Demanding Ransom

Chapter FOURTEEN



“When are you coming back? I didn’t think you’d be gone already!” Cora squeals on the other end of the line. I drop another egg onto the pan and it sizzles instantly. I twist toward Mikey and mouth ‘How many do you want?’ He holds up four fingers. Glad to see his appetite is back.

“I don’t know, Cora. It’s not so easy for me to get back and forth between home and school without a car.” The edges of the egg whiten as the heat bubbles through it, and after a few more seconds I scrape the spatula under it to flip it over.

“Then ask Ran to take you. He seems pretty willing.” I hear her snap a piece of bubble gum loudly into the receiver, followed by a magnified scratching sound, so I assume she’s peeling off the gum that’s now stuck on the phone. “Or maybe I can drive out to get you, leave you with my car, and he can give me another ride on the back of that bike of his.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good idea.” I pry the edge of the egg up and glimpse the perfectly cooked underside.

“Wrong, that sounds like the best idea ever. Even better than my thesis for my last English paper. You know what? You’ve given me a great idea. I think I’m going to use this subject matter for my next paper. All the reasons why riding Ran is a good idea.”

“You mean riding with Ran.”

“That’s what I said,” she asserts with false innocence in her tone.

“Um, no, it’s not.”

I can see the eye roll without actually having to see it. “Are you claiming him? Because if you are, I’ll lay off.”

I drop three more eggs onto the pan. “I’m not claiming him. He’s not a piece of meat.”

“Um, yeah he is. Thesis statement number two: All the reasons why Ran is a fine piece of meat.”

“I’m not sure when I’m coming back.” I change the subject. “In reality, I don’t really have a reason to come back. I turned in my paper and I’m done for the quarter.”

“Um, hello?” Cora huffs through the phone. “Since when is giving your roommate moral support as she suffers through finals week not reason enough?”

I lift the remaining eggs off the pan, grab the two pieces of freshly toasted bread from the toaster, and plate Mikey’s breakfast for him. He mouths ‘thank you,’ as I settle it down in front of him on the counter.

“I don’t know, Cora. We’ll see. I’ll be back after break for sure. Next quarter is going to be insane.” I’ve already registered for my classes and I have no clue how I’m going to survive with the immense workload rumored from each professor.

“All the more reason you should enjoy your last week of the quarter, responsibility-free.”

“We’ll see.” I hang up the line with Cora and cook two eggs for myself and then slide in next to Mikey. “How are they?”

“Good. Thanks, Sis.” He shoves an overflowing forkful of a soggy, yellow bread mixture into his mouth. “Hey.” He pauses. “Can I tell you something?” Mikey’s voice wavers.

I swivel on the barstool toward him and lower my fork onto my plate. It clinks faintly as it hits the ceramic. “Sure, Mikey,” I say, cautiously. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

He drops his fork onto his now-empty plate and pushes it away from him. Running his hands back and forth over his fuzzy scalp, he looks up at me and says, “I think Sadie might be pregnant.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to take a sip of orange juice right before Mikey’s declaration, because it burns as it slides back up my esophagus, unable to make its way down. “What?”

“Never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He pushes off of the bar with his palms and chucks his dishes into the sink. They rattle angrily against the stainless tub.

“No, Mikey.” I stretch my hand out to him. “It’s not that. I’m just…surprised, that’s all. It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Well, us either.” Mikey pulls the dishtowel off the hook and wrings it over his hands. “I mean, when we first found out about the tumor, it seemed like a good idea—”

“What seemed like a good idea?” I cautiously slide my plate toward him and he retrieves it to place it in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes.

“Getting pregnant.” Mikey’s eyes are round. “Sadie and I have always planned on getting married after high school. When we first found out I had cancer…I don’t know…it just felt like life sped up at that moment.”

I nod my head at him, hoping the look on my face does a decent job of disguising the shock underneath.

