“I love you. I’m not perfect, God knows. There are still lots of things about me that I haven’t told you, because I’m afraid. But if we—Gabriel, I love you.” My voice trembles and I hold out my hand. “And maybe you’re so angry because you love me, too. Why else would you be so pissed when we’re not even together? Admit it, that you care, and we can figure it out. We can work through this. I know it.”
“I’m not ready to love someone. I’m not ready!” He has tears in his eyes, too, and he sounds panicked. “What I went through with Irene? I don’t know, Shai. I don’t think I can do that again.”
“Love doesn’t wait, Gabriel, for the right time. It just… comes.” My voice sounds flat, but I know the words are true.
He swipes at his eye. “Please, Shai. I need a minute.” He turns and walks from the room. “I just need a minute.” His words trail behind him. He disappears into his room.
I follow; stand outside the door.
A minute goes by and he doesn’t come out. More minutes. I can see the seconds, silvery and fleeting, flowing past me. I call his name.
When he doesn’t answer, I enter. He’s standing, staring at something on the nightstand. His body is tense with concentration. I’m afraid to look at him, afraid to show him what’s in my eyes. I’m glad his back is turned while I say what I need to. “Gabriel? I can’t offer you a perfect historical bill of health, and even if I could, that’s no guarantee for the future. I mean, any of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow. But in the meantime, we can love each other, and build a life together, a family with a happy couple and children. I love you.”
He whirls around, something in his hand. I sneak a small glance at his face in time to see his eyes narrow. “Children?” His voice is hard.
“I’m saying that I love Michael. I love both of you. And in the future…” I think of sad foster kids who need a home; children right here in our city who need a mom and dad. The world is full of small humans who need love.
He steps forward and shoves something at me. “Is that why you left this for me?”
I take the thing. It’s a white pen, long and flat, oddly shaped. No, it’s an ear thermometer. No—it’s a pregnancy test. I recognize these from ads, from boxes in the supermarket. I stare at the two pink lines in the window. Someone’s going to have a baby?
I frown at him. “What is this?”
“What is it? Are you joking?”
“It’s a positive pregnancy test.”
“Yeah.” His voice is flint.
I blink at the thing in my hands, and for one insane second, I almost wonder if everything I know about myself is a bad dream, a lie, a mistake. What if all these years I was wrong, and all the doctors were wrong, and my body did some kind of medical regeneration miracle that needs to be put into textbooks? What if after one of our nights together I peed and didn’t flush and for some reason Gabriel dipped the stick in and—what if?
A strange new future unfolds in front of my eyes like a vision, an oasis in the desert, and I see a little girl reaching out her arms to me and smiling. She’s mine, my own daughter, my flesh. Mine. And I’m taking her into my arms, and oh God.
I’m sobbing so hard I can’t see the stick anymore, and I don’t know which way is up and which way is down, but I’ve found down. I’m sitting on the floor leaning against the bed, and the stick is clutched in my hands, and I’m holding it to my heart. I manage to get out, “It’s not mine, Gabriel.”
“Maybe you didn’t know something, since we never bothered to exchange histories.” His voice is hard. “I had a vasectomy years ago. All of my girlfriends knew that. The only one who never knew that, apparently, was you.”
His mouth trembles and he suddenly looks like he’s near tears himself. “I fucking love you too, Shai. I thought about it over and over, the past weeks. When I was with Arielle. It’s all I thought about, sometimes. And I realized that I wanted to be with you. That even though I was fucking terrified, I wanted to try it. I’m not ready. Maybe I’ll never be ready. But I wanted to—maybe—try it anyway. I was thrown by the chemo thing; I was. But I could work past that. This kind of betrayal? I can’t believe you were ready to do this to me, to Michael.”
“I love you and Michael!” I scream. I feel like I’ve been socked in the gut. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Now I whisper it. “I love you. It’s not mine, Gabriel. It can’t be.” I don’t think he hears the last words, though.
“You don’t. Not in the right way. And once you stop seeing Michael for therapy, I don’t want you coming back.” He glares at me. “God. You can’t even let go of that thing, can you?” His voice is anguished. “Whose is it, Shai? Whose baby were you going to pass off as mine?” There are more tears in his eyes.
