by Melody Grace
Would I have enough time left for them? And what happened when that last entry was struck off and her final wishes were complete?
Looking back now, it’s easy to see why I clung to that list for as long as I did. It gave me a focus, a simple fixed point when everything around it was storming with self-doubt. For a few months, at least, I had clarity, some purpose to keep my own despair at bay. And God, I needed it. Depression was lurking, every bit as deadly as the tumor: that darkness clawing at me, that endless, empty night. Hope’s death was done, but mine still loomed ahead of me. You could call it denial, or even self-preservation, my way to get out of bed each morning even with a death sentence marked in red on the page, but the ending—my ending—was still too much for me to deal with.
If you stop a moment to think about it, you’ll understand. Go on, imagine. What you would be leaving, who you would be leaving behind. It’s too much for the heart to take, that kind of inevitable grief, the vast expanse of it: every heart you’ll be breaking, every drop of love you’ll never get to keep again. It was all-consuming, a bright terror that blotted out everything else in my heart, like staring too long into the sun will leave you blind and wretched. All I could do was take sideways glances to glimpse the wreckage, and then avert my eyes.
Maybe I should have done it differently, but I honestly don’t know how. Because there’s nothing simple about death. It is a maze of contradictions, of raw emotions that cannot be contained. They tried to counsel us through it, but the truth was you never found peace. I’d wasted months to anger, years to fear, and still, it changed by the hour, by the second: emotions fleeting across the water, a tempest storm quickening from the calmest pond. I used to pray for it to come suddenly, just steal me swiftly in the night with a sudden hemorrhage. Wouldn’t it just be easier that way? No deathbed gasps at goodbye, no watching my parents falter and the world slip out of my desperate grasp. It may have been selfish, but I dreaded their pain just as much as my own. Then, sometimes, it felt like I could almost touch the grace they talked about, accepting of the end. I held onto that blessing with both hands tight, even as the rest of my faith ran dry. I had time to prepare; that was something. I knew exactly what my future held. Some people went suddenly, not ever knowing that their last casual kiss as they headed out the door would really be the last one, that they would never have the chance to do everything they’d promised, “one day.”
I heard a country song playing once, how you should live like you were dying. Hope flew into a fury when I shared it with her; she almost smashed a vase on my dresser as she whirled and fumed.
How could he know? she cursed. How the fuck would he know?
There was no grace with her. No reckoning with the inevitable. No calm accepting of her fate. Death and Hope were locked in constant battle right up until the end, and even as I watched her fight, watched her pour every one of her last, rasping breaths into staying alive, a treacherous part of me wished she would just give up. Wouldn’t it have been easier? Couldn’t she have found some peace?
But Hope was dying the only way she’d ever known how to live. Bright and bloody, her middle finger raised to the skies. Back then, I couldn’t understand. I didn’t realize what it felt like to want to claw every last moment of life from the precipice, clinging tight when you can’t bear to let it go.
At least, not until Theo.
He was my last contradiction. Because during those final weeks with him, I finally understood Hope’s last stand. I was more alive than I’d ever felt before, even as my cancer ate away inside my brain, and my breath came, sluggish and burning raw at the edges. I was more alive, and more painfully aware of everything death was snatching from me. Perhaps that made it sweeter, knowing I’d never have days like that again. Every first time became the last; every moment of pleasure would never be repeated. Every second was a glimpse of life I would never get back, already ashes, scattering in the winter wind.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning I woke to find the city blanketed in a snow, the skies clear, pale sunlight gleaming off icy diamond boughs. It was Christmas Eve, and Hope had gotten her wish. Snow, as far as I could see, pure enough to taste. Theo was still dozing beside me, but my blood was jittery with a restless itch, like if I stayed still too long, I would have to admit this feeling for what it truly was.
Guilt.
