I stepped away from Maria’s room like an exhausted Mardi Gras celebrator with my heavy eyes and my strands of beads.
What would Gwen think if she knew what was going on in Maria’s bedroom? It wouldn’t be anything good.
***
I didn’t say anything to Jess the next day—about missing him, about my dad, or about the strange rituals in Maria’s room. I was just glad to see him, and glad the night was gone. But I didn’t see much of him. He slept most of the day, rising only when Maria prodded and poked him, and then only long enough to sit up, eat a piece of toast, and take his meds.
He fell back on to his pillow, spoke to me for a little while about the movie, some kind of cop versus psycho thriller. His voice faded little by little, and he was back to nighty-night land. Of course he was tired—he wasn’t used to going out, or doing anything but lie around—and then there was the cancer, eating at his strength as well. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I could’ve snuggled up to him, but of course that was impossible with Gwen home.
I spent the day studying math, at least as much as I could. It was so hard to concentrate, to think of anything but Jess. He’d promised to keep me company, to help me pass everything, and there he was, unconscious from a night of who knew what?
Think trig, I commanded myself. I stared at hordes of numbers, squinting to focus as they wriggled and swam before me and my head grew heavier, heavier, heavier… .
“Sam?”
“Huh?” I jolted up from the bed, knocking the trig book to the floor and drooling out of the left side of my mouth. Obviously I hadn’t gotten very far studying.
“Sorry,” Jess said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“’S’okay.” I wiped my mouth and picked the book up, then climbed back on to the bed.
“Come over here, will you?” He patted next to him. Sure, now he wanted me, when he felt nice and refreshed and I was worn out from worry—and exhausted from coconut rituals.
I went.
He draped his arm around me, kissed me. “How’s it going?”
I thought about telling him how it was going—how lonely I was, and how, as trite as it sounded, my heart literally ached for him when he wasn’t there. I thought about telling him about two a.m. in the bathroom, and about how unbearably hard it was to be alone in the dark. I thought about telling him all the thoughts I’d had in that terrible night so he’d prove them wrong, or at least have the chance to.
But instead, I said, “Fine.”
Who knew where to begin, where to end, whether it was right to feel the way I did? It was all so overwhelming, and so the only thing to do was nothing.
“Cool,” he said.
He told me again about the movie, more coherently this time. Then he told me they went to an all-night coffee bar afterward, which had a pool table, too. It all seemed harmless enough, this boys’ night out. I was feeling better, until he slipped in his revelation: Cindy had been there.
“Cindy?” I repeated. “You invited Cindy?” And not me? The last part of the question made it out of my brain, but not out of my mouth.
“I didn’t invite her, Sam. She showed up at Where Ya Bean—that was the name of the coffee bar—and just started playing with us.”
“How could she just start playing? Someone had to share his cue.”
“Sam.” He cut me off, looked at me intently. “I told you because I want to be completely honest. I didn’t invite her; I barely spoke with her. Okay?”
It damn well wasn’t okay, but what could I say? I’d certainly hung out enough with Jess when she was dating him. Turnabout totally sucked.
“Sam … say something.” He looked upset, like he wanted forgiveness. Did he need to be forgiven for something?
“Okay.” I patted his leg, rested my hand there. “Okay.”
He smiled then, and stroked my cheek. “Thanks for not making it a big deal.”
My hand tensed up on his leg, squeezing tight. I covered quickly by continuing the action—massaging his muscle, like that was what I’d meant to do.
If he only knew what’s going on inside.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Things stayed like that for the next week: me tense and lonely, and hating myself for being tense and lonely; and him barely there, and sleeping most of the time when he was. I dealt with it silently, partly because I didn’t want to fight with him, but partly because I wasn’t sure I had the right to my feelings.
And I said nothing mostly because he was starting chemo again, and then everything would change.
But the thing with Cindy irked me the most. I kind of wished I could talk to Pete about her again; he was the first person to cut through my jealousy with any efficiency. It was like using a sharpened pair of scissors after years of struggling with those dull, rounded-edge blades on the kiddie ones. But I was kind of pissed at Pete, too, for not including me in his plans with Jess. Stupid and irrational, yeah; I knew my thinking was both. The guy owed me nothing. He was Jess’s friend, not mine. I just thought we’d bonded a bit, I guess.
Jess didn’t mention Cindy again and I didn’t bring her up. I assumed she hadn’t showed up again, and that he’d have told me if she had, but I didn’t want to sound jealous by asking.
***
It was the night before chemo. Jess was staying home—storing up his energy on the off chance that a well-rested body would respond better to the chemo, or at least feel the side effects less.
He was sinking already, mentally—even spiritually. It was like he was afraid that if he allowed himself to hope he’d respond better to the treatment this time, then it’d be that much further for him to fall if it was just as bad as before, or worse.
Poor Jess.
I’d decided to surprise him with a picnic dinner like the one we’d had on prom night, only this time we’d dine in his room so he didn’t have to go anywhere.
