I’d said “maybe” in my bedroom, but Mom chose to hear “yes.”
Dad continued. “I know you don’t play football, but this is the only sports analogy I can think of. The first round of chemo switched the cancer from offense to defense. It’s no longer attacking Mia’s body. We’ve got control of the ball now and each consolidation round of chemo—like the one she’s starting on Saturday—is a new first down. It keeps us in control. And when she’s had enough …”
“Touchdown?” Ryan guessed.
“Something like that,” Dad agreed. “When she’s done the maintenance chemo, she’ll be cancer free, hopefully for good.”
He wasn’t exaggerating, but it was an intimidating speech. Combined with Mom’s over-the-top enthusiasm, I wouldn’t have blamed Ryan if he fled. But he didn’t. He paid attention and asked questions. He nodded and smiled at Mom’s repetitive reassurances. He borrowed books from Dad’s library of leukemia resources. He squeezed my knee under the table.
I started to doubt myself—to believe him. Could he possibly be serious?
“Can I pick you up tomorrow? Are you going to school?” he asked at the front door.
He looked nervous, like I’d never ridden in his car before, like I might say no. “Sure.”
He kissed my forehead and we hovered close for a second before he stepped back. Apparently the time for casual kisses had ended. “It means a lot that you trusted me, even before you told the girls. I’m not going to screw this up.”
“I know.” And I meant it. There was something about seeing him vulnerable that made me feel protective. I’d done this to him, drained him of the confidence and carefree attitude—the things that made him Ryan.
I touched his cheek, smoothed over the skin where his dimples should be. “You’re a good guy, Ryan Winters.”
And they were back—the confidence, the charm, the dimples. “Then go out with me.”
“Ryan—” It was a sigh-yawn hybrid. I’d slept all day, but tonight had depleted me and left me more exhausted than I’d been this morning.
“Fine, I’ll stop asking, but let me try and change your mind. Every girl wants to be chased, right? Let me chase you and we’ll see what happens.”
I looked at him. Looked beyond him through the glass door to the shape of Gyver’s Jeep in his driveway. “I really don’t think I’ll change my mind.”
He pulled me closer. “I consider myself warned. All I’m asking for is a chance.”
I could feel his breath across my cheeks. If I looked up, I knew he’d kiss me now. I wanted to.
Instead I squeezed his hand and stepped away. “As long as you understand I’m being honest when I say—”
“I understand.” His smile was contagious. “I’d better go before you change your mind. See you in the morning.”
I watched him walk to his car, saw the fist pump he made in the darkness. He pulled out of the driveway and his taillights were swallowed by the night, leaving me wondering what I’d agreed to.
I was still standing by the door when Mom’s self-satisfied voice drifted from the kitchen, catching my attention. “That went well.”
“Think so?” asked Dad.
“Yes. No thanks to you. Hon, I can’t believe you gave the boy homework! He wants to date our daughter, not write a research paper on the horrors of cancer.” But she was laughing now.
“He asked for the books,” Dad answered. Through the doorway I could see him take the dishtowel out of Mom’s hands and put his arms around her. “And if he makes Mia happy …”
“Of course he does.” She tipped her forehead against his chest. “I was so worried how he’d react. So worried. If he rejected her …”
“But he didn’t. And remember, Gyver didn’t either.”
Mom shrugged this off. “She reminds me so much of me at her age—and Ryan’s exactly the type of guy I dated.”
“Hmm,” Dad muttered into Mom’s hair. “This was before you wised up and decided that geeks were far superior to jocks, right?”
“Far superior,” she echoed, kissing him. “She’s going to be okay.”
“She’s going to be okay,” he repeated, sounding far more confident than she did.
Mom kissed him again.
I was spared from having to slink up the stairs or witness any more embarrassing moments because Dad whispered something in her ear and she laughed and followed him out the back door to his telescope shed. Some small part of me felt left out. I was missing something I hadn’t thought of in years: the nights we had all spent watching Dad chart stars and show us things through his telescope: me truly interested and Mom pretending to be.
They’d left the sink half-full of plates, cups, and silverware. I hadn’t done anything else productive today; I could handle rinsing them off and loading the dishwasher.
Maybe. It was such a small word, but it had made Ryan and Mom so happy. Maybe a smaller word, maybe yes, would make me happy too.