“And she said that we planned to have a family together someday. What difference did moving that plan up a few years make? We’re eighteen, we’re adults. And we agreed that even if I ended up dying, a piece of me would still live on.” Mikey slams his hands onto his forehead. “Damn. That sounds so stupid saying it out loud.”

“It’s not stupid, Mikey. It’s just not smart.” Maybe Ran’s right; maybe I should consider switching to a linguistics major.

“I get that now, Maggie. But at the hospital, right after I got the diagnosis, before my surgery—”

“Wait—” I throw my hands up, stopping him like I’m a crossing guard. “You’re not saying you and Sadie…” My eyes nearly pop from their sockets as I continue, “…in the hospital?”

“Babies are conceived in hospitals all the time.”

“Yeah, in petri dishes, Mikey! Not in hospital beds!” The horror I had over the thought of someone dying in that stupid gown suddenly takes on an even deeper fear. “Mikey, that’s just—”

“I’m sure it’s not the first time, Maggie,” Mikey defends, both equally embarrassed and frustrated by this whole situation. “I would think that it might rate pretty high on the list of last dying wishes and all.”

“Whatever,” I say. “It doesn’t matter where it happened. So you think she’s actually pregnant?” I deliberately soften my tone.

Mikey shrugs and flips the handle on the faucet. He douses the dishes with more soap than is required and furiously begins scrubbing with the brush in his hands like he’s got a personal vendetta against the pots and pans. “She’s two days late.”

“That doesn’t necessary mean anything,” I assure. “Things like that can be affected by stress, and I think it’s fair to say that she’s been under quite a bit of that lately.”

“I know, that’s what I keep telling her, but she’s freaking out.”

I nod and ignore the water that’s spraying all over the kitchen from his frenzied assault on the dirty dishes. “I’m sure she is. I would be, too.”

“You would have? Like if Brian had gotten you pregnant?”

When he says his name, I shudder. Thinking of Brian like that burns at my stomach more than the acidic juice. Thinking of being pregnant with his child is even worse.

“Yes, I would have freaked out,” I reply calmly.

“Because you weren’t ready to have his baby,” Mikey clarifies.

“Right, because I wasn’t ready to have not just his baby, but any baby. I wasn’t ready for any of it, and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have been doing anything with him that could have gotten us into that situation.”

Mikey tosses the scrub brush down and clamps two firm hands over the side of the sink. “See, but that’s where we’re different. We both want this someday.”

“Right, someday. It’s okay to want to have a family with Sadie someday, Mikey. You’re committed to her and you love her.”

“I might not have a someday,” Mikey sighs. “And so were you and Brian. Committed and in love, I mean.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think that was love.” If it was, I’m not sure I ever want it again.

“How do you know the difference?”

I bite down on my lip and Mikey resumes his dishwashing, much less violently this time.

“I don’t know, but I can tell you one thing. If Brian and I had gotten pregnant, there’s no way he would have been talking to his sister about it, trying to figure out how to make it work. That wouldn’t have even been an option.”

“I’m scared, Maggie.” Mikey shuts the water off again and drags the dishtowel down his face. “I’m scared to die. I’m scared to live. I’m scared that Sadie’s pregnant and that we’re not ready for this. I’m scared that I’ll never play football again. I’m scared of my next round of chemo. I’m scared that I’m always going to be sick.” He throws the towel on the counter. “I’m scared out of my mind and I don’t know where the hell to go from here.”

I don’t either. And I don’t know what to say to him to make things better. There’s nothing that can make it better. We just have to live it.

“This is your life now, Mikey.”

“I know.” He lifts up a pot from the sink by its handle and crashes it back down. “You think I don’t know that? That this is my life?”

I press my fingers onto the granite counter. “I don’t get it either, Mikey. I don’t get why some people get to skate through existence and never have anything bad happen to them, when others get it in abundance. I don’t get it.”

Mikey laughs one hollow snicker. “Look who I’m talking to. Your life sucks just as much as mine. You freaking got plowed into by some drunk on your way to see me at the hospital. I wouldn’t say life’s been too kind to you either, Mags.”

