11. Gwen
Ishould have waited to worry until she felt like ass. Ana was right.
It’s been three weeks, and every day has gotten harder for her. She’s just a little more tired, a little more sore. She’s kept up a good front until this point—joking and rolling her eyes and insisting she can still watch softball practice. But when I tried to wake her up today, she just rolled herself further into her covers and muttered that she felt like she hadn’t slept at all.
I brush the hair off her forehead, watching her face scrunch and relax in her sleep. Tears well, but I blink them back, wishing I could take this away from her, to trade places. The never-ending nausea intensifies, bile clawing at my already-raw throat as I think about what I should have done differently. What I could have changed. Less fast food, more fresh vegetables. Cutting out blue dye, or maybe it’s supposed to be red. Moving her to the countryside where she could breathe fresh air. Throwing out those nonstick pans when they started to flake. I’d give anything to go back and change it all, but I can’t, and she’s suffering for it.
I stand there for what feels like hours, wishing for impossible things. And when she finally settles into a deeper sleep, I step into the hallway to call her school and let them know she’ll be out for at least the next two weeks, promising to keep them updated as her condition changes.
Back in the apartment, I stand in the middle of the space, turning in circles. I feel like I should do something productive—cleaning, or prepping food for Ana, or anything—but there’s nothing to do. Even though Ana’s treatments have taken up a significant portion of our afternoons, she’s still been going to school three days a week until today. And for the first time since I was fifteen, I don’t have a job. Which means I’ve filled every waking second with deep cleaning the kitchen and washing sheets and fixing the leaky shower head.
I pick at my nails, suddenly anxious. I don’t know the last time I actually had nothing to do. Sure, I’ve taken time for myself while Ana’s been with friends or I had a random morning off from the club, but I always had a running to-do list gnawing at me. The emptiness is disorienting.
I’m saved from considering cleaning the bathroom grout by the buzz of my phone against the kitchen counter. When I slide it open, I’m confronted by a very long text message from my landlord with a passive aggressive reminder that if I’m going to pay my rent in cash, it has to be hand delivered to him, not left in an unmarked envelope in his mailbox. Which is a little rude, seeing as I didn’t pay my rent in cash. I dropped a check in the mail three days ago, like I always do.
Confused, I switch over to my bank app, wondering if he meant to text another tenant, or if my check got lost in the mail somehow. When my account finally loads, I drop my phone on the counter, staring at it in shock.
I haven’t checked my bank account in a while. Charlie’s been almost annoyingly insistent about paying for dinners with me and Ana, sending us groceries, and covering all of the small things that I’ve barely swiped my card over the past few weeks. But there’s no way on god’s green earth I should have over fifty thousand fucking dollars in my bank account.
I tentatively pick my phone back up, swiping through the activity history. There’s no rent withdrawal, but there’s a notification for a canceled check, and a one-time transfer of a number with four zeros before the decimal point.
There’s not even a question of where this came from. I pull up our text thread, feeling like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My teeth are set on edge, irrational anger pulsing through me.
Me
Take it back.
I flip back to the bank app, ensuring I didn’t hallucinate while I wait for his response. It doesn’t take long.
Charlie
Good morning.
Take what back?
I take a deep breath, glancing over my shoulder at Ana bundled up under her covers, sleeping as soundly as she can.
Me
I swear to god, Carlo Costa, I’m not in the mood to be fucked with.
Please take back the money you deposited in my bank account without my approval.
I watch the little typing bubbles, my irritation not abating at all when another realization crashes into me.
Me
Also, did you pay my rent? Because that wasn’t part of the agreement.
The bubbles disappear and then start up again, and I click my nails against the counter, counting the seconds until his response pops up.
Charlie
Yes, Guinevere Byrne, I did pay your rent, and yes, you did agree to it. The contract explicitly states that I will fully financially support both you and Ana. Since we agreed to a modified move-in date, I covered your housing costs.
I grind my teeth together again, frustrated with myself that I didn’t consider how my insistence on waiting to move in would change things. Even though I logically know the rent for this dingy apartment is a drop in the bucket for him, my chest still tightens in discomfort. I asked for support, signed a fucking contract for it, and it still makes me nauseous to think anyone needs to take care of me.
Me
I have savings and a plan. We would have been fine.
A tiny voice in the back of my mind reminds me we wouldn’t have been fine for long. That if Charlie hadn’t paid the bill for Ana’s surgery, I actually don’t know if we would have been able to make rent, even if I kept working. That my savings could cover our expenses for a few months, maybe, but after that we’d be screwed.