During the day I’d been at the library, doing research for a paper on Charles Darwin that I had to hand in at the end of the summer. I’d just learned that Darwin’s wife had been extremely religious and had agonized about her husband’s soul. I guess it’s in women’s nature, to worry about their men.
I’d told Jess I’d be back late, but that was before I came up with my brilliant idea. I closed the books early, picked up the food at the deli two blocks from our building, and packed it up at home.
With the stuffed basket on one arm and the sparkling cider clutched in the other hand, I opened the door to Jess’s apartment and then, after walking the corridor from hell, swung the door to his room. I saw Jess’s trophies—the gold, silver, and bronze statues standing tall across the room where they always waited when I walked in.
Then my gaze fell lower. There was someone on the bed with Jess, back toward me, blocking Jess from view. Someone with long hair. Long auburn hair with highlights.
She turned, smirked—a huge smirk.
I saw Jess’s face now, his horrified face.
And lipstick.
Lipstick!
Pink lipstick on his lips. His lips moved; he said something, but I couldn’t hear. I saw pink and that was all I could manage.
My feet moved me in, dragged me halfway across the floor. I tried to digest, to see another way the pink could’ve gotten smeared all over his lips. But there was no other way.
He spoke. I didn’t hear him.
She smirked, smirked, smirked.
Cindy smirked.
“Bastard,” I said. The bottle was heavy, wet, and cold in my hand. I heaved it. It connected with the picture on the bedside table, the one from senior movie night, the one I’d rescued, the one with the cracks that Jess had never wanted to look at before. Plastic crunched, metal clanked, and it crashed to the floor, demolished.
Good, I thought. Good.
But the thrill of destruction was gone in a moment, replaced with the ache of despair. “Bastard,” I repeated, dropping to my knees. The basket slipped from my arm; I left it there on the floor, tried to get up b
ut couldn’t focus, couldn’t process the thoughts I needed to rise. I looked up and saw her again, with her grin.
I clamped my eyes tight and crawled blindly, banging into things, until finally, mercifully, I felt the hard bump of the threshold under my knees. I opened my eyes, faced the hallway with its leering paintings—a long path to nowhere. Purgatory, I thought, and I didn’t even believe in that stuff. But if I did, I knew Purgatory would look like Gwen’s heartless hall.
Maria stepped out in her red terry robe and pink feathered slippers—a valentine blocking my way.
“Sammy? What happen? Why you on da floor?” She reached down and helped me up.
I heard Jess calling me now. Damned if I was turning back, setting foot in that room I’d just slithered from. Here I’d thought it was Eden; did that make me the serpent?
“I’m leaving.” My chest felt heavy and it was hard to breathe. Somewhere behind me, nearer than before, Jess called my name. He was coming after me, as fast as he could.
I detached my hand from Maria’s. “I’m going.”
Maria looked beyond me into Jess’s room. She must’ve spotted Cindy, because she muttered something fast and Spanish, then said, “Stay, Sammy. Talk to him.”
“Sam—” Jess was close now, like he was practically on top of me.
“I’m leaving,” I told Maria.
And I left.
***
I was numb and beyond tears when I stepped onto the sidewalk. An icy dull heaviness had built up inside me, but otherwise I felt nothing. I knew where I was going—to the only haven I had. Back to our sanctuary—now a crime scene, roped off with yellow tape in my mind.
All those lies he’d told me. Had he meant anything he’d said?
I trudged into the park, plodded down the dimly lit path, then clumped across grass, breathing in its too-sweet, too-fresh smell until I reached the spot, our former stretch of happiness bordered by the three lofty trees. Once our place in the sun, and later our place in the stars.
The sun had set. The twinkling lights were gone. It was all I had left, that dark patch of grass, that lonely bit of earth. No one could take that from me.
I slumped at the foot of a tree, gnarled bark scratching my back. I curled into a ball on the chilly soil and slept.
***
“Sam, Sam!”
Someone was touching me, warm fingers on my frigid skin.
“Sam, are you okay?”
That voice …
Something warm was covering me now—a blanket? It was soothing … I came out of my muddled, restless dreams and opened my eyes, even more confused. My hair was tangled around my face like blinders, but through it I could see that it wasn’t a blanket wrapped around me. It was Jesse.
“Oh, thank God,” he said. “You were so cold!”
“Why are you here?”
“Why am I here? Because you’re here.”
He didn’t have the lipstick on him anymore—he must’ve washed it off. But my mind drew the pink right back on those lips.
“Shouldn’t you be with Cindy?”
He smoothed my hair out of my face, then kissed me. I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry you walked in just at that moment.”
“Yeah, me too.” I tried looking away, but there was no escaping his eyes when they wanted my attention.
Jerk.
Why did I have to love him?
“She kissed me, Sam.”
“I got that.” A tear trickled out. So much for being past tears. Stupid jerk.
He pressed his lips against my cheek, sucked in my tear. I wanted to pull back, but I didn’t. Big stupid jerk.
“Sam, I didn’t kiss her back.”
“What?”
“I didn’t kiss her back. I would’ve told her to leave if you hadn’t walked in.”
“What?”
“Sam, I love you.”