I shrug my shoulders up to my ears and keep them there. “I don’t know,” I begin. “I think it could be a lot worse.”

Mikey flattens the towel onto the counter and starts stacking the clean dishes on top of it. “Things could always be worse. But when it’s your life and you’re right in the middle of it, it’s hard to keep that perspective.”

“You’re right,” I agree, joining him at the sink. I hand him another recently washed pan and he sets it onto the towel. “It’s much easier to see things from someone else’s point of view.”

***

Me: When can I see you?



I try not to stare down at the phone balanced on my bathroom counter and instead focus on applying my eyeliner, but it’s like my eyes are magnetically pulled to it. After several looks back and forth from the mirror to the cell, it vibrates loudly and I abandon my makeup routine altogether.



Ran: Well this is a first, Maggie. YOU requesting to see ME.



Me: Can we go for a walk? No bikes, no vehicles.



Ran: Dang it, Maggie. You’re not even going to play hard to get? This is no fun.



Me: I never promised to be fun. Just complicated and occasionally not nice.



Ran: Occasionally? If that was occasionally, I’d hate to see what frequently looks like.



Me: When are you free?



Ran: I work at 6. I can be at your house by 3.



Me: Looking forward to it.



Ran: See, you’re making it hard to determine if these are compliments or not by the way you word things.



Me: I thought we were done with all that counting compliment stuff.



Ran: I’m still working up to my kiss.



Me: You’re going to have to work pretty hard.



Ran: Not a problem, I have an incredible work ethic.



Me: See you at 3.



Ran: See you then.



Ran shows up on my doorstep at three o’clock sharp and greets me with a smile that unbuckles my knees. I’m glad I’m bracing myself against the doorframe, because my body wants to slide to the floor. I pull myself together.

“Ready for our walk?” I say, slipping into the sleeve of my jacket as I latch the door behind me.

“Been counting down the minutes.” Ran’s hands are shoved into his pockets as we pace the set of concrete steps toward the sidewalk. There’s a chill in the air that burns my ears and I shrug my shoulders to push my scarf up higher to cover them. “Do you have a destination in mind?”

“Not really,” I admit. I ball my fists together and blow into them to bring some amount of warmth to my already numb fingers. Ran slips his hand out of his pocket and wraps it around my right one. When I look over at him, the look on his face feels like he’s asking permission, so I grab on tighter to let him know it’s okay. That this is okay, because for the moment, I think it is.

“Is it fine with you if we head somewhere then? It’s only about a mile from here.”

I nod and squeeze his hand. His fingers are long, but not delicate or slender. They hold an appropriate amount of roughness in texture that you’d expect from a guy, but the way his fingers slink with mine feels tender and warm. And the way he rubs the pad of his thumb over the soft space on the back of my hand is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Whenever Brian and I held hands it always felt possessive. Holding Ran’s hand is just the opposite, like he’s offering something to me rather than taking from me. Like he’s giving me a small piece of himself.

“How’s Mikey feeling today? Think he’ll be able to give himself the shot on his own?” The sidewalks are empty in our neighborhood, with the exception of a jogger and his dog that skirt around us by sidestepping into the street. A few leftover leaves from fall dance along the pavement, but everything else is still. No cars bustling down the lane, no children playing in front yards.

“I think he can handle it.” I knot my fingers tighter with Ran’s. “What do you think his odds are, Ran?”

“Mikey’s odds?” Though we’re walking forward, Ran turns to face me. “Geez, I have no idea, Maggie. I honestly don’t know much about cancer, even less about his specific type. The doctors seem pretty confident, yeah?”

I nod and bite into my lip which is beginning to chap from the wind. “Yeah, they seem confident.”

“Then you have to trust they know what they’re doing.” Ran’s finger lifts to my face and he tucks a wayward hair behind my ear. I imagine he would do the same sort of thing before leaning in to kiss me and I shiver, and I’m so thankful for the freezing temperatures that make doing so seem appropriate. Why am I thinking about kissing Ran? Just last night I wanted to punch that annoyingly beautiful mouth of his.