Charlie
I’ll say this as many times as you need me to. I have no doubt you could figure this out on your own. But we agreed to support each other, and this one way I can support you.
I hate this. I hate that he’s right. I hate that the way he frames it calms my heart rate down. I hate that I needed someone else to come in and save Ana. I hate that I can’t be enough for her.
Accepting his offer didn’t make any of this easier. It being the right thing to do just made me madder at myself.
Me
And the transfer?
Charlie
In case I’m not around to pick up the tab.
I scoff and roll my eyes, dropping my phone back on the counter. Charlie has kept his promise from that first day of Ana’s treatment. Once I finally gave in and agreed to let him help with our commute to appointments, he’s taken us to almost every single one. On the few occasions he couldn’t be there, Zane’s dropped us off and picked us back up, always with dinner and a note from Charlie about the restaurant he found. He’s fit into our lives seamlessly, like he was always meant to be there. It’s unnerving, and I shouldn’t enjoy it.
Ana’s still got her guard up a little, but I can tell she enjoys having him around. They’re both leagues smarter than me, and she likes talking with him about the things she’s learning, asking him questions about college and law school that she knows I can’t answer. He treats her like an adult, as much as I do, and I can tell she appreciates not being babied while she’s going through this.
Instead of answering Charlie, I snatch my phone back up and text Kenzie.
Me:
You working today?
Kenz
Not until 3, thank god. Want me to come over?
Please. I haven’t seen you in ages.
She sends a gif of that old lady from the Titanic, and I roll my eyes.
Kenz
Is Ana home? I can bring bagels from the bakery by my place.
Me
Yeah she’s home, but don’t worry about it, she’s sleeping.
I’ll grab them anyway, she can eat when she wakes up if she wants. I’ll grab coffee for us too. I’m only half awake.
I stare at the screen, my brows pinched together. Kenzie is the best kind of friend—she used to pick up Ana from school when I couldn’t change my schedule. She gives excellent pep talks, and she’s the sweetest person alive. But she doesn’t offer to buy things, especially over the past six months. The hospital bills from her assault have been taking over her entire life, so much that she had to leave her apartment in the Navy Yard and find a room for rent in Columbia Heights. I don’t want her to stretch her budget for breakfast, but I also don’t want to seem ungrateful. Instead, I just send a little heart emoji and trust she’s got it covered. I can always stick a twenty in her bag when she’s not looking.
A half hour later,Kenzie’s letting herself in with her spare key, balancing two massive iced coffees on top of three boxes of baked goods. I rush to grab the drinks from her before they tip over, and she pecks me on the cheek.
“Sorry,” she whispers, glancing at Ana’s tightly shut bedroom door. “Couldn’t reach my phone to text you for help.”
She slides the boxes on the counter and opens the top one, peeking inside and then moving it to the fridge.
“I saw these little fruit tarts that looked so good, and I know how much Ana loves raspberries, so I just had to get them.” She’s bouncing on her toes as she opens the lid so I can see inside. They’re adorable, tiny and glazed, and she’s right—Ana will love them.
“There are bagels and cream cheese in the bottom one. I assumed you had butter for Ana.” She yanks her hair out of its ponytail and flips her head over, putting it back up again. “And I got some random pastries too, just in case she’s craving something else.”
Kenzie has always been the most energetic person I know. She talks a mile a minute, keeping everyone around her laughing and entertained. I love how she fills a room, how you never feel alone when she’s near. Her joy is infectious, and one of the worst parts of seeing her with Bryan was watching that light fade whenever he was around. It never fades anymore.
“Jesus, did you walk all the way from Columbia Heights with this?” I ask, snagging the cream cheese out of the bottom box and sticking it in the fridge. Kenzie peels her scarf and coat off, hanging them on the hooks by the door.
“Oh, fuck no, I took a rideshare,” she laughs, opening the last box of pastries and digging out a chocolate croissant.
A rideshare? Kenzie? There have been times where she’s walked home from the club because she didn’t want to spend the two dollars on the Metro fare. What is happening?
“You really didn’t have to do all this, Kenz. I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to go out of your way.” We both know what I actually mean is you didn’t need to spend the money. There’s a flush on her cheeks as she smiles through a mouthful of pastry.
“Actually, I kind of have some news. I know there’s a lot of other stuff to talk about, and I didn’t want to drop it on you right when I walked in. But, well…” she trails off, swallowing hard and looking a little embarrassed.
I wish I could tell her that, no matter what she’s about to say, it’s not as unbelievable finding someone in a bar to pay your sister’s medical bills in exchange for your hand in marriage.
