“Ez?” Calli prompts, breaking me out of my daydream again. “I said I’ll go. I’ll take time off work and go with you.” Her eyes brighten and I know she’s convincing herself that coming with me is the answer. Only it’s not. It’s everything I want to avoid, but I have no idea how to tell her that.
I knew the second I started planning this trip that Calli would want to come, and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to let her down easy ever since. Then I realised that there is no way to say what I need to say without hurting her, but I can’t deal with that right now because I need to think about myself.
“I don’t want you to come with me,” I say quietly. Hurt flashes in her eyes as I try to explain. “I love you more than anything, but I need to do this for me. Having you there is only going to remind me that I’m dying. I need to forget, Cal. Even if it’s just for a second. Having you there, I can’t do that. I can’t look at you without seeing pity in your eyes.”
“I don’t pity you—”
“But you do,” I cut in, my voice soft. I know she wants what’s best for me, but so do I. “You might not realise it, but you look at me with so much sadness and despair sometimes that I just want to scream.”
“Okay fine…” She shakes her head, still in disbelief. “But Craigslist?”
“Why not?” I say with a grin. “Because it sounds more like something you’d do?”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “Exactly that.”
I chuckle and think about all the silly, stupid things my sister has done over the years, many of which I also got blamed for. Like the time she took Dad’s car out for a ride when she was fourteen and rammed it through a shop window. Or the three weeks her boyfriend lived in our basement without our parents knowing.
Even all grown up, Calli is still a handful. Last year she was arrested for her part in a nude protest against animal cruelty, which got her fired from her job. There was always a silver lining with Calli, though. In this case it landed her a photography contract with a top agency. Even when things went wrong, they always seemed to turn out well for her.
Our parents expected this kind of thing from her. They didn’t expect it from me.
“This isn’t you, Ez. You’re changing so much and so quickly that it’s scaring me. I feel like I’m losing you before I even lose you.”
“I’m no different,” I say, sweeping the dirty blond hair from her eyes. “I’m just doing my best not to lose control.”
If I’m changing, it’s because I have to.
“It’ll be fine, Cal. I’ll be fine.” The words catch in my throat, because we both know that isn’t true.
Less than half an hour after my sister leaves, my parents arrive and the real panic begins to set in. Telling Calli was almost like a practice run for the real show, because I know my mum’s reaction is going to be a thousand times worse. I thought telling them I was dying was hard. That was nothing compared to breaking the news that I’ll be disappearing for what might well be my final months.
God, I sound so dramatic. My doctor didn’t want to put a timeframe on it, but after I pleaded and begged he finally buckled and said at a guess, six months. I can’t tell you how hard that floored me. There is so much I still want to do with my life, and even thinking about trying to squeeze all of that into six months makes my head hurt. Or maybe that’s just the large tumour making himself more at home around my brain. The worst thing is not knowing. I’m a planner, and not being able to do that really messes with me.
“You look tired. Should you be lying down?” Mum touches my cheek, her blue eyes concerned.
I sigh, because I’m feeling good, just like I do most days. Good enough to forget I’m sick, if it weren’t for the twenty thousand reminders.
Most of the time I don’t even feel that sick. Apart from the headaches and the odd day here and there where I can’t drag myself out of bed, I feel as healthy as I have in years because I don’t have all the side effects of the treatment. It’s not always going to be this way, though. The doctor made it clear that when things do begin to progress, it will probably happen quickly. The day will come where the pain will be constant, and I’ll lose the ability to do things I take for granted, like walk and talk. It feels so surreal. How can I have so little time left when it completely contradicts how I’m feeling?
“Mum,” I warn her, my voice gentle but firm. “I’m fine. Sit down. Coffee?”
“You sit, I’ll get it,” she orders, pushing me into an armchair.
I roll my eyes at Dad, knowing it’s pointless arguing. He sits back in his chair, watching me thoughtfully as he rubs his chin. I’m about to comment on how tired he looks when I remember how much I hate hearing that.
“How are you really?” he asks as soon as Mum is out of earshot.
“Good. Really,” I say with a grin. “You’re usually the one on my side.”
Dad is the one who keeps Mum calm. He’s the rock when she starts to freak out, and with everything that has happened over the last few years, he has singlehandedly kept my relationship with Mum stable by stopping us both from saying and doing things we might regret. Dad supports me a lot. Where Mum might need time to come around to an idea—like her sick daughter going off on a world trip—I know Dad will be there for me from the first moment.
“Your mum is convinced that it’s bad news. It seems the only time we hear from you lately, it’s bad news.”
“Not true,” I argue, my eyes twinkling. “I called you last week to tell you I won ten dollars on that lotto ticket you got me, didn’t I?”
Dad groans and I laugh.
“Really, Dad. It’s nothing bad. I’ve just been doing some thinking.”