I shrug. “Don’t overthink it right now. He’s a good guy. See where things go and then decide what you want to do.”
She lays her head on my shoulder. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” I joke. “Big sisters are bestowed with a wealth of knowledge.”
We gather up our stuff to head home, and I spend the entire time thinking about how I can apologize to Meredith.
nbsp;
I have a fitful night of sleep—due in part to my own anxieties and the fact that Meredith currently hates my guts.
At seven in the morning, I finally get up and shower, knowing sleep is a lost cause at this point. I dress in a pair of ripped jeans with the bottoms rolled up, a striped top, and my white Converse sneakers. The house is quiet, no one else up yet, so I write a note and head out.
I drive around for a little while, my windows rolled down with my hair whipping around my shoulders, and allow myself to think.
Eventually, I stop at one of Meredith and my favorite breakfast joints and order us each an egg and cheese sandwich on a croissant as well as coffee. I grab the paper bag when it’s ready and place our coffees in a drink carrier so I don’t have to worry about spilling them on the way to my car.
I reach my car and set everything inside, making sure there’s no chance it can go flying.
On the drive to Meredith’s house, I think about what I should say or do, but nothing sounds good enough and in the end, I decide to roll with it and hope for the best.
Twenty minutes later I park outside her Spanish-style house. The landscaping is pristine thanks to the company who comes once a week to mow and maintain everything.
I take a breath, bracing myself for her possible wrath. I’d deserve it.
I grab the coffee and bag of food, walking slowly up the walkway to the front door.
Pressing my finger to the doorbell, I wait.
Normally, I’d walk right on in—I have a key.
But not today. I don’t have any right to let myself in uninvited.
The door swings open and Meredith stands there in a fluffy white robe cinched at the waist overtop a pale pink tank and her favorite pair of pajama bottoms with eggs on them.
She sighs and leans against the doorway. “Come to belittle me some more?”
Shaking my head, I hold out the bag of food. “No, just swinging by with a peace offering.” I give the bag a small shake.
She presses her lips together for a second before stepping aside to allow me inside.
Well, at least that’s a good sign.
I follow her through the house and up the curved staircase to her room.
Meredith’s room looks like something straight out of a Pottery Barn magazine. Shiny dark wood floors, gray walls that shimmer when the sunlight hits it, and mismatched furniture that somehow looks cohesive with a Parisian style.
She plops on her unmade bed, leaning back against the tufted headboard.
“Give me the food and coffee and start talking. I expect lots of ‘I’m sorrys’ followed by ‘I love you, Merebitch, and from now on I’ll remember you’re the only bad bitch in this group who can say rude things.’”
I hand her the sandwich and the coffee before sitting on the end of her bed and getting my own food.nbsp;
“I am sorry,” I begin. “So sorry. I don’t know why I said that, I never should have. I know how awful you felt after that and I never should’ve brought it up.”
She looks at me sadly and nods. “Thank you. And … I have a confession to make.”
“What?” I tilt my head.
“I haven’t had sex since then.”
My jaw drops. “Wait … what?”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t exactly pleasant and made me feel dirty and used, so I haven’t had sex since then.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can see the depth of emotion in her eyes and understand that this is a very big deal
“But you always have all these crazy stories.”
She shrugs. “In school, it was the cool thing. It’s stupid, but it’s true. And I know you’re not like that, but it was easy to keep the charade going. The truth is, I’m not like that at all. Especially after what happened. I realize now what an intimate part of myself I shared with someone who didn’t matter, and I can never take that back. I’m not saying you have to be twenty-five before you lose your virginity, but no matter when it is, it should be with someone you care about. There are no take backs. No do-overs. Once it’s done it’s done.”
“Oh, Meredith,” I breathe.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, seriously don’t. I made a bad choice, but I learned from it. It hurt when you brought it up yesterday because I could see the judgment in your eyes because you believed all the lies I’d told. But even if I had done all that, I still shouldn’t be judged for it.”
“You’re right,” I admit.
She holds out her coffee cup. “We’re good now.”
“We’re good,” I echo, and bump my cup against hers.
nbsp;***
Somehow, I guess to make up for my being a bitch, I let Meredith talk me into going to the mall.nbsp;
It’s not that I mind shopping, I like it sometimes, but with Meredith it usually turns into an all-day excursion where I fall into bed dead tired at the end of it.
We walk into the mall and Meredith stops dead in her tracks inhaling a big breath.
“Do you smell that?”
“Um … no?”
She smirks. “It’s the smell of the smoke that’s going to be coming off of my credit card when I’m done here.”
I shake my head. “Your parents were so dumb to add you to their account.”
She shrugs. “They haven’t regretted it yet, so let’s put it to good use.”
She grabs my hand and begins dragging me around from store to store, dressing me like I’m some sort of project of hers—which I have to face it, I am. Meredith has been trying to style me a whole new wardrobe for years. I guess now she’s decided she’ll have to buy it for me.
She holds up a white shirt with a yellow daisy print.nbsp;
“This would be cute on you.” She piles it into my arms with the other garments she’s deemed worthy.
