Maybe Tomorrow

by Sherri Renee

  Mom’s head shot up. “Of course, he’ll want to come. Why would you even say that?”

  I popped a shoulder in a quick shrug and dragged my spoon in circles through the thick stew. I swallowed hard.

  “Am I the reason Dad left?” I asked the question that had haunted me since the day he walked out the door.

  “No, don’t be silly,” Mom said, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You know we’d been having trouble for a long time. Maybe you getting sick was more than he could handle, but it wasn’t anything about you personally.” She looked up then. “He loves you, Maddie. You’ll always be his perfect little princess.”

  I couldn’t stop a sigh, but when Mom turned the conversation back to party plans, I let her. Even if it was just my “illness” that ran him off, that was still all on me. I felt terrible. Mom was stuck raising two little boys on her own because my own father couldn’t stand to be in the same house as his sick daughter. It was all kinds of messed up, but I was too tired to focus on it now.

  After finishing about half the stew in my bowl, I leaned away from the table and pressed a hand to my stomach. “That hit the spot, Mom. Thanks.”

  Mom narrowed her eyes at the remaining stew in my bowl. “Are you sure you can’t eat any more? Do you feel okay?”

  I stood and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Stop worrying.” I shot her a quick smile. “I feel pretty good, I’m just so tired. Today was a stressful day. Both good and bad.”

  “It was.” Her expression relaxed. “Do you want to stay home from school tomorrow? You can sleep in. Maybe we can watch that new comedy that just came out.”

  That sounded tempting. “Can we play it by ear? Let’s see how I feel in the morning.”

  “Of course. Sleep well, Maddie. I love you, and I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you, too.”

  I went to my room and got ready for bed. I slipped on my silky, pink tank top and matching shorts and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. The entire day replayed before my eyes as I cleaned my teeth and washed my face on autopilot.

  Dr. Reynolds’ words seemed more like a dream than reality. I’d somehow beaten the odds. I was one of the few people to walk away from an autoimmune issue. And not just one disease. I was up to four or five at last count. And now, almost overnight, my body had stopped attacking itself.

  I went back to my room and crawled under the thick covers, pulling them up to my chin. I wondered what would have happened if Lucas had shown up at the hospital after Dr. Reynolds gave me the good news.

  Would I have told him? Would I have given our relationship a chance? Would I have jumped in his arms and kissed him on the lips?

  Well, kissing was still off-limits until I built up my immunity, but any of the other things? I wasn’t sure. I wanted to live. And now I had no excuse not to, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared. Mom had said truly living was always scary, and she was right. Just thinking about letting my guard down and letting people into my life freaked me out. What if I got sick again?

  I shook my head. I could just as easily get killed in a car accident. Or develop another terrible disease. Or. . .

  I let out a jaw cracking yawn and snuggled into my pillow. Yes, people died all the time from all kinds of causes. I could always be searching for my expiration date. Or I could enjoy however much time I had.

  My eyes closed, and Lucas’s pretty gray-green eyes flashed behind my eyelids. My lips curved into a smile. When it came down to it, scary or not, the decision was easy. I wanted to enjoy whatever time I had.

  Chapter 26

  I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, for a second wondering if last night had been no more than a dream. Nope. It didn’t take more than an instant for Dr. Reynolds’ words to come back to me. I was in remission. A slow smile crept across my face and hope filled my chest.

  I refused to get too excited, but as of that moment, my chances of survival were on par with any other average teenager.

  I checked my phone, my happiness fading slightly when I saw I had no new messages from Lucas. Not that I’d expected any. I’d chased him away. It would have been foolish of him to text me after that. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have liked it.

  I got up and made my bed. Mom’s offer to stay home from school and watch movies with her was tempting, but it wasn’t on my “living” to-do list. I needed to come up with a better name for the things I’d decided I wanted to accomplish in the near future. Bucket list, maybe?

