Breathing is good.
He looks relatively okay, too. I’m not sure what to think about this. Is it a good sign, that he has some color in his cheeks and that his smile is back? Or does it hide the decay underneath that will eventually kill him? I have no choice but to let it be a happy thing, however, because the other option is to sit and worry and never enjoy a single moment with him.
Sometimes, when Tom is about to go to work, and the girls come home from school, and I come home from work early enough, Mama brings home In-N-Out for us. We lay out a blanket over my mom’s favorite rug (so we don’t destroy it with Special Sauce) and pile on like we used to when we were little. Dad used to make steak dinners on Friday nights, and we would eat our dinner over an indoor picnic. Afterward, we would fold up the blanket and curl up on the couch for a movie, during which my mom would trim my dad’s hair. (Thing You Should Know About Me #2183: I’m super nostalgic about these sorts of things.) (Oh, wait…you probably knew that already.) It’s during one of these fast food dinners, two weeks after we brought Papa home, that he makes an announcement. I’m just sitting there, enjoying the silence, passing the ketchup to Millie for her fries, when Papa says very loudly, “Bee’s going to take a floral design class. Right, Bee?”
I close my eyes, briefly. I’m less than amused, and I make sure he sees the scowl on my face. “Papa…”
Everyone is as surprised as I gathered they’d be, which is why I never said anything. I haven’t thought about it once since I found out TCP was funding the chemo.
“I’m not doing it,” I say, firmly.
Astrid rolls her eyes. “Drama Queen.”
“Shh, Ass-trid.” I glance at my mom, who’s turned her questioning gaze on me. “I, um, don’t need to do it. It’s expensive.”
“Honey, we can cover it,” Mom says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I really don’t want to.”
“Why not, Beef?” Tom takes a huge bite out of his burger and says, with his mouth full, “You’re really good at it.”
Millicent makes a sound of disgust. “Tom.” Then she adds, “Bee, I really, really want you to do it. Come on, please?”
“It’s too expensive, and that’s that.” I shrug. “I don’t know…it might be good to keep in mind for next fall, though. Besides, I’d rather be here more, spending time with you guys.”
“The class is next semester, Bee,” my dad says, like I’m crazy for wanting to hang out at home. “A long way away from now.”
“So?” I shrug.
“Your attitude sucks,” Papa replies, good-naturedly. “But speaking of spending time with us, when is Levi coming over for dinner again?”
“Um.” I choke on a fry.
“Soon, I hope,” he says, looking at me closely.
Very closely.
I clear my throat. “Maybe soon?” I say, because I’m a coward.
Papa raises an eyebrow. “Well, he’s been nice to stop by this week. He said last week he was so caught up in TCP work that he couldn’t make it over. Poor kid. Looked terrible.”
“He stopped by?” It takes a lot of work to keep my voice from sounding shrill.
“A couple days ago, and again today. Didn’t he tell you?”
I quickly stuff my mouth with fries to avoid Papa’s gaze, which tells me he definitely knows something happened. “No, he didn’t. Must’ve forgot.”
Tom wipes his hands on a napkin (I’m pretty sure that was my napkin) and says, “Well, if Bee doesn’t want the spotlight, I’m going to steal it.”
Yes, please do. I smile. “As always.”
He scowls at me, but his smile is quick to replace it. “I got promoted—I’m a shift leader with a raise. My boss says I’ll be manager soon if I keep this up.”
Everyone raises their hands to high-five him, raining praises and good-jobs and excellents. He waits until we calm down before adding, “I’m also going to take classes again next year, maybe transfer to a four-year university if I decide what I want to do. Who knows? Maybe things will go even further at work and I’ll never look back.”
I clap Tom on the back and fake a smile. “I’m really proud of you.”
He beams. “Shut up, stupid.”
Mom shushes him. “That’s rude. You know the rules—now you have to say ten nice things to Bee.”
“Mo—om,” Tom groans. “How about five?”
My mother considers. “Okay. But make them count.”
Tom grunts, counting on his fingers as I wait with a smug expression on my face. “Your hair is long, you have glasses that fit your face right, you sometimes dress cute, your perfume is appealing, and you have a nice boyfriend.”
I gasp incredulously at this, trying to pretend like I didn’t hear that last one. Like it doesn’t cut deep.
Mama sighs, raises an eyebrow, and nods in Tom’s direction. “Bee, you can smack him.”
I lightly punch his shoulder.
“Harder,” my dad puts in.
I hit him again, this time with my palm, feeling the satisfaction that only comes from smacking an annoying older brother. He yelps in pain, which causes my sisters to burst into giggles. I sit back on my heels and smile even though I don’t feel like it. My chest hurts. Tom mentioned my boyfriend—the one who hasn’t called me, who’s been stopping by my house when I’m not around, who, my Papa says, looks terribly stressed. I’m the only one who knows it’s not because of TCP.
Ex-boyfriend, I correct myself after a moment of denial.
Ignoring the catastrophe that is my heart, I eat the last of my fries, bring my knees up to my chest as I sit back, and listen to my family’s laughter.
Chapter 46
Tonight, after we clean up the blanket and trash from dinner, I get ready for my shift on the couch.
Tom heads to work, and my sisters are tucked into bed, and my mom is soaking in a much-needed bath, so I curl up on my uncomfortable makeshift bed. I’m just starting to fall asleep when my dad’s voice surprises me awake.
“Hey, Bee,” he whispers.
I sit up and scoot toward his chair. “Yeah?”
“Why did you and Levi break up?”
I try to keep my breathing even. “What?”
Papa’s eyes are on me, white against his shadowed face. “He came this morning just after you left for work because he didn’t want to upset you. He even asked me not to tell you he’d stopped by. I had to pretend like I knew what he was talking about.” He clears his throat.
“Daddy.” I don’t know what to say except, “It was too much, okay? I was dragging him down and I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“You’re not dragging anyone down.”
I ignore him. “I wanted to do everything but I couldn’t. We were fighting so much.”
Papa nods. “He understood, though. He told me he understood why you couldn’t work through it right away. He even went as far as to say that he would have gladly fought with you for months if it meant you were together.” My dad laughs, but it’s a sad laugh. “Then he turned red and apologized, as if he’d said something wrong.”
I try to say something, but my words get stuck. The only thing that escapes are my tears. Then, so quietly I hope he can hear it, “I love him, Papa.”
“I know.”