“Meredith, seriously, stop it. I can’t afford this and you don’t need to be buying it for me on your parents’ credit card.”
“Oh, shush,” she hushes me, already perusing another rack.
“Meredith—” I start again.
She glares at me. “This is still you making up for yesterday so zip your lips.”
“How is you buying me stuff a part of me making up to you? I’m lost.”
She sighs, clearly exasperated. “Because you’re my Barbie doll for the day.”
“Oh no, no, no, no,” I chant.nbsp;
She glares, her eyes narrowed. I’m sure if she had laser vision I’d be fried right about now.nbsp;
“You owe me,” is all she says, before turning back to the rack.
I whimper. I’m in for it. I know it.
An hour later we leave that store, laden down with bags. Thankfully, it’s not all for me and she did splurge on herself some. Unfortunately, I know she’s far from done shopping, so I brace myself for the rest of the day.
“Come on, Meredith. My arms are killing me,” I whine, dragging bags along the ground since I’m too weak to carry them.
“I’m done, I’m done,” she declares, “but we have to eat first.”
I perk up at the mention of food. We skipped lunch and it’s now dinnertime so my body is begging for sustenance.nbsp;
“And, since you’ve been so good today, I’m taking you to the Cheesecake Factory.”
“Mmm, cheesecake,” I hum in delight.nbsp;
Thankfully, the Cheesecake Factory is attached to the mall so we don’t have to go far. Plus, sitting down and eating will give my arms and legs a break. After a small wait we’re seated—we have to pile all the bags on one side of the booth and sit side by side.
&nbs
p; I grab the menu, which feels like it’s about a hundred pages long. I don’t know why they give so many choices for indecisive people like me. It’s like they’re asking us to sit here for an hour before we finally give up, go eenie meenie minnie mo, and pick something random off the menu.
Maybe that is what they want.
When the waiter stops by we both ask for a water and he drops off some bread—which I immediately devour. Meredith might want some but I don’t care. If I don’t get food in me now she’s going to have to explain why I’m dead to my parents and I don’t think after what I’ve been through that shopped till she dropped would be a good enough excuse.nbsp;
Meredith reaches for a piece of bread and I swat her hand away.
“Mine,” I growl.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “You sure turn into a she-beast when you’re hungry. I’m the one with red hair, shouldn’t that be me?”
“Mine,” I say again, guarding the bread.
She sighs and our waiter drops off our drinks, taking our order while he’s there.
As he walks away, Meredith says, “Don’t judge me, but I sure do love those tight white pants they wear. Is it a requirement for the people who work here to have buns of steel?”
I snort and pieces of bread go flying out of my mouth.
“Ick,” she clucks her tongue. “That was gross.”
“Then don’t make me laugh when food is in my mouth,” I retort, wiping my mouth on a napkin. “It’s not like I enjoy spitting my food everywhere.”
I grab for another piece of bread and slather it with butter.
Oh, butter, how I love thee.
Meredith chats about some of the different clothes she picked out for me and how I need to style them—I’m only half listening, but she doesn’t seem to notice as I interject the necessary “hmm” and “I see” as needed.
“Here you ladies go,” our waiter says, setting down our plates of food.
I inhale the smell of my salmon and my mouth waters at the sight of the mashed potatoes and asparagus. You’d think after all the bread I gorged myself on I’d be stuffed, but I’m still hungry—I’ll definitely be taking my cheesecake home for later.
“So,” Meredith begins, twirling her pasta around her fork, “admit it, you’ve had fun today.”
“I have—but you seriously didn’t need to buy me anything, you’re flat out nuts.”
She shrugs. “Actually, I’m flat out awesome.” She sticks her tongue out at me.
“That too,” I agree.
“I think I’ve decided that’s what I’m passionate about—styling,” she clarifies. “I love shopping for people and putting things together you might not otherwise think to put together.”
“Well, you’re pretty great at that,” I praise, and she smiles.
“You’re really not starting college in the fall?” she asks.
Growing up, before my disease, we always dreamed of going to college together and living in a tiny apartment that was all our own.
I shake my head. “I need time to figure everything out. I know the first year is basic classes, but … it doesn’t feel right to go yet,” I explain.nbsp;
She nods. “I understand. Still, it’ll be weird without you.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You’ll be home every weekend because you miss me so much.”
She laughs and points her fork at me. “Only in your dreams.”
I toss my napkin at her and we both can’t help laughing.
I think we both needed today. It’s been too long since we’ve hung out with only the two of us.
We finish our meal, order our cheesecake to go, and head back to her house.
“Why don’t you stay the night?” she suggests as she pulls her car into the driveway. “You can borrow some of my pajamas.”
“Let me double check with my mom, but I don’t see why not.”
After a quick call to my mom where I get the okay—I may be eighteen but I have respect for my parents and I’m not going to stay gone all day and night and not ask for permission—Meredith and I unload the bags into her room.
I take a quick shower and change into a pair of her pajamas. When I step back into her room, all the bags of clothes have exploded all over her bed and floor.