Dinner had passed the night before in a blur. We made polite conversation, about the holidays, Theo’s coursework, my art, but I couldn’t relax, couldn’t focus at all. Every word was a tiny grenade lobbed into the middle of the finely set table, sitting there so innocent among the festive streamers and starched white napkins—ready to explode at any moment. Theo could tell I was tense; he held my hand beneath the tablecloth, out of sight, giving me a reassuring squeeze whenever my mom’s questioning took on a desperate tone or my father made a pointed comment about family, and security, and home. We were in this together, Theo was trying to tell me, but he didn’t know the real reason for the tension laced thickly through mulled wine toasts and all the trimmings. My secret sat, as much a guest at that table as the rest of us, and although there was no place laid for it, or sweet holly wreath beside the plate, I could feel it, watching, waiting for just the right moment to reveal itself and blow my brief happiness to ashes.
Now I wanted to forget the past few days, and wipe my slate as clean as the spotless powder outside the steam-fogged windows. My parents had made vague claims about their plans, so the day was all our own. I slipped out from under Theo’s arm and silently tiptoed through the apartment to the bathroom; on my return trip, I found Tessa pouring hot coffee in a bright red thermos flask, dressed in ski pants and a warm, padded vest.
“Hey,” she greeted me with a wide-awake smile, despite the fact it was barely seven. “A group of us is going sledding. You want to come with? Theo’s welcome to join, too,” she added.
My heart lifted. “Sure, that sounds fun.” I paused. “Listen, I’m sorry, about my parents just showing up . . .”
Tessa shrugged. “It’s fine.” Her gaze caught mine for a moment, and I wondered if she was about to say something else. Then she looked away.
“I hope they didn’t give you the third degree,” I added, trying to sound casual. “They’re pretty over-protective.”
A smile played on her lips. “You think this is bad? My dad insisted on touring apartments with me when I was moving out of the dorms. He went and knocked on all the neighbor’s doors and wouldn’t let me pick a place with a single man for two floors in either direction.”
I relaxed, relieved. “OK, so maybe mine aren’t the worst.”
“It’s what they do,” Tessa agreed. “They worry.”
Her phone buzzed, and she checked it. “That’s Henry, they’re on their way now.” She looked to my pajamas, and I backed away.
“Give us five minutes!”
I hurried back to my room. Theo was awake, propped up on the pillows and smiling at me, sleepy-eyed. “We got our snow day,” he said, reaching his arms to invite me back into their snug embrace. Any other minute of my life, I wouldn’t have hesitated to dive headlong back against his body, but today was different, the world outside crisp and so brand new.
I launched myself onto the mattress, bouncing heavily beside him. “Tessa and the group are going sledding. They’re leaving now.”
He laughed, my childish excitement clear to see. “Sounds like fun. But I’m not exactly equipped for snow.” His clothes from last night were still discarded on the floor where I’d left them: best-behavior dress shoes and a button-down shirt.
“We can stop by your place on the way.” I bounced off the bed again, and started rummaging in my mom’s shopping bags for those store-fresh lined boots and waterproof winter jacket. Then I paused. “But only if you want to go.” I looked up, checking that I wasn’t steamrolling him, but Theo only smiled and swung his legs out of bed.
“It’s on the list, right? Of course I want to go.”
He remembered every line of Hope’s list.
I didn’t have time to kiss him for that, or even for scrambling into his clothes in double-quick time. By the time we were dressed and thundering after Tessa down the stairs, they were waiting out front in a mud-splattered Jeep: Henry and Katie, Lexa, and Steve, and Roy, armed with scarves and more thermoses and bags of bakery-fresh bagels.
“Hey guys. This is Theo,” I announced, as we scrambled into the crammed backseat over ski blades and blankets.
“Hi Theo!” the chorus came. Roy thrust a map straight into Theo’s hands. “Can you navigate?”
“There’s a little something called GPS,” Katie called, as Tessa leaned forward between the front seats to commandeer the stereo jack.
“Or Siri.”
“Siri hates me,” our driver, Henry replied, through a mouthful of bagel. “She’s trying to kill me, I swear. She keeps sending me the wrong way up one-way streets.”
