by Leah Scheier
Suddenly the room begins to tilt and spin; I sway for a moment, then drop down to my knees. There’s a rising, burning pressure in my chest, the air’s too thick to breathe. I hear Hope call my name, but the blood is beating in my ears. My skin goes slick with sweat, small beads forming around my neck and spreading like a clammy sheet over my body.
Then Ethan’s voice breaks through, and I look up to find him crouching next to me. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs me.
I try to inhale slowly. “I can’t—I can’t—” I wheeze.
I feel his hand clasp around my arm and he brings his face close to mine. His pale eyes scan me and his fingers tighten on my wrist. “You’re having a panic attack,” he says.
“I can’t breathe—Ethan—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can, or you wouldn’t be able to talk,” he replies reasonably.
“Should we call someone?” Hope suggests. She’s hovering over us anxiously and tapping on her phone. “It says on Wikipedia that you should inhale and exhale very slowly. Try to count to five.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about; I can barely remember how to breathe, much less count my breaths. “Ethan—please—”
“Lie down,” he commands.
“What?”
“Lie down. On the carpet, on your side.” There’s something reassuring about his detached voice. I collapse on the rug and close my eyes. “Now make your hands into fists and squeeze,” he instructs me. “One, two, three, and release your hands—then squeeze again—one, two, three—” I do as he says but it doesn’t help; it still feels like I’m drowning. A moment later there’s a rustling noise and the sound of shuffling footsteps.
Hope murmurs, “Ethan, what are you doing?”
I don’t care what he’s doing. It’s too much of an effort to try and stay alive. My brother will take care of me. He’ll make this awful feeling go away. Somehow, I know this.
There’s a grunt and then a soft weight comes down on me, warm and tough and heavy.
And so familiar.
My eyes fly open and I lift my head. He’s covered me in his sensory blanket, his burrito wrap. I want to argue with him, push it off me. This is his therapy—his comfort. But then his familiar smell floods my panicked mind with echoes of the words I used to say to him. You’re okay, now. I’ve got you now. You’re okay. Only this time, I’m the one inside the wrap, and Ethan is muttering the phrase over and over, carefully tucking the edges around my shoulders. It feels so strange; I’m on the wrong side of this. I’m the one who should be taking care of him.
But even as I think it, I feel my heart slow down, and I let out a shuddering sigh; I bury my head in the shaggy rug and close my eyes. Ethan’s wiry arms tighten around my shoulders, and he places his head against my neck. Strands of long, pale hair fall against my cheek and tickle my nose.
I take a deep breath and let my mind go still.
“Are you as good as new?” he asks me finally. He’s using my words. That’s my expression.
“I’m getting there, Ethan. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
After a few minutes, I’m ready to sit up. But I let an extra moment pass before I do. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him. This is our strange version of a hug, but today Ethan is the one giving it. And for just a second I want to hold on to that, the only bright part of this day. I know that when he lets me go, I’ll have to go back to being me; I’ll have to look them all in the face and disappoint them. It’s safe inside this blanket, and for now, I’m happier pretending to be Ethan. I’ve fought my brother’s battles all my life, but I’ve never really seen the world from his eyes. And now I realize I don’t want to be unwrapped. I want to stay under my brother’s blanket forever.
I shift beneath his weight, and he relaxes his grip and moves back to let me rise. Hope kneels beside me and extends a hand to pull me up. “We’ll get through this, Rainey,” she murmurs into my ear. “And I’ll help you, no matter what you decide—”
“I didn’t do the test,” I reply. I can feel Ethan staring at me. “But I’ll go do it now. I’m ready.”
She gives me a reassuring squeeze and lets me go. On the way to the bathroom, I brush past my brother. But I can’t look at him. When he calls my name and asks, “What test?” I shake my head and shut the bathroom door behind me.
I grab the stick from the counter and hold it up to my face. The little window teases me. Clean, white, and perfect.
I take a deep breath and do the deed. Then I close my eyes and wait. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty.
I count to a hundred and brace myself.
There’s just one line. One line.
I squint at the miracle stick. I have an overwhelming urge to kiss the little pee-soaked test. I was ready for disaster, and this little window of truth just saved me.
I can move on now. The nausea was probably just from stress; the weird spotting was just a messed up period or something. I’m going pick up the phone and call Liam back. And I’ll be happy for him. And when I’m finished fixing our relationship, I’ll go to the hospital and help my mom get better. And after that I’ll find a way to talk to Dad and be the daughter I should have been before.
And I’m never, ever going to need Ethan’s blanket again. I’m done with that. I’m putting that chapter behind me.
With a quick motion, I reach my hand out and flush the toilet, then toss the stick into the trash. Hope is hovering outside when I open the door, and she lets out a relieved sigh when she sees my calm expression. “It’s okay?”
“Yep. Everything’s fine. No worries.”
Ethan still looks confused.
“I’ll tell you one day when I’m ready,” I say. “Right now I have to call my boyfriend.”