“Everything okay?” I ask, grabbing her hand as she leans back.
“Yeah, actually, everything’s better than okay. Apparently, there’s this charity fund at George Washington, and when I was there, I signed up as a potential donation recipient. I don’t really remember doing that, but there were a ton of forms, so I must have. Anyway, apparently one of these guardian angel rich people paid off all of my medical debt.” She takes a deep breath, and there are tears welling in her eyes as she beams at me. “It’s gone. Like, all of it. They paid it all off.”
Before I can even react, she launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around me and crying into my shoulder. I choke out a laugh, burying my face in her hair and holding her close to me.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, shaking my head. She nods against me, tears of relief seeping through the sleeve of my shirt.
“Do you know who donated?” I ask, pulling back and wiping the tears from under her eyes. I know her answer before she even opens her mouth.
“No, they said it was anonymous. Something about medical privacy or whatever.”
I’m not na?ve enough to think it’s a coincidence. And even though I was livid at Charlie barely an hour ago over finances, I can’t find it in me to be upset. Kenzie deserves to be free of every memory of her heinous ex, especially the financial burden he caused.
Kenzie grabs our coffees and snuggles into the couch cushions as I pick up my phone.
Me
And Kenzie’s medical bills?
It’s not until I’m half way through my second cinnamon bagel that I get his response.
Charlie
I take care of what’s mine. That includes everyone they love.
Ana wakesup a few hours later, still a little fatigued but feeling better. She snuggles up with Kenzie and they talk about their favorite subject—reality television cooking shows—as I make Ana a plain bagel with butter. I’m happy her appetite hasn’t waned too much, though our meal schedule has been indefinitely screwed by our regular four o’clock post-treatment dinners.
They turn on some show that requires contestants to bake under the most ridiculous conditions I’ve ever heard while I shower and get myself ready for her appointment. When I step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I hear Ana and Kenzie giggling together.
“Seriously, he’s obsessed with her. I’ve never seen someone pine so hard for someone they’re already dating,” Ana laughs, pulling her socks on.
I tap my phone and realize we’ve only got about fifteen minutes until Charlie will be here to pick us up.
“Ugh, jealous,” Kenzie groans, flopping her head back on the couch. I squeeze into the only corner of my bed nook that you can’t see from the couch and shimmy into my jeans.
“Is there a couples cooking show now? Because I thought you two had bled every streaming service dry of food-related reality TV,” I yell into the living room, throwing a sweater on and hunting for socks in the mess that is my nightstand drawer.
“I’m talking about you and Charlie,” Ana scoffs, getting up from the couch as I come back into view.
“What? Why?” I ask, finding my tennis shoes in the coat closet and slipping them on. “Also, can you grab your bag? I repacked it last night, it’s in your room.”
She stretches before throwing me a smile and heading into her bedroom while Kenzie packs up the leftovers from this morning, tucking them into the fridge.
“Because I haven’t met him yet, and I am begging for crumbs of information from your fifteen-year-old sister.” She bumps me with her hip, and I roll my eyes at her. I’ve told her a little about Charlie via text, but I’ve kept the details to a minimum. “You’re happy though, right?”
I don’t know how to answer that. Happiness really wasn’t a consideration when this whole thing started, and now there are a lot of confusing emotions involved.
“He’s a good guy,” I hedge. Honestly, that’s not even completely true. But by conventional standards, I’m not a good person either.
“As long as he’s taking care of you two,” Kenzie says softly, her smile small and understanding. I grimace a bit, backing away from her touch.
“Kenzie, I…” I start, but she cuts me off with a wave.
“Gwen, you never have to explain yourself to me.” She takes a dish towel and wipes down the tiny counter of crumbs. “You’re always the person doing whatever you have to do to take care of the people around you. And you know what’s best for her,” she says, gesturing toward Ana’s room. “I just want you to be happy.”
We’re silent for a minute, and it’s a weighty feeling, knowing how honest Kenzie’s being.
I don’t think she knows what I did that night. She’s never mentioned anything about Bryan not coming back, about him never calling. But there are moments where I wonder if she suspects. Like when she told the cops who interviewed her at the hospital about her injuries that I was with her the entire time she was at the hospital, even though I know she remembers me leaving. Or when she talks to me like she’s doing now.
It’s that feeling that makes me whisper, “I’m not sure if I made the right choice here, Kenz. I don’t even know if a right choice exists.”
She swings her arm around my shoulder and kisses my temple like a sister would.
“I don’t know what your options are, but I do know this. You deserve a little peace, Gwen. So if this choice brings you peace, I think you’ve made the right one.”