The ice inside me melted and I cried again.
“Don’t cry anymore, Sam. I’m always making you cry.” His lips roved my skin now.
How can I believe him? Trust him?
How can I ever know he really loves me?
“Marry me, Sam.”
The absurdity of the words smacked into my brain. Marry him? We were teenagers. It was ridiculous. But the romanticism in the words … it was there, too. Undeniably.
He wanted to marry me.
I softened, loosened, and released the sorrow and pain I’d carried to the park.
He wanted to marry me.
He kissed me still, leaned against my tired, chilled body—true protection against the dark elements. I breathed in his scent deeply; it was like smelling the first spring blossoms. And I felt what, a short while ago, I was sure I’d never feel again.
I felt hope.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“So?” Maria asked. “Is everybody ’appy now?”
Jess and I were back in his room, in his bed. Maria had come in with a box of chocolates and waved it at us. She really looked like a valentine now. I’d taken what I hoped was a caramel. Jess had passed on it.
“Are you happy, Sam?” Jess asked, squeezing into me.
I nodded. I was feeling grounded and loved. I was happy.
My stomach growled loudly, apparently awakened by the sugar and fluff I’d ingested—it turned out to be marshmallow.
“Jesus, Sammy!” Maria exclaimed. “Don’ you eat nuttin’ today?”
I remembered the picnic we were supposed to have. The picture and cider were gone—Maria must’ve cleaned up—but the basket was still sitting on the floor next to the wheelchair, unopened.
“I meant to,” I said, salivating at the basket. I told them about my plans.
“Don’ you worry ’bout nuttin’,” Maria said with a wink. “You two stay here, I make you plates of chicken.” She grabbed the basket and headed to the kitchen.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t worried about anything. I felt light.
Jess stroked my cheek. “You didn’t answer me,” he said. His voice had a slight tremor. “Does that mean no?”
I turned to face Jess and gazed into those warm hazel eyes. They were like hot chocolate by a fire on a cold winter’s day; they were home. He was home to me, he was my Kansas. I’d known it as far back as I could remember knowing things. I probably knew it the first time those elevator doors opened and I faced him in his stroller.
And now he wanted to marry me—just push aside all the obvious problems that went with the question and marry me. There was time to worry about how’s and if’s, to pile all that on top of the other things we were dealing with.
For tonight I was willing to suspend disbelief.
“Yes, Jess. I’ll marry you.”
***
The next day I held Jesse’s hand while the lab technician injected the chemo drugs into his chest. I squeezed his hand and felt his pulse beating wildly in his fingers. The tech plunged the syringe into the tube—the tube that Jess had sworn didn’t hurt him, but I could tell it did.
It did, even if he didn’t feel it. It was a violation, a constant violation.
Our eyes locked as the drugs entered his bloodstream on their seek-and-destroy mission, annihilating everything, the bad and the good. They were soldiers obeying orders without question.
I was ripped apart watching his eyes fill with surrender, submitting to the drugs, succumbing to their purpose—to their fierce devastation as they launched their attack, bombarding his cells and blitzing his body.
The tech finished up and left the room. I held Jess, pressed his head against my chest while the drugs advanced through his veins.
I held Jess while he cried.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jess had been right not to get his hopes up. He got sick from the chemo immediately, and by the time a week went by, he was in worse shape than he’d ever been. It was torture to see him suffer each morning, to watch him wake and remember all over again.
***<
br />
It was Monday, the start of Jess’s third week of chemo. “Morning,” I said when he woke up. He’d been sleeping later; whether from exhaustion or indifference, I couldn’t say. I mustered a smile.
“Morning.” He attempted to smile but couldn’t pull it off. He just had nothing to smile about. True, he wasn’t heaving anymore, but he was so weak. His fear had been realized; some days, he couldn’t walk.
A chill slid through me and I shivered. Despite the heat of the summer, AC and I were not compatible.
“Can you—do you need help, Jess?” I knew he had to go to the bathroom, one way or another.
He hoisted himself up slowly, winced, then sank back down. I went over to him, gave him a kiss.
“What do you want to do, hon?” I asked. “You want to try to walk with me?”
It was hard to say which Jess hated more of the other two choices—the wheelchair or the bedpan. He twisted his sheet in his hand, nodded.
I lowered the bar on the side of the bed—I’d finally mastered it. Then I leaned against him and he wrapped his arms around me. I boosted him up, trying not to react to his groaning and trembling—he hated that—and pulled him as gently as I could from the bed.
It was hard supporting his weight; I could have gotten help from Maria, and possibly even Gwen, but I knew Jess would rather keep his struggle between us.
We limped across the room, through the doorway, and into the bathroom. Then I waited outside the door for him. Afterward, we repeated the effort in reverse. The hardest part was getting him back into bed without hurting him too much.
Actually, that wasn’t true. The hardest part was holding back my tears, seeing Jess like that—knowing how absolutely miserable and degraded he felt. Never mind the horrific pain he was in.
I smoothed the covers over him and flipped his flopped-over kitty back and upright against the wall.
“You feel like breakfast, Jess?”
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