“You and I both know I have a hard time trusting people.”

He nods. “I know. But sometimes you just have to believe that others have more information and experience than you do.”

We walk three more blocks together. Ran tells me about his first ambulance ride when he was just beginning training as a paramedic and about some of the strangest calls he’s ever been on and injuries he’s seen. We talk about high school and I find out that Ran was a star track athlete, and he humors me with a laugh when I challenge him to a race down the block.

“You think I’m kidding?” I pull on his fingers, picking up my speed in my step, skipping backward on the pavement. “I’m serious. I’ll race you to that stop sign.” I thrust my finger toward a very small, red octagonal blob in the distance that you really can only see if you squint your eyes tightly.

“You’re not kidding?” Ran’s blue eyes widen and a subtle smile grows on his lips.

I swallow. “Three, two…”

“You’re really not kidding.”

“One!”

I throw his hand free and lunge forward, pushing off the concrete with force that propels me forward. It takes Ran a couple beats to shake off his confusion before he bolts too, but I manage to keep my gained distance by pumping my arms to gradually increase my speed. The cold air stings as it enters my lungs and prickles my cheeks. The water collecting in my eyes makes it hard to see, but I don’t give up my pace and instead ignore the burn in my legs, especially the thigh that so often threatens to give out on me. I feel the pull of the scar and clench my jaw, grit through the pain, and when I’m about twenty feet from the sign, I don’t let up on my stride, but push everything I have into that last stretch.

I hear Ran’s labored breathing immediately behind me and sense he’s closing the gap, so when I reach the sign just moments before he does, I know he won’t be able to slow in time to avoid running into me completely. His feet make loud clapping noises as I hear him trying to pull back on his speed, and at the very last second, when I know he’s just moments away from slamming into me, I flip around to face him.

He crashes into me.

I anticipated the hit, so I hadn’t planted my feet and instead absorb the impact by being pushed several feet backward against him. Ran grabs me at the waist, and once we’re steadied, tucks me into him, like a huge bear hug. Our chests heave against one another, trying to collect the air we’d restricted earlier, and I feel my heart in my ears, my fingers, my toes. My breath comes out in thick fogs of mist and so does Ran’s, mixing around us. His nose is cherry red and his cheeks are unnaturally pink.

“What…was…that…all…about?” he gets out between shallow breaths.

I shake my head playfully. “I felt like running from you,” I say in one quick breath, and then try to get back on track filling and emptying my lungs in a reasonably slower manner.

“And you haven’t been doing that this whole time?” Now that we’re steadied, there’s really no reason Ran still needs to hold on to me, but he’s not letting go. He’s holding me tighter. “Haven’t you always been trying to get away?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “But I’ve finally decided to let you catch up with me.”

Ran’s eyebrows draw down faintly. “How’s your leg?”

“It’s fine,” I lie, as I feel all the heat in my body centered around that six-inch strip of skin.

“You sure?” Ran tucks his head down to pull my eyes up to him. “You okay to keep walking? Or am I going to have to carry you?”

“You don’t need to carry me,” I say, biting on my lips. They’re even more chapped than before, the sting of the wind still tearing at them.

“Here.” Ran dips his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a tube of chapstick.

I take it from him and pop the cap off. When I run it over my lips, I can’t help but notice the slight tightening in his brow as he watches me coat my mouth. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he says, still not blinking. He traces the chapstick over his own lips and I’ve never felt jealous of an inanimate object in my life up to this point, but the envy I have over that stupid chapstick is unreal. I don’t think he does it on purpose, but when he slides his full lips over one another slowly to spread the chapstick evenly on their surface, I just about lose it. My head spins and my mouth tingles and I have to pin back the sigh that wants to slip out from me.

“Okay,” I stammer nervously, trying to regain my self-control. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Ran grips onto my hand again. “Just one more block. I have someone I want you to meet.”