Chapter Three
Juniper
I am in my flannel pajamas, with an eyeliner wand frozen mid-stroke like I’m filming a disastrously low-budget makeup tutorial. Usually, I’m so perfect with my eyeliner, but today I can’t nail the ultra-thin cat flick I do. Instead, it’s getting thicker and thicker, trying to match both sides.
“Ughh!” I say, grabbing another wipe to clean the extra thick eyeliner, and attempt again with shaky fingers.
The truth is, I’m nervous as butter icing in the sun.
Because… well… I’ve been holed up at home for the past two weeks.
It’s not like I had friends here waiting to welcome me.
Also, my parents are the least interested in me.
I haven’t had a single breakfast, lunch, or dinner with them.
Every time I go downstairs, my mom acts like I don’t exist, and my dad either buries his face in the newspaper or turns the volume of the TV up so high he’s in his own world.
Jacob’s the only one really putting in any effort. He’s been doing little stuff. Stuff that makes it feel like... like I was actually wanted here.
We watched Practical Magic the other night.
Sat on the couch with popcorn between us, quoting lines without even meaning to.
Then we ended up going through the old photo albums. I hadn’t seen those in years.
The covers are beat up, a few of the pages stick together, but it still felt kind of good flipping through them.
Grams was in a bunch of the photos. Smiling like she always did, in that old wide-brimmed hat she wore even when it wasn’t sunny.
After that, we opened up some of her boxes.
The ones Mom shoved into the closet and never touched again.
We found one of her scarves. Just holding it felt weird.
Like I shouldn’t be, but I did anyway. And somehow, it still smelled like her.
That soft perfume she wore, mixed with cedarwood from her dresser. I didn’t expect it to hit me like that.
I sat down with it for a while. Just holding it. It brought back this stupid-clear image of her brushing my hair on the back porch. I must’ve been eight or nine. She always brushed slow, careful. Said rushing made knots worse. I don’t know why that memory came up. It just did.
Those moments... they’re the ones that still feel close.
A cold draft slips in through the window behind me. I forgot to shut it all the way. It hits my neck and makes me flinch. Cody’s pulling one of its early-fall tricks again, even though it’s still August.
Just like that, I’m yanked out of memory lane.
I shove my feet into mismatched socks because yeah, it’s that cold, and start digging through my suitcase for clothes that might pass as “public presentable.” My old wardrobe is gone.
Empty. I’d love to believe Mom and Dad donated it somewhere decent, but knowing them?
They probably lit a match and watched it burn.
I pull out a crumpled skull tee and a pair of dark jeans. That’s what I get. I shimmy into them, wrestling the last button like it’s a personal insult. It’s always a struggle, even at 2XL. I refuse to buy a 3XL.
Still, once they’re on, my hips look good. Snatched, even. I throw my hair into a messy bun, tug a beanie over it, and reach for my glasses.
I put them on. Look at my reflection. Then take them off again.
No.
Not today.
Today feels like a sunglasses kind of day. The don’t-look-at-me, don’t-ask-me-anything kind. I dig out my old oversized pair and slide them on. The goal is simple: keep low. I’m heading to the hospital with Jacob, and I don’t need anyone recognizing me. Or remembering me. Same thing, really.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror one last time and then slip on my sneakers and leave the room.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Jacob sits at the table holding a chipped mug the size of a planter, steam curling around his cheeks. He looks better today. There’s a hint of color in his face, but his body has melted into Dad’s borrowed flannel. Seeing him that small twists something behind my ribs.
Dad sits opposite him with a newspaper fortress at full height. I look around and don’t see Mom—nor the grocery tote bags she usually hangs in the kitchen—which means she’s out for groceries.
Thank God. Because I don’t have the patience to deal with two estranged parents today.
“Morning,” I mumble, aiming for neutral, hoping maybe Dad will reply. But he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up and moves to the living room couch with his precious newspaper, ignoring me completely.
Jacob lifts his mug and smiles. “Hey, Juniper.”
“Hey, baby brother. How you holding up?” I ask, filling my own mug with coffee, cream and sugar. I like it that way.
He shrugs, eyes too old. “Like a glow stick a toddler snapped three days ago. Still lit, barely.”
I laugh under my breath and elbow his arm. “We’ll charge you later. Lightning bolt straight to the heart.”
“Promise?” He tries for playful, lands on weary.
“Pinky swear.”