  I fluffed my pillows before dropping back on the bed and scrolling through the list I’d jotted down on my way to Luigi’s the day before.

  College

  Surfing

  Job in finance

  It was short and sweet, and before I could stop myself, I added one more word to the bottom of the list.

  Lucas

  I still couldn’t believe Lucas had gone to the hospital to check on me. That was super sweet. I wished I kept my mouth shut and just enjoyed time with him. Instead, I’d run him off for good. Would it be weird to talk to him at school now? Or would he avoid me like the strangers we used to be?

  I wasn’t ready to jump into a relationship until I knew my test results were accurate. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to Lucas. Maybe I’d leave him another affirmation today. Something that hinted that I wanted more but didn’t come right out and say it.

  I hadn’t told Ginger my news yet. I couldn’t decide if I would or not. I didn’t want to get her hopes up for nothing, and yet I was dying—or rather, not dying—to share my good news. I scrolled through my texts again and saw I had one from Dad.

  My lips thinned, and I hesitated before I clicked on it. Did he want to be part of my life again now that he knew I wasn’t going to die in the immediate future? I thought I understood what pushed him to keep his distance. It was the exact same reason I pushed everyone out of my life. And yet, he was the parent. He was supposed to be there for me. He was supposed to make everything better when I went through the scariest time in my life, not run away to protect himself from being hurt.

  I let out a huff. I wasn’t being completely fair. I didn’t know why Dad left, because he’d never bothered to give me his reason. I was only guessing that he was distancing himself so my death wouldn’t hurt as much. But did the reason matter? He ran out on Mom and me and the boys right when we’d needed him the most.

  I clicked on the text and scanned it, then rolled my eyes. He wanted to talk to me. Did I want to meet him after school? Uh, not really. I dropped my phone on my dresser without replying.

  I was disappointed to find I was still a little stiff, and my chest ached. I tried not to freak out, but since I didn’t feel a bit different, I couldn’t help but again wonder if the test results really were wrong. If I was getting better, if my body was no longer attacking itself, wouldn’t I feel different? Stronger? Something?

  I tried to shove that thought aside. Better or not, I was living. Today, tomorrow. For as many days as I had, I planned to suck every drop of life out of them that I could. And I would start by talking to Lucas at school today.

  I wasn’t sure how he’d react after I blew him off at the hospital, but if I didn’t take a chance, I’d never know. Just the thought of talking to him had my nerves working overdrive. But nerves or no nerves, I’d made up my mind. According to Dr. Reynolds, I’d been given a second chance on life. I wasn’t positive if I believed him, but I’d already wasted the past eight months. I wasn’t going to waste another minute.

  With that thought, I jumped in the shower and spent the next twenty minutes singing along to all my favorite songs on my playlist while I scrubbed and shaved and basically prepared myself for a clean start. See what I did there? A clean start? I hadn’t made jokes in ages because nothing seemed very funny with death looming over my head. But now, I felt lighter than I had in forever. It wasn’t the physical improvement I was looking for, but it was better than nothing.

  I spent a few extra minutes on my
hair and makeup, then jogged down the stairs for breakfast. I whipped around the corner into the kitchen. “Good morning!” I sang out, then slid to a dead stop. Mom was at the stove, stirring something—probably oatmeal. My brothers sat at the breakfast bar, sipping from mini-cups of green juice.

  And Dad stood near the refrigerator, watching me with wide, frightened eyes. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. I had a feeling my expression matched his. I felt like I was seeing a ghost. He never came around when he knew I’d be home. He probably thought I’d sleep in this morning. Yet, here we were.

  I wasn’t ready to see him. I didn’t know what to do or say. Should I hug him and tell him I missed him or give him the cold shoulder and stalk out the door without a word? My stomach churned with indecision.

  Dad regained his composure first. “Maddie,” he said, then cleared his throat. “You look fantastic. I was so happy to hear your wonderful news.”