Chapter 28
Liam and I meet up at Milly’s Diner on Saturday. He hadn’t wanted to tell me his news over the phone, and I’d spent Friday evening at the hospital so we’d put it off until the weekend. I settle at a corner table to wait for him and order a soda to calm my stomach. The smells coming from the kitchen are nauseating on a good day—and I’ve been more than usually sensitive to strong odors recently. Maybe it’s the soothing effect of the cool bubbles and sugar, but I’m surprisingly cheerful when he walks in. He grins happily when he sees me and rushes over. “Rain, I have so much to tell you.”
“It’s been forever since we’ve talked.”
It occurs to me that I should have a lot to tell him too.
I shake my head and push the thought away. He doesn’t need to know about the negative test. That panic attack is behind me forever. I deserve a normal first relationship, after all. And I never want to ruin Liam’s sweet smile again. “So what’s your big news?”
“Well, you’re not going to believe this.” He leans across the table and takes my hands in his. “You remember I was telling you that I’m trying to raise money to go on the international program? And that I’m only about halfway there.”
“Yeah?”
“I have the money now. I can go whenever I want.”
I stare at him. “How? What happened?”
“You remember Dr. Peters, the surgeon I was telling you about? The one who met with Ethan? Well, he put my name forward for this scholarship a couple of months back. I never mentioned it to you because I was sure I wouldn’t get it. There are like, thousands of applicants and only one grant!”
“And you got it!” I can’t believe it. I don’t want to think about what his news will mean for us. If he can go next year and I can’t…
I shake the thought out of my mind. “Liam, I’m so happy for you!” I exclaim, slipping out of my chair and sliding over to his side. “That’s just unbelievable!” He pulls me close to him and gathers me in his arms. I’m lost for a second in his warmth, in the spice-wash sweetness of him. His cheek is rough against my skin; his li
ps touch mine.
Then our food arrives with a clatter, and Liam pulls back from me. We’d both forgotten where we were. Cheeseburgers and making out don’t go together very well. But I don’t want to stop kissing him. I sigh and rest my head against his shoulder. “More later,” I whisper in his ear.
He pokes absently at his plate of fries and studies me for a minute. “You know, I meant what I said before. About waiting for you. I don’t have to go next year. I asked Dr. Peters, and he said it’s fine if I’d like to defer.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that!”
“Yeah, but I’m not ready to leave you.”
“And I’m not ready for you to go.” The thought of next year without him—of nothing to look forward to. I can’t begin to imagine. “But it’ll be worse for me than you.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because you’ll be distracted by the adventure you’ll be on, while I’ll be staring at the empty seat you left behind.”
His smile rewards my frankness. “So, you’ve thought about what I said? About applying together? I know that it’s expensive, but I can talk to the fellowship people and maybe—”
“Money isn’t the problem,” I interrupt. “My dad put aside a trust fund for our education when we were little. I could probably use some of it for the program if I wanted.”
He beams, and his arms tighten around me. “You have thought about it, then! I wasn’t sure—I felt like such an idiot for asking you before. I know we’ve only been together for a little while, and you have your family to consider…”
I think about Ethan and Hope standing calmly in front of me, their hands joined. “My family will be just fine. They don’t need me.” I try to keep my voice light and casual, but the words are laced with regret. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy for me to go.”
“So then—” His eyes are so hopeful that it breaks my heart. “So there isn’t anything stopping you. Right? I mean, we deserve this future, don’t we? And there’s nothing holding us back now.”
I drop my head and concentrate on pouring too much ketchup on my burger. The smell of fried onions is suffocating me. But he’s right. He does deserve a perfect future. And I won’t let anything stand in his way.
“I can’t wait,” I assure him, and press my lips to his. “I’ll tell my family about it today.”
We sit that way for the rest of the afternoon, my head resting on his shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of my jeans. I’ve made my boyfriend happy, I tell myself, as I watch him cheerfully attack his burger. The faint nausea that’s been following me around is no longer terrifying and menacing. The test was negative, so I don’t have to worry. Just a stomach bug or stress or everything combined. I can deal with that. At least it’s nothing life-changing.
“You’re not hungry?” he inquires between chews.
I shake my head and push my plate over to him. It’s been a while since I’ve appreciated the smell of food. And worse, I’ve lost the desire to cook.
For the last few days, I’ve even put the blog on hold. I’d already posted about vegan and gluten-free macaroni and cheese, but that has been the only thing I can stomach recently. A few messages from new followers trickle in, but I can’t muster the energy or appetite for conversations about innovative food cures. I hadn’t realized how much I loved my little corner of the internet. I miss shouting my recipes into the cyber void and waiting for someone to shout back.
Chapter 29
They’re predicting a nor’easter by the end of the week. At the hospital, the TV is on 24–7. The coming blizzard is supposed to blanket the state with several feet of snow, and everyone has predictions. I’d been hoping Mom would be discharged before the snow hit. As much as I’d like to think my arguments swayed her, I suspect Dad’s sudden arrival is what actually frightened her into trying to get well. She seems determined to pull herself together, if only to push him out of our lives. Her medications have finally started to kick in, and she’s showing steady signs of improvement. Today she started walking around without the assistance of the IV pole.