“What did you do to piss her off?”
“Nothing.” Henry looked woeful.
“It’s all that porn you make her find.” Lexa kicked the back of his seat.
Theo shot me a smile, squished tightly beside me in the middle seat. They were a colorful cast, and the bright sounds of their gossip and laughter flooded me with warmth as we made our way down silent, snowy streets. “Where is everyone?” I asked, looking out at the deserted avenues that only yesterday had been teeming with festive crowds. There was a hush over the city, the usual traffic and roar muffled by white.
“Everyone clears out for the holidays,” Tessa answered, crushed on my other side. “All the students disappear back home.”
“Except for the smart ones, like us,” Katie announced, up front. “No lines at the library, all the labs still open. You can actually get some work done, instead of stress-eating leftovers in front of bad TV.”
“All work, no play . . .” Roy teased behind us, and Katie reached back to swat his hat.
“What do you think I’m doing today?”
We made it to Theo’s for his quick change, and then set out again, crossing the salted, slush-drenched bridge behind a slow procession of traffic and winding our way through the busier streets of Boston, downtown.
“Take a right, up ahead,” Theo directed from the map, as we inched our way deeper into the tangle of streets. “It’s just another few blocks.”
“We could have just taken the T,” Steve told me, passing the bag of bagels. “But some people didn’t want to carry their gear.”
There was a chorus of protest from Tessa and the other girls. “Liar!”
“You’re the one who wanted to bring like, a hundred pounds of camera equipment.”
“You try hauling a sled down three flights of stairs.”
But they all fell silent when we turned the corner past the last row of brownstones and saw Boston Common spread before us: pristine and white, the hills rose and fell in perfect valleys, already dotted with splashes of color from the early-morning sledding crowds. It was beautiful, sparse and secret, and even though I’d walked these park pathways a dozen times, it looked like a foreign landscape, lunar wild.
We parked and tumbled out of the Jeep. I expected a lazy shuffle through the snow, but Katie let out an excited, “Last one to the top of the hill buys the beers!” and suddenly, they were off, grabbing sleds and skis from the trunk and staggering fast through the snow. Theo claimed a plastic dime-store sled, cherry-red, and we raced after them, air crisp in my lungs. Snow crunched under my boots, and laughter echoed, all under the watchful eye of the snow-tipped monuments that stood guard along the path, guiding us up to the crest of the first hill. I was panting and out of breath by the time I reached the summit, but there was no time to wait, not with this group, jostling for victory.
“Ready, set—” Tessa called the orders, and we all piled into position: two to a sled, me clinging on tight to the cord with Theo braced behind. The slope before us was steep, and my gut lurched, but I was too caught up in the rush to ever think about stepping back from the ledge.
“Go!”
Theo pushed us off and leapt on behind me, his weight sending us surging down the first stretch as his legs came tight around my waist. We hurtled down, airborne, in a flurry of noise and action, the wind biting into my bare cheeks.
The others whooped and jostled, sliding on past us. “Left, left!” Theo’s shout was laughing in my ear, as I yanked the strings and tried helplessly to steer.
“I can’t!”
“Pull harder!”
It didn’t matter; gravity was running the show now. I laughed and let it pull us on, wild and fast, Theo’s arms around me, and our bodies leaning in a single blade. The other sleds swirled by, cheers echoing as we plummeted through the snow. It was dazzling, the powder slicing by in a white rush, and for a moment, it felt like I could even take flight. Soar up from this hilltop into the wide blue beyond and—
“Watch out!”
Theo’s call came fast, but I was too late. There was a sudden hump, a wide swerve as I lost control, and then the ride came to a jolting end as we tumbled out, dumped unceremoniously into the wet snow.
My heart raced. I caught my breath and rolled onto my back, icy crystals biting at my cheeks. God, it was glorious. The sky was powder blue above me, stretching cloudless as far as I could see, laughter echoing across the sweep of the hills.
