The biggest problem, however, is that I do not have an answer for him. I open my mouth and close it.
Seeing that I’m not going to say anything, Levi nails it right on the head, and it hurts. “Because,” he says, a little breathlessly, like he’s starting to get angry, “it’s like there’s a part of you that you don’t want me to see.”
I close my eyes. You don’t have to tell me that.
Everything is closing in on me, so fast, so unexpected. I look at him, and he looks at me, and all I see is disappointment.
I never wanted to disappoint him.
He reaches for me. I let him touch my arm, even though I don’t want him to. “Is it not enough that I love you?”
“It is,” I whisper. “It is enough,” I say again, with more conviction.
“No, it’s not. It’s obviously not.” He brushes the tip of his nose along my hairline, breathing in deeply. “What else do I need to do? I’ll do anything. God—”
He actually looks pained, as he’s begging to me to let him do more. It’s ridiculous, because what have I ever done for him? I look back on everything this summer, and I know—finally—what’s so wrong about us: He has loved me more than I have loved him. He has loved me better.
I feel sick. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to tell him. Maybe it’s some part of me that’s holding back because I haven’t done enough to deserve him.
I swallow and whisper, “You don’t need to do anything.”
He rubs his face with both hands, as if exhausted. I feel the same, like my body is deflating, like I want to curl up and cry.
Eventually, Levi brings his head up again and says, “Look, downstairs, I said something I don’t agree with. You said it wasn’t a big deal, your name, and I said you were right. Well, you’re not. It is a big deal. Is it so hard to believe that I want all of you?”
I do cry now, sniffling, wiping away tears. (Damn you, hormones!) (Oh, who am I kidding? This is completely unrelated to hormones.)
“Bee,” he says, and it’s as though seeing me cry surprises him. He says my (fake) name again, tenderly, and I don’t deny him when he brings me in. “I didn’t bring you here to fight with you. I’m sorry.” He kisses me, soft and gentle, and I give him everything I can in that kiss, holding his face in my palms, because he loves me and oh, I want to do right by him. I want to do more.
My phone rings, startling us both enough that we break off, trying to catch our breath. I quickly pull out my phone. It’s 9:00 at night, and it’s my mom.
“Hello?” I say, trying to make my voice sound normal.
“Bee.” My mom’s voice is hushed, despite the fact that it sounds like she’s in a place full of loud people. “Bee, are you with your siblings?”
“Yeah,” I say, confused. “They’re downstairs—we’ve been painting.”
“Good, okay.” She takes a deep breath, and I’m almost positive I hear a hiccup. Like she’s been crying. “Will you…will you bring them to the hospital with you?”
“Mom.” I feel like everything slows—my heart beating, Levi’s arm as it slides around my waist, my lungs that don’t want to fill with air. “Mom, what happened?”
“Oh, Baby Bee. Just…”
“Mom, please tell me what happened.”
She sighs, a light sigh that masks a sob. “Honey, Papa’s started having seizures.”
Chapter 37
The drive to the hospital is the worst in my life. It is quiet and stuffy and Levi-less, Tom keeps fisting his hands around the steering wheel like he’s angry, and Millie is sniffling. Worst of all: Astrid has finally lost it.
“Astrid, please don’t cry,” I say, a little too quietly. “Astrid.”
She cries anyway. And it’s too damn hard to watch.
All the way there, I hold my phone in my hands, Levi’s name pulled up, an empty message waiting for me to fill it with words like I’m sorry and I love you or even just a heart. Anything. All I can finally manage is, Please can we talk again soon?
(He doesn’t reply.)
But the driving isn’t the worst of it. We have to wait in the lobby for forever because there was a mix-up and we don’t know where my dad’s room is. It’s us and a lot of quiet and upset people who go up and down the elevators and disappear into the hallway to our right and through the sliding glass door to our left.
My heart aches. While we stand there, huddled together, my brain whirrs and jumps like a broken clock. I keep returning to Levi and the way I left him, looking ragged on the steps of the house we made together, and the last words I spoke to him.
I’m sorry I haven’t been more, I said. I hear the words on replay, a promise I don’t know if I can keep. How stupid of me to say them only because they were what he wanted to hear.
As I tuck these thoughts away, I replace them with thoughts of Mama, and my sisters, and the way we will cry tonight. I think about the way Tom will try not to cry, but he’ll be shaky. I know there is something more, something Mama hasn’t told us. I do know it’s going to break me.
Mama comes down the elevator after we’ve stood there for nearly twenty minutes. She’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt over her pajamas, a plaid shirt-and-pants set. (Seeing something that has so much home to it in this cold, sad place makes my heart twist.) She starts to cry as soon as she sees us, huddled against the wall, and rushes across the busy foot traffic to get to us. She’s shorter than everyone in our family, even Millie, so she’s instantly lost in our embrace. She kisses Millie and Astrid, wiping away both of their tears, and takes my face in her hands and smiles a perfectly sad smile. “Baby Bee.”
I nod, lip quivering. “Mama.”
“You need to know something right now, okay?” she says, taking a deep breath. It’s shaky and teary and I hug her tighter. “Papa…isn’t getting better. His tumor is about the same size, but there are….others…now. One on his liver, one on his lung. There is a chance we can operate to remove the new tumors, but it won’t change the fact that it’s spread.”
I’m about to let go and cry—it’s been building up—but then I hear Millie’s quiet crying and I stop myself. I have to be brave for her, and for Astrid, who’s got her head buried in my shoulder. (I was right: Tom’s hands are shaking and his breathing is rapid.) I bite my lip and say nothing.
“He’s sleeping right now,” Mom continues. “We wanted you to come when he was awake, but he just couldn’t keep his eyes open. So come see him, give him kisses, and then you have to go back home.”