He knows. Of course he knows.
But throughout the day
he’s been trying to tell himself
maybe there’s a chance for the
heavens to open up and a
miracle will rescue them all.
I’ve been the same way.
If I just ignore it,
pretend it isn’t happening,
get some distance,
maybe somehow,
some way,
everything will magically
change.
And suddenly I get it.
There isn’t magic out there.
There is magic here.
Right here, in this place
that brought us together
the day before
we face our fears
and our lives change forever.
Magic in the jellies.
Magic in the lighthouse.
Magic in the music.
Magic in the kisses.
Magic in the glitter.
Magic in us.
What we need
will appear
right when we need it.
Just like it did
today.
alike more than different
I snuggle in close
and kiss him.
He tastes like
campfire and
salty air.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“My stuff must seem so trivial to you.”
“No. Not at all.”
“But it’s not a matter of life and
death.”
“To your new parents, I think it is.
Losing you would be like
another daughter dying.”
“But how can you lose something you’ve never had?”
“You’re their daughter,” he tells me.
“You’re connected, whether you like it or not.”
“Do you ever wish it were someone else?” I ask.
“Like, your brother instead?
I’ve wished it were my sister.
Which is just so wrong.
Why would I wish this on anyone?”
He kisses me.
“Because you’re human.”
He sighs.
“Just like me.”
imagine
And because we are human,
we feel it all—
the anger,
the sadness,
the fear,
the resentment.
Regardless
of how many people
tell us
everything will be fine,
we’ll live,
life will go on—
we can’t help
but feel
it all.
In the park
one day on a walk,
my dad told me
that my feelings
wouldn’t last
forever.
He said one day,
though it’s hard to imagine,
they’d be replaced
by new ones.
Good or bad,
they would be replaced.
I think about that
and see my dad is probably
right.
When Cade’s surgery
is over and he’s fine,
and his dad is getting better,
all these bad feelings
he has now
will be replaced—
by gratitude and love.
I wish he could just
skip forward.
And so I say,
“Cade, close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Just do it. Close them.”
I wait. He does.
“Imagine four weeks from today,
you’re at home, watching movies,
ripping through Netflix.
Your friends come by,
bring you some dirty magazines,
or some graphic novels,
and they’re like, Hey Cade,
you look good, how’s your dad?
And you break out this gigantic smile
because you can tell them
He’s doing good.
Better than good.
He’s at home, getting better,
calling me every day,
bugging the crap out of me.”
I look at him.
It’s all over his face.
Gratitude and love.
I lean in and whisper,
“Keep your mind there.”
an agreement of sorts
In my family
my dad was always
the brave one.
The one who’d
check under
my bed and in
my closet
at bedtime
to make sure
the monsters were gone.
The one who’d
kill the giant spider
while Mom, Kelly, and I
went screaming
into the other room.
The one who’d
sleep with a baseball bat
under his side of the bed,
ready for intruders.
I reach for the
silver sand dollar
hanging from my neck,
hidden under my shirt.
I missed Dad when he moved out.
I still miss him sometimes,
even though we see each other often.
I miss seeing him at the dinner table
or on the couch watching a game.
I just miss him being there.
I try to imagine
myself in Cade’s shoes,
having to be the brave one
for a change.
Having to rescue my dad
from the big, ugly spider.
I’d be scared, but I’d do it.
Just like I know
Cade is going to do it.
He reaches over
and touches my
silver dollar.
“It’s beautiful,” he says.
“A gift from my dad.”
He nods.
Waits a minute.
“My dad didn’t ask me to do it, you know.
To be the donor.
I volunteered.
I just … I didn’t know I’d be this scared.”
Now that is a beautiful gift.
“I think the fear is normal, Cade.
Just don’t let it win.”
He whispers, “I won’t if you won’t.”
sweet dreams
It’s cold.
And late.
We pack up
and head inside.
Cade has to be at
the hospital by eight.
“You need sleep,” I tell him.
“Let’s rest for a few hours.”
In a chilly, dark room
at the back of the house,
we crawl into his bed,
and we spoon.
I’ve been wondering something.
So I ask him.
“What was with the boat today?”
He strokes my hair.
Kisses my ear.
“I want to tell Dad it’s ready to go.
That it’s here, waiting for us.
That in four or five months, we’ll be fishing again.”
I smile.
That’s good.
Fear isn’t the only thing he’s feeling.
“Did you see that movie?” I ask after a while.
He mumbles, “What?”
He’s so tired. Almost asleep.
“Hope Floats,” I whisper.
“I’ve always loved that title.”
messy
I can’t sleep.
My thoughts won’t let me.
So, while he sleeps,
I go to the kitchen,
and I clean.
All those dirty dishes,
left behind by
a woman
consumed with worry.
She shouldn’t have to
come home to them
and be reminded
of that worry.
She should come home
and feel relieved.
Relieved the worst is over.
Relieved the house is clean.
The act of scrubbing
soothes my soul, just a little.
Still, my thoughts
keep spinning
around and around
like the sponge
in my hand.
How can I leave him?
How can I say good-bye,
let him go to the hospital,
a place he hates,
a place he fears?
I put the last dish away.
The kitchen is clean.
But everything else?
What a mess.
crunch time
I open the sliding-glass door
to let the cool breeze
rush in and chase away
the stale air.