Theo’s face appeared overhead with an upside-down grin. “We nearly had them there.” He offered his hand to help me up.
I laughed. “Next time.”
I took his hand but yanked hard, tumbling him down into the snow with me. He let out a noise of surprise, then rolled, pinning me with his weight. His lips were as cold as mine as he kissed me, cushioned there in the snow. We were suspended, alone with our pounding hearts. My blood was on fire, but my skin was shivering, cold and burning up all at once.
I’ve never felt so alive.
I never wanted it to end.
We stayed on the hilltops all morning, hurtling ourselves down the icy slopes as the park filled with a cacophony of clumsy kids and bundled-up teens, and parents toting a rainbow of woolen hats and mittens. We built crooked snowmen and swiped wide angels in the snow and hurled snowballs in a dizzying battle to the last. I’d never seen anything like it. For a few bright hours, we were all united, ten years old again, playing hard like no other world existed. I forgot myself that morning; Tessa’s know-it-all smirk was lost under a hail of snowballs, and even Theo’s careful, watchful stare was filled with a gleeful lightness as he ducked across the warzone and dove us time and time again down the bumpy hills. I wished it could have lasted forever, but too soon, I felt the burn in my chest, and that dizzy cloak slip over my vision. My legs gave way suddenly, so I sat in the snow and watched them, the last attack of our snowball war in progress as Tessa and Lexa drove the others into a wooded, spindly copse at the bottom of the hill.
“You OK?” Theo was beside me in an instant. All it took was the concern in his eyes to bring me crashing back to reality again.
“I’m fine.” I gave him a smile, as bright as I could manage. “This is what I get from sitting around with a sketchpad while these guys are out training in the gym every day.”
Theo laughed and helped me to my feet. “From one lazy bookworm to another, I’m with you. I say we make a strategic retreat and let them fight it out.”
We crunched through the snow to a park bench, then sat. Exhaustion had ripped through me in an instant, and I was glad to take the rest. I’d pushed too hard, and I shivered again, not from the cold, but realizing that my body’s limits were closing in on me.
Not today.
I pulled off a mitten and found Theo’s bare hand. I slipped my fingers between his and squeezed. He looked over and smiled, perfectly content. “OK,” he said, with a wry twist to his beautiful mouth. “I admit this is better than spending the day in bed. Just.”
I laughed.
“And now you get to tick off
another part of your list,” he added, sounding happy. “You’re closer to the end now, right? What’s left?”
I took a breath, remembering. “A few things. Wild dance parties, and sunrise skinny-dipping. Hope wanted everything to be a big dramatic adventure,” I explained. “She didn’t get to see sometimes the adventure is just . . . this.” I looked around. “Every day.”
The scene washed over me, so clean and bright. The city was muffled, every echo of laughter crisp over such a soft, powdered base. I longed to paint it, the flash of brightness cutting through the hills, the dozen tumbling figures halfway up the far ridge.
“We got the best of it,” Theo said, sounding content. He squeezed my hand. “This place will be packed by the afternoon. Then it all melts into rivers of slush, you can’t cross the park for days without some serious boots.”
“Then I’m all set.” I stuck my legs straight out, swathed with ski pants and knitted leggings beneath, topped with my new navy boots, thick-gripped and snug.
“You’re ready to scale Everest,” he laughed.
“Maybe after lunch.”
Theo looked around. “I would come here every winter when I was a kid. I would beg my dad to take me,” he confided, “but he never would, so I took the T, hauled one of those little plastic sleds all across town. I got all kinds of looks, can you imagine it? This seven-year-old kid with a bright-green sled bigger than he was, right there in the middle of the subway car on a Sunday morning.” Theo’s lips were curled in something sadder than a smile, a bittersweet memory that still cut somewhere, deep inside.
“Didn’t anyone notice you were gone?” I asked, not believing anyone could let him wander like that, so careless with his trusting excitement.