  Okay, so there would be no false apologies for not seeing me for so long. Good to know. “Thanks,” I said. I’d lost my appetite but walked to the stove and peeked at what Mom was cooking to cover my discomfort.

  “Good morning,” Mom said, sounding like her normal cheery self. “Are you up for some oatmeal, or do you want to stick with juice this morning?”

  “Juice sounds good.” Nothing sounded good. I could feel Dad watching me. I wasn’t sure what he expected from me after nearly eight months of cutting me off. At the moment, I didn’t feel like I had anything to give.

  I took the juice Mom handed me and drank a little bit before going over to ruffle the boys’ hair and give them hugs. A heavy layer of tension hung in the room. Even the boys were quiet, which was unusual for them. It was as if they could sense something was off.

  “Did you get my message?” My head jerked toward Dad. “I hoped we could talk,” he continued.

  I stared at him for a minute. My big, strong dad who’d always encouraged me and protected me from everything until eight months ago. Now he looked smaller somehow. Sad. Scared. Frail?

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to pinpoint what had changed about him since I’d seen him last. He was a little thinner. His mouth looked like it had forgotten how to smile. His appearance made me more nervous than I already was. Something was off with him, and some instinctual part of me shied away from digging too deep and discovering what it was.

  “I have school,” I said with my heart throbbing. I didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe someday, but not yet. He couldn’t just skate back into my life now that I was supposedly on the road to recovery. What would happen if I got sick again? Would he skate right back out? I couldn’t bear that kind of pain a second time.

  “Maddie.” Mom glanced at the clock before turning to me. “You have time before school starts. Why don’t you two sit out on the back patio and visit for a little bit? It’s a pretty morning.”

  I started to shake my head no, and Mom arched a brow at me. “You need to hear what he has to say,” she added firmly.

  I could leave. No one would physically stop me. But I knew from Mom’s tone that this was important to her. She’d be disappointed if I didn’t give Dad a chance.

  I wasn’t ready for anything Dad might have to say, but I owed Mom everything. She’d basically given up her life to take care of me while I was sick. The least I could do was spend a few minutes with Dad if it meant that much to her.

  I drew in my lips but nodded. Without waiting to see if Dad would follow, I headed outside with my juice. It was a clear, beautiful morning like Mom had said. The air was fresh and crisp, and birds sang from the tall oaks that lined the backyard. I knew it would be hot again by the time school got out, but for now, it was gorgeous.

  The door closed softly behind me, and I jumped. I wasn’t scared of my dad. I was mad at him. And hurt. There was nothing he could say in the next ten minutes that would erase the fact that he’d deserted me when I’d needed him the most. But, for Mom’s sake, I’d hear him out.

  “What did you want to talk about?” I asked without turning to face him. The sooner he spit it out, the sooner I could put this uncomfortable conversation behind me.

  “Maddie.” He stepped closer, putting a hand on my shoulder. I gritted my teeth against the familiar gesture, then shrugged away. He let his hand fall with a sigh. I didn’t have to look back to know he’d be rubbing his forehead like he always did when he was upset. A tiny part of me felt guilty for being the one to upset him.

  “Maddie,” he started again. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I haven’t been here for you. It was wrong for me to pull away.” I focused on a male cardinal on a branch, trying to distract myself from the pain his words were causing. Eight months and I got an “I’m sorry, I was wrong.” That just wasn’t cutting it for me.

  “There are things you don’t know, Maddie. Things I probably should have told you sooner.” I cocked my head and glanced back at him. That instinctual part of me was back on full alert, telling me to plug my ears or run away before I heard things I didn’t want to hear.

  It took more strength than I knew I had, but instead of running, I turned to fully face him.

  “What should you have told me sooner?” I asked.

  Studying him this close, I realized he’d aged since I’d last seen him. The wrinkles around his eyes were deep, and his cheeks were slightly hollowed out.