There’s no answer, and I grab that stick like it’s my only lifeline, like it’s the tow rope on a boat that will take me out of a storm. I’m sucking in air but none is coming. My sobs are so huge and gut-wrenching that my stomach and my backbone are kissing, ballooning, kissing.
He walks out, closing the door behind him.
The pink lines taunt me. Two pretty pink bars. Two ribbons. A pair of lives, now intertwined, growing together, two hearts beating in one lucky body. My heart is ripping apart, all alone, in this body of mine that’s already been stripped of all the tiny hopeful sparks that pulse in the core of every woman.
“Hey.” Michael’s voice is casual, but he’s talking too fast. “Look at my game. I built an awesome house and now I’m getting food for my pet dogs.” He’s playing something on a tablet. I glance over and see a pixelly blob hammer on something that looks like a square cow.
“It’s super. Listen, Michael. I have to talk to you about saying goodbye, now. This was our last session, like we’ve talked about for the past month.”
He looks up, startled; sees my face and starts to cry. “No. Shai, no! Don’t say you’re leaving us. Don’t say it.”
I shake my head. “Michael, you’re doing so well! And you’re at the point where you’ll be better without seeing a therapist on a regular basis. You’re ready to graduate! I’m so proud of you. You have come so far, and done so much. You’re an incredible person, and I consider myself so lucky to have gotten to know you. I promise, you are going to do whatever you want in the future. Anything.”
“But you can’t leave me!”
I sit on the bed next to him. “I’m always going to be here in an emergency. If you or your dad ever need me, I’m just a call away. And we’ll do our official follow-up in a month, and then again a month after that. This isn’t goodbye forever. And it’s a new start for you. The start of your life as a confident kid who’s made great progress!”
“No!” One tear trickles down his cheek. “Shai, no. You can’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I tell him. “I’m letting you go, because you’re ready to stand free. You’re going to be okay.”
“It’s never going to be okay!” He punches the bed. “I know that you and my dad had a fight. He won’t tell me why. He just said I’m ready to be done with therapy. Is this, you leaving me, because of my dad?”
I swallow. “Your dad is absolutely right that you don’t need me for your therapist anymore, and I agree that you’re ready to be on your own. I’m so incredibly proud of you. This only has to do with you and your own awesomeness, Michael.” I smile but he doesn’t return it.
“But if he didn’t fight with you, if he wasn’t mad, then we could hang out sometimes?” His voice is a bullet and a
plea.
“Michael, every time a therapist works with a child, there comes a day when the child is ready to be on his own without therapy. This is your day. It’s a good day, because it shows how strong you are. You don’t need to hang out with me to move forward.”
“I hate my dad! I hate Gabriel. I want to kill him. He ruins everything.” His voice is so angry and bitter that it kills me. “And I hate you too. Why can’t you act like grownups? Why can’t you just get along? Why do you both have to be so stupid?”
He pulls away from me and hurls his tablet at the mirror. There’s a brilliant crash; a crack lightnings down the glass, making a dull silver line, and a small piece of black plastic skitters across the floor.
“Michael. You are strong and you have what you need to make your life good. You don’t need me, not anymore. You don’t need to lash out in anger. Remember the techniques you learned for managing anxiety and anger. Use those instead.”
“But maybe I want you. Maybe I want you so much that I need you. Can’t you find him and make him change his mind? I like you a lot. I don’t want you to leave. What if I forget you?” More tears.
I shake my head. “Sometimes the people we care about the most are the people we don’t get to see all the time. But we can remember them and hold them in our hearts.” With shaking fingers, I remove the silver locket from my neck. “Like the way I remember my sister. Mani.”
“You have a sister?” He’s so surprised that there’s no anger in his voice. He peers over.
I open the locket, something I haven’t done in over a year. “There we are together at the county fair. We’re twins. We’re both twelve. We’re happy here because we got purple cotton candy and unlimited tickets.”
I pry out the tiny picture and clench it in my fist. “Five months later she died. She gave me this locket when she was sick. It was something she’d received as a gift. All my life I was a little jealous of the locket. I wanted it, because my gift that time had been a bracelet that I broke on the swings. But when she gave it to me, I cried and cried. I said no. I said she needed to keep it so I could keep being jealous for another twelve years. I said she wasn’t allowed to leave me.”
A Handful of Fire Page 19