Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Liam
I’m squished against the cab door, Audrey’s bags taking up half the back seat and most of the trunk. It’s like she packed for a monthlong expedition instead of a weeklong family celebration. I can barely move without knocking over a suitcase or two, but I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“Did you leave any room in your closet back home, or did you bring it all with you?” I tease, raising an eyebrow at the mountain of luggage surrounding us.
She’s laughing at what I just said, her eyes lighting up like they always do when she’s genuinely amused. It’s been years since we shared anything—let alone a taxi ride—but some things about Audrey never change. Her nose crinkles adorably when she laughs, and I feel a warmth spread through my chest at the sight.
“Can you believe Mrs. Henley still has that hideous flamingo collection on her lawn?” I quip, gesturing out the window as the cab rolls past the infamous yard. The plastic birds are faded and chipped, but they still stand tall.
“Liam, those are practically historical landmarks by now,” Audrey chuckles, shaking her head. Her laughter is infectious, and for a moment, it feels like we’re kids again, sneaking cookies from my mom’s secret stash. I can almost taste the chocolate chips melting on my tongue.
“Hey, remember that time we tried to repaint them?” I ask, nudging her shoulder with mine. The contact sends a spark through my body, and I have to resist the urge to lean closer.
“We? I remember that being totally a you, Ethan, Max, and Caleb situation,” she says, her tone playfully accusatory. She crosses her arms over her chest, fixing me with a mock glare that does little to hide the amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Hey, you covered for us,” I point out, holding up my hands in surrender. “That makes you an accessory to the crime.”
“I don’t think you’re right. But I only agreed because you bribed me with your leftover Halloween candy from that year,” she chuckles, the sound low and warm. I remember the way she’d haggled with us, driving a hard bargain for her silence. Even then, she knew how to negotiate like a pro.
The cab pulls up to her family’s house, which looks exactly like I remembered, except maybe the porch swing is now a little more rickety. I feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of our time together coming to an end.
“Thanks for everything, Liam,” Audrey says with a warm smile, her hand brushing mine as she reaches for her bags. The touch is brief, but it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Anytime, Little McCallister. That’s what neighbors are for, right?” I flash her a playful grin as she opens the door, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches at the thought of saying goodbye.
The driver pops the trunk, and I jump out to help Audrey with the rest of her luggage. We work together, unloading suitcase after suitcase onto the curb. Our hands brush occasionally as we lift and carry, and I find myself lingering just a little longer than necessary, savoring the brief moments of contact.
“Right,” she says, her voice soft and filled with an emotion I can’t quite place. She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I’m tempted to pull her into my arms and never let go.
I haul Audrey’s luggage up the porch steps. She follows behind me, her hands full with the smaller bags.
“Hey, Audrey. Where is your boyfriend?” One of the cousins shouts from somewhere inside the house, earning an eye roll from Audrey and a chuckle from me. I can see the annoyance flash across her face, her jaw clenching slightly at the question.
“I’m not looking forward to telling them there’s no boyfriend,” she mumbles under her breath, her shoulders slumping. She lets out a groan, her head falling back in exasperation. “They’re all going to think I made him up.”
“You didn’t. I can vouch for it,” I say, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She looks up at me, her gaze filled with gratitude and a hint of something else I can’t quite place .
“But you never met him,” she points out, her brow furrowing.
“They don’t need to know that.” I wink at her, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. “See you later today.”
“Sure,” she replies with a wave before the screen door shuts behind her. I watch as she’s pulled into a flurry of hugs and kisses, her laughter mixing with the excited chatter of her family.
I pay the cabbie and make my way next door, my shoes crunching on the familiar pebble walkway. The sound is comforting. It reminds me of the years I spent running back and forth between houses.
Ethan’s house was just across the street. His parents sold it a few years ago, when they retired to New Mexico. Caleb’s parents moved to North Carolina before his younger sister started high school. I can’t believe there are just two families left on this street.
But that doesn’t matter though, the four of us are still friends. Now business partners.
“Liam,” my mom greets me, her voice carrying the same warmth it always does. She pulls me into a tight hug, her familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon enveloping me. “I was starting to worry about you.”
Knowing Mom she really didn’t think I’d be coming this week. I often skip Thanksgiving every year, most times I meet them in New York to be with my grandparents for Christmas and New Year’s, but I always send her on a trip for her birthday.
I’m not avoiding my family, I just try to make sure everyone gets along.
“I wouldn’t have missed this week, Mom,” I say, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm.
“Welcome home, Liam. Make yourself useful, Son, and help set the table,” Malcolm, my stepfather, calls out from somewhere in the kitchen, his voice gruff but affectionate. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“I ate on the plane. Do you mind if I skip breakfast?” I ask, stifling a yawn. The long flight and the emotional roller coaster of seeing Audrey again has left me drained. “Would you mind if I go upstairs to take a nap?”
“Liam, honey, we need to talk to you first,” Mom says, her tone serious. She exchanges a glance with Malcolm, silent communication passing between them. “Afterward, you can head up.”
“Sure, what’s up?” I respond, a sense of unease creeping up my spine. I follow them into the kitchen, my heart beginning to race with anxiousness.
In the kitchen, I find Dad standing by the refrigerator, orange juice in hand. Everyone’s expressions are serious in a way that instantly sets off alarm bells in my head. I don’t recall them ever being together having a meal, if my father is here, something is very wrong.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, the informal edge to my voice sharpening with concern. I can feel my brow furrowing.
“Liam, we need to talk to you