On the stove, I spot a pot of oatmeal, and before I get up to fetch it, Jacob stands and ladles two bowls, loading them with raisins and brown sugar the way we used to before school. He slides one in front of me. “Allow me,” he says, like a true gentleman.
The moment I take the first spoonful, it coats my tongue with cinnamon heat, stirring a flood of memories: homework covering the whole damn table, Grams humming Patsy Cline… ever ything so normal. God, I miss those days.
Jacob sets the bowl down, steels himself, looking at Dad in the living room. “Dad, can Juniper drive the truck? Hospital is just ten minutes.”
The newspaper lowers an inch. “No.”
Jacob’s brows knit. “A ride-share costs more than gas. We already have bills stacking.”
Dad folds the paper slowly. “You left in a storm when you left this place. People remember what you did. It can’t just be forgotten.”
The words just make my blood boil. “Storms end, Dad. People move on.”
“Not everyone,” he groans.
Jacob squeezes my hand under the table. I know arguing with dad will only lead to a big fight and I gotta be out of here before mom returns and joins the front with Dad. So, I clear my throat. “Fine. We will call a ride-share. Happy?”
Dad raises the paper again, which means end of scene.
We finish oatmeal in silence, shove Jacob’s sketchbook, some snacks, and an emergency hoodie into a canvas tote, then step outside.
A dented blue Prius is waiting at the curb.
The driver looks like a college kid wearing wireless earbuds, drumming on the steering wheel. When he catches our approach, he waves.
I wave back at him because, well… strangers are easy.
Ten minutes later, we arrive at the hospital. I pay the driver and help Jacob out of the car. It breaks my heart, feeling the bones in his hand. He’s lost so much weight. My brother used to be strong. He was even on the cheerleading squad—but now... it’s like Lupus has sucked the life out of him.
He catches me looking at him and rolls his eyes. “Stop with the pity glances, Juniper.”
I quickly slap on a smile, holding back the tears that want to pour out. “Pity you? No way. I wish I had a figure like yours so I could wear anything I want to.”
It’s supposed to be a joke. I don’t find it funny. But Jacob laughs anyway.
Inside the hospital, the receptionist greets us with a smile. She probably recognizes Jacob, and thank God she doesn’t know me. Maybe she’s new in town. Cody is the kind of place where people know people, and I’m not ready to be known again.
We make our way to the waiting area. The chairs are plastic, stiff, arranged in rows like we're waiting for judgment. Jacob lowers himself slowly into one, cautious with every movement.
“I hate this place,” he mutters. “Everything about it screams sickness.”
“Duh, it’s a hospital,” I say, sitting down beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It’s where you need to be. And I’ll be here the whole time.”
He nods, leaning into me slightly. “Thanks, Juniper. I really wanted you here with me.”
A short while later, we're guided toward the ward and seated again in another waiting area. Jacob settles next to me, and abruptly something in his posture shifts. His back straightens, and his expression sharpens.
He nudges me with his elbow and tilts his head toward a woman standing nearby, her back to us. “That’s my doctor,” he whispers.
Jacob’s doctor is reviewing charts, but when she turns around, my heart skips a beat.
It’s Dominique. My best friend from high school.
The one person who stood by me through everything until she didn’t.
She looks up, catching my eye and for a brief second, I see something flicker across her face.
.longing, maybe regret. But just as quickly, it disappears behind as if she has tucked away her feelings somewhere deep.
“Dominique?” I call out in a shaky voice.
“Juniper.” She gives a curt nod and quickly returns her attention to whatever she was doing, but I notice the jitter in her hands. She's shocked to see me.
My heart sinks. I approach her, trying to bridge the gap that’s formed between us. “Dominique! God, it's been forever. You doing okay?”
She looks at me, and I can see the hardness in her eyes. “I’m busy, Juniper. This isn’t the time for a reunion.”
I blink, surprised by the harshness in her voice. “I just wanted to catch up. We were so close.”
Dominique cuts me off sharply. “Things change. People change. I have patients to attend to now.” Then she turns to Jacob, and her tone suddenly softens. “Are you ready for today’s session?”
He glances at me before forcing a smile. “As ready as I ever will be.”
“Awesome. Follow me to infusion room.” She says and starts walking, and we follow behind her.
I try to push down the hurt as I ask, “So, you’re Jacob’s doctor now?”
She answers without looking back. “I’ve been his doctor for a while. He’s in good hands.”
I open my mouth, hoping to reach out, but she cuts me off before I can say anything.