Goose bumps rise
on my arms.
The waves pound the shore
in the distance, and home
seems so far away.
I think of Mom in bed,
trying to sleep,
but thinking of me.
Maybe Kelly’s with her.
I hope she’s with her.
The affectionate one.
The pretty one.
The one who looks like Mom,
with her blue eyes and blond hair.
Kelly was right.
I was selfish,
to do this to them.
But I had to come.
I had to get away.
The day before
your life changes
is a big day.
But it’s not
the day before
anymore.
The day is here.
The day I’ve dreaded,
and now dread even more,
is here.
Three days ago
Dear Amber,
I know we’ve been fighting a lot lately.
I know you think I hate you more than I love you.
I know it might seem like I don’t care that all of this is happening to you.
So I just wanted to tell you, I do care. And believe it or not, I’m going to miss you.
Remember—you will be back.
We’ll be waiting.
I love you, Jelly.
Kelly Belly
stronger than I thought
At five I wake
Cade with kisses
and cuddles.
“Can’t we just stay here?” he whispers,
holding me so tight,
there is nothing else
in the entire world
but me and him.
My heart
begs me to say
yes.
But my brain tells me
regret would come,
knocking loudly,
invading this sweet space
and ruining everything.
I wish time would stop.
But whether on sea stars
or under glitter
or in Cade’s arms,
wishes don’t always come true.
So I kiss him
one more time
and apologize
to my very
fragile heart.
“Time to go, baby.”
hearts in the sand
He leads me
to the beach
one last time.
I understand.
It feels wrong to leave
without wishing the ocean
a proper good-bye.
It’s still dark, but
the moon glows,
smiling down on us.
Cade grabs a stick.
Makes a big heart in the sand.
Writes AMBER.
I take the stick.
Intertwine a heart with his.
And I write CADE.
Then he wraps
his arms around me,
our bodies intertwined
like the hearts and
our connection so strong,
it’s impossible
we only met yesterday.
It’s not long enough.
Damn it.
It’s just not long enough.
here we go
“Let me take you home?” he asks.
“On my way to Portland?”
I smile.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
the road back
He drives.
I call the limo driver
and cancel my ride.
He drives.
I text my mom and dad
and tell them I’ll see them soon.
He drives.
I lean in and kiss his cheek.
Turn up the song,
Falling In by Lifehouse.
He drives.
The sun rises.
The sky lights up
with all the pretty sky colors,
just like yesterday.
I turn to Cade.
“You are my sky.”
And I want to feel happy,
but the closer we get,
the sadder I feel.
He still drives.
I grip his leg.
Squeeze it tight.
“Slow down,” I say.
But of course he can’t.
He has an appointment.
So he drives.
And I start to cry.
I want the happy ending
Cade pulls over.
“I don’t want to go,” I say.
“I know. Me neither.”
“Let me go with you.
I can take care of you.
I’ll be the best nurse ever.”
He takes my face
in his hands and
looks at me with
those gorgeous brown eyes
that I lose myself in
like the sweetest of songs.
“Did you see that movie?”
I think.
I think hard.
Boy leaving?
Girl crying?
What is it?
But I’m too sad
and I’m drawing a blank.
I shake my head.
“Lloyd Dobler ring any bells?”
Another of my mom’s favorites.
Say Anything with John Cusack.
He goes on.
“That scene, where Lloyd holds
the radio above his head?
Think of me. Every night, think of me,
and pretend I’m doing that.”
I shake my head.
“But he goes with her.
They end up together.
It’s not fair.”
He kisses me.
“Who says we don’t end up together too?”
getting closer
I reach for my bag.
Get out my jelly beans.
But I eat alone,
because he’s having surgery
and can’t eat anything.
Oh my God.
The steak and lobster was like his last meal.
Of course he wanted something good.
Something great.
Because what if—
I shake my head.
Pop in another jelly bean,
cream soda this time,
and Cade looks at me funny.
“They help me.
I know, it’s weird.
They just do.”
“What’s your least favorite flavor?” he asks.
“Licorice. Yours?”
“Buttered popcorn.”
“And your favorite?” I ask.
“Sour cherry.”
“You should write a song.
A song about jelly beans.
That’d
be cool.”
He smiles.
“Maybe I will.
I’ll call it Amber and Her Jellies.”
“And they’ll think,
Amber’s eating jellyfish?”
We laugh.
My mind drifts back
to that first moment
when I saw him,
admiring their loveliness,
while I admired him.
His beautiful face.
His intense stare.
His skinny jeans.
And I guess he goes back too.
“In case you don’t know,” he says,
“I’m really glad we met.”
I squeeze his leg again.
“Holy shit, Cade,
I don’t even know your last name.”
“Cummings. Caden Cummings.
No relation to the poet.”
“Amber Jacobson.
But you already know that.
And no relation to the golfer.”
“We’ll have to exchange e-mails.
Addresses. Everything.”
“It’s all yours,” I tell him.
And I mean it.
He can have it all.
He’s already got the most
important thing anyway.
My heart.
and closer
“I’ll see you again,” he asks.
“Right, angel?”
When he calls me that,
I get all tingly.
Though I can tell,
it’s less about me
and more about him.
Eight o’clock is getting closer
by the minute.
“Yes, Cade.
I promise.
You’ll see me again.”
The Day Before Page 10