My Life After Now

14

What I Did For Love




Like always, my mind wouldn’t shut up. When I heard that the flu was going around, I panicked, worrying about what would happen if I caught it. When I brushed my teeth a little too hard and spit out blood-tinted toothpaste, I questioned if I should douse the sink with bleach to kill any left-behind bacteria. During class, I tuned out the teacher and studied my classmates, wondering if anyone else was carrying around a secret like this.

The worst part was that I felt totally fine. Exactly the same as always. But I wasn’t fine. My body was lying to me. It was deceiving me, and everyone I knew, into believing that it was healthy. And that made me hate it even more.

The thing they don’t tell you in sex education classes is what to do after. It’s all, “Don’t do this, don’t do that. And if you do do this or that, make sure you do it safely.” But what about when you screw up? Then what? Where do you go? Who do you tell? How do you act? Sex “education” prepares you for nothing.

So, for lack of any better ideas, I went on autopilot: school, rehearsal, homework, chores. Keep up appearances on the outside, and no one would know what going on inside. But it was arduous work; the HIV that crept and crawled through my veins was all I could think about.

When my phone buzzed on the weekends or after school with calls from Max or Courtney, I sent them to voicemail. It was hard enough trying to act normal during the day. I could only pretend so much.

I was completely lost, but it actually looked like my act was working. At least, no one said anything that made me think otherwise.

No one except Evan, that is. He knew something was up. And I knew why. I may have managed to put up a passable façade everywhere else in my life, but there was no way I could fake intimacy. Every time he tried to hold my hand or move in for a kiss, I recoiled. I no longer knew how to be in a physical relationship. How could I share my body with someone when it felt alien to me?

“All right, Lucy,” he said with a sigh as he drove me home after rehearsal. “Just say it.”

I looked at him. “Just say what?”

“Whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours.” His brown eyes were clear and his face was smooth. He wasn’t angry. He should have been; I wouldn’t have blamed him. But he seemed like all he was after was an explanation.

Of course, that was the other thing I couldn’t give him.

Instead, the words I had been thinking all week but trying not to say flowed out of me before I could stop them. “I think we should break up,” I whispered. I meant it too—he would be far better off without me.

Evan swallowed and nodded, but his expression didn’t change much. I realized he’d been expecting me to say that.

“Why?” he asked.

I looked away. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough. Give me a real reason.”

“It’s…just not working. With us. You know?”

“But that’s what I don’t get,” he said quietly. “It was working. You said you wanted to be my girlfriend. I don’t understand what changed.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

“Lucy, I love—”

I sucked in my breath sharply. “Don’t say that,” I said, and ran out of the car and into my house, slamming the door behind me.

I threw myself onto my bed and buried my face in my pillows to muffle my sobs. It was the first time I’d cried since I broke down in front of my dad that first day. I felt like my heart was being shredded apart. The pain was so bad that it was almost…good. At least I was feeling something. It reminded me, albeit in a sick, terrible way, that I wasn’t dead just yet.

But my meltdown was interrupted by a knock on the door.

God, why couldn’t I just have parents who ignored me, like everyone else did?

“Come in,” I croaked.

I was startled to find that it was Lisa. She hadn’t set foot in this room since she’d blown back into town.

She handed me an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a picture of the baby. I went to the doctor today. My five-month checkup,” she said.

I studied the ultrasound image. I didn’t know what to think, sitting there holding tangible evidence that life goes on with or without you. So all I said was, “Is its head supposed to be that big?”

Lisa shrugged. “Yeah, they said that’s normal. Yours must have looked like that too. I don’t really remember.”

I slid the photo back in its envelope and handed it back to her.

“It’s a girl,” she said.

I blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lisa looked like she was expecting something more from me, but I didn’t know what else I was supposed to say. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” she asked eventually.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Congratulations.”

She beamed. “Thank you,” she said, like she hadn’t just had to pry that out of me.

“Do you know what you’re going to name her?” I asked.

“Not yet. Maybe you could help me come up with something?”

What was this? Mother-daughter bonding time? “Oh. Um, I don’t know. I’ll…think about it.”

“Okay,” Lisa said. “Good.”