Last night, the doctor had been optimistic about getting her home, but then he was called away on a family emergency, and the covering doctor changed the plan. Mom threw a fit and declared that she would leave against medical advice, but then Dad stepped in and threatened to sue for temporary custody if she didn’t follow the doctor’s orders. They were still arguing about it when I left.
When I get home from school, Ethan and I head out for a run. Because of Mom’s hospitalization, we’d been skipping our afternoon tradition. But tonight, with the forecast warning the state of the arriving snowstorm, we’re forbidden from visiting the hospital. Even though he hasn’t complained about it, I know the disruption to his routine has bothered Ethan, and I realize suddenly that it’s bothered me too. I’ve missed this, the rhythmic pounding of our rubber soles on pavement, the bite of the wind on our cheeks, the burn of cold air in our lungs, the smell of the mountain firs.
So much has happened since we last ran together: Mom’s illness, Marcus and Kathy’s split, Liam’s scholarship, my brief nausea scare, our reunion with Dad.
“Are you going to see Dad?” Ethan asks me, as we round the corner and circle Manny’s shop. “He said he wants to come by later. Before the snow starts coming down.”
“Yeah, of course I’ll see him. I’ve talked to him a few times since he got here. I assumed you knew.”
He hesitates and slows his pace. “I thought you hated him.”
“Oh, come on, Ethan. I don’t hate him. It’s not like that.”
“Okay.” He comes to a halt and stretches his long back. “What is it like?”
“I…I don’t know, really. I’m starting to understand that our parents’ relationship wasn’t black and white. I used to think that the difference between good and bad was obvious. Responsibility and loyalty. But I guess it isn’t as simple as that anymore.”
I’ve completely confused him; I can see it before I’m finished speaking.
“You thought Dad was bad?” he asks.
“No, not bad exactly. But…unworthy.”
“Because he cheated on Mom?”
I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows. Over the last few weeks Ethan has shown he knows far more than I thought he did. “Mom told you about that?”
“No, Dad did. He said that was the reason you weren’t speaking to him anymore.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to that. “I was just trying to do the right thing. I didn’t want to hurt Mom.”
“I know.”
“But now I wonder if maybe I was missing out.” I hesitate and squint at the approaching mass of gray clouds. “We should head back. It’s going to start snowing soon, and my legs are cramping from the cold.”
“Mine too.” Our breath is making the air foggy.
“My side hurts.”
“We’ve gotten out of shape,” he remarks. “You must have pulled a muscle.”
“Yeah, probably.” But the pain is deeper than a muscle sprain and seems to spread upward every time I inhale. “I don’t think I can run anymore.”
“What did you mean before?” Ethan asks me as we limp back to the house. “When you said you were missing out?”
“I don’t know. I guess I feel like I’m fading out of your life. And you’re talking to Dad almost every day; he’s giving you all this advice. It seems like you spend more time talking to him than to me—”
“That’s not true,” he protests. “On average I talk to Dad about fifteen minutes a day, excluding the week when he comes to visit. And I talk to you—”
“I wasn’t speaking about quantity, Ethan. I meant that Dad knows more about what’s going on with you than I do. And all these details like his visits to Montana, his advice to you about becoming a doctor, even your relationship with Hope—I find out all thi
s stuff after everyone else. It’s not that I mind that you’re getting close to him. It’s fine. But I’m sad that we don’t talk anymore. Not like we used to.”
He doesn’t answer me. I hear his heavy breaths as he plods along next to me, but there’s nothing else coming from him: no admission, no explanation, nothing to comfort me. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was hoping for something more than total silence.
“Never mind,” I say after a few minutes. “Sorry to bother you with my issues.”
“It’s okay,” he replies. “Does what you just told me count as a problem?”
I’m briefly pissed until I remember that Ethan doesn’t do sarcasm. He’s asking me because he wants to know.
“Yes, Ethan, I do think of it as a problem.”
“That’s good. Then it’s an extra point.” He does a quick calculation. “I’m at sixteen,” he announces triumphantly.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m collecting points for Dad. Every time I do something on his list I get a point.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What list are you talking about?”
“Here.” He thrusts his hand into his pocket and shoves a crumpled up sheet of notebook paper at me. “You can read it.”
I scan the scribbled lines. For a future surgeon, my father’s written in the corner. I smile at the title on the top. “The Dreams of Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s a dream of yours to…change the time of a meal?” I remark, pointing at the first item.
“No. But each time I do it, I get a point. So far I’ve changed my lunchtime six times. So, six points.”
I hadn’t even noticed. “And the points you accumulate will get you…what? Closer to being a doctor?”
He nods. “That’s what Dad says. He told me that I have steps I need to go through if I want to get there.”
I shake my head and squint at the blurry writing on the page. “I’m sorry, I don’t get it. How many points did Dad say you have to collect to become a doctor?”