She immediately begins going over, yet again, what pairs with what.
“Why don’t you come over and dress me every day?” I joke, rubbing my damp hair with a towel.
“That’s a good idea,” she replies, dead serious.nbsp;
“I was kidding.”
“And I wasn’t,” she retorts, her tongue sticking out slightly between her lips as she thinks.
“Forget the clothes,” I beg. “Let’s put a movie on and relax. My feet are killing me.”
“Fine,” she agrees reluctantly and starts putting the clothes back in the bags.
After she showers and changes we put a movie on and pile into her bed, lying on our stomachs clutching pillows.
Meredith lays her head on her arms and tilts her head over to the side to see me. “I love that you’re my best friend. We fight, we make up, and we move on. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I love that you’re my best friend too.”
I reach out my arms and hug her.
Sometimes it’s the people you choose to love that are the best kind to have around.nbsp;
nbsp;
I rush around my room, nearly falling over as I wiggle into a pair of jean shorts.
“Come on, girls, we have to go! We’re going to be late!” my mom yells up the stairs, her tone showing her irritation.nbsp;
“Coming,” Harlow hollers back, and I hear her footsteps thunder down the hallway to the stairs.
I quickly button my shorts and grab a black and white striped cropped T-shirt—courtesy of Meredith.nbsp;
Normally, I’m always ready to go and never running late, but I started a new book, got sucked in, and completely forgot to pay attention to the time. Before I knew it, my mom was yelling at us to hurry up.nbsp;
I glance in the mirror and frown at my messy hair. It’s beyond help and I hope I can play off the whole messy bohemian look or something. Shoving my feet into a pair of white Converse I grab my purse, the book that got me in trouble, and dash down the stairs nearly tripping on my untied shoelaces.nbsp;
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” my mom chants, clapping her hands for good measure and ushering the two of us to her car.
Harlow darts past me and screams, “Shotgun.”
“Fine by me.” I slide into the back of the car and stretch my legs out on the black leather seats. I open my book and hold onto my bookmark, planning to read on the drive.nbsp;
My mom slides into the driver’s seat, grumbling about our lateness, traffic, and God knows what else.
Harlow and I wisely choose to stay quiet.
Twenty minutes into the drive my phone buzzes and I grab it from my purse, finding a text from Jasper.
Jasper: Working at the coffee shop this morning—surfing later?
Willa: Can’t, sorry. I have a doc appt. today. We’ll be gone most of the day.
Jasper: Everything ok?
Willa: Yeah, they keep a close check.
Jasper: How about this weekend? Let’s go to the pier.
Willa: Sounds fun.
Jasper: It’s a date.
My cheeks flush with his last three words. It feels weird the way he so casually uses the word date. I guess with my inexperience it feels like such a big thing, and mostly, I never in a million years believed a guy like him would be interested in someone like me. That’s probably everyone’s biggest mistake—we always undervalue our own worth.nbsp;
I put my phone back and return to reading my book while my mom grumbles about traffic, the weather, and probably aliens but at this point I’m not listening to her. Even Harlow has stuck her earphones in and is currently bobbing her head along to whatever she’s listening to.
When we arrive at the hospital
my mom parks in the parking garage and then ushers us quickly inside like we’re small unruly children holding onto her legs and begging not to go.
I sign in and answer the same questions I always do about insurance, employment, and all that fun stuff. You’d think when you’re here practically all the time they wouldn’t have to ask these same questions, but they do.
Once the question and answer session is done I sit down with my mom and Harlow in the waiting room.
Looking around at the periwinkle blue walls, navy plastic couches and chairs, and numerous magazines littering the laminate coffee tables, I can’t help but remember back to the first time I had to come here for a consultation to apply for the deceased donor waiting list.
I remember the way my heart beat too fast but too slow at the same time. How my palms grew damp and sweat prickled my forehead. I remember the fear, the fear of the doctors I’d yet to meet, the fear of the process, but mostly the fear of the unknown. I’d been thrust into this strange new reality where nothing made sense but was suddenly my whole life. I felt swallowed by it, completely suffocated; everywhere I looked there was a reminder of my failure. Of my body’s failure to sustain my life, and how from now on my life would never be the same, and neither would my family’s since I’d unwittingly dragged them into this with me. I didn’t ask for this to happen, who would want this to happen, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty that they were sucked into this with me. By the time they called my name at that first appointment, I was nearly ready to faint. I remember going through the whole appointment, meeting the nurse, social worker, dietician, surgeon—the whole team—and feeling like I was in a daze. I was there, processing information and asking questions, but it was also like I was watching it play out from someone else’s perspective. As if, by detaching myself, I could somehow pretend this wasn’t happening to me—that maybe I was watching a movie, because surely this wasn’t real life. But it was real then, and it’s real now, and it’ll be real twenty years from now. This stuff happens all the time. To your friend, to your neighbor, to that person suffering silently in the grocery store that you pass by and don’t even know how much they’re hurting.nbsp;
The Other Side of Tomorrow Page 22