  My stomach tightened with panic. “Dad,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  Chapter 27

  Dad sank into one of the porch chairs and rubbed both hands over his face before looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. “You know your mom and I had been having troubles for a while before you got sick?”

  I nodded as my stomach twisted in knots, wishing he’d get to the point.

  “Do you know why?”

  I’d never really given it a lot of thought. When I’d hear them fight, it was usually about stupid stuff like who was supposed to pick up the dry cleaning. I’d thought they just stopped loving each other.

  “No,” I said.

  Dad nodded. “Did you know autoimmune issues often run in families?”

  His question caught me off guard. “I thought we were talking about why you left.” I scrunched my brows, trying to keep up with the conversation.

  “Maddie, I have multiple sclerosis. I found out a few years ago, and I’m afraid I didn’t handle the diagnosis well. I was short with your mom, and I didn’t want to listen to any of her hocus-pocus cure stuff.” He tipped his head to the glass in my hand, and I dropped my eyes to the foamy green drink as I reeled in shock. Dad was sick?

  “I’m the reason you got sick,” Dad blurted. “MS is an autoimmune disease, and you ended up with autoimmune diseases because I gave you my bad genes.” Dad’s voice was hoarse, raw with emotion. I could tell this wasn’t an easy conversation for him.

  My heart throbbed. I couldn’t think straight. I never would have guessed that Dad was sick. He looked different. Older maybe, but he didn’t look or act sick.

  And I was the last person who should judge anyone based on looks. Not a single person in school had a clue how sick I’d been. I knew first-hand that illness didn’t always show on the outside.

  “How bad are you?” I forced the question through my tight throat.

  Dad shrugged without meeting my eyes. “I’ve started having some new symptoms. It means it’s progressing. I didn’t come here for your sympathy,” he said. “I just needed you to know why I left. It was never because of you. Not directly. It was because of what I’d done to you, and possibly to the boys.”

  I let out a small gasp, and my drink sloshed over the rim. I’d never thought about the boys developing autoimmune issues, but if Dad was right and he had passed the genes on to me, it was possible he’d passed them to the boys, too.

  “I know,” Dad said, taking in my reaction. “I wouldn’t have had kids if I’d known I could be setting them up for a lifetime of pain. I didn’t even have a diagnosis until after the boys were born. I just started hav
ing a few little things go wrong. Just enough that I knew something was wrong with me. It took the doctors quite a while to pin down what exactly it was, though.”

  Dad looked off toward the trees behind me. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone for the past eight months. I kept planning to call or stop by, but the guilt that I was the reason you were sick kept me from doing it. I didn’t know how to even look at you without hating myself.”

  I shook my head but didn’t have any words. “It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered. “You didn’t have to leave me.” A cry lodged in my throat, and I tried to swallow it back. “I thought you hated me,” I added, letting a single tear escape. “All this time, I thought I’d done something so terrible you couldn’t stand me anymore.”

  Dad was on his feet and had me wrapped in a hug. “No, baby. It was never you. Never you. You’ve always been my perfect little princess” He held me close and stroked my hair.

  Before I knew it, I was sobbing in his arms. I dropped my glass, and it rolled across the deck, leaving a green trail. Tears burned my cheeks and terrible sounds—like something a wounded animal would make—ripped from my throat.

  We’d lost so much time. So much life, and life was simply too short to waste. I’d pushed people out of my life because Dad had pushed me out of his. We were both wrong, but there was no going back, only forward. It still hurt that he’d let me think he hated me for so long, but I wouldn’t be mad at him. I couldn’t. I might have gotten my expiration date extended, but Dad’s was still counting down. We couldn’t waste any more time over pettiness.

  When my tears slowed, I blinked up at him. “Will you come home now?” I asked. “Please?”

  Dad’s cheeks were as wet with tears as mine. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t know, honey. I’ve really messed things up.”

  “Then fix them,” I said, suddenly feeling like an expert on life. “We both know how short life can be. Don’t waste it. I want you here, and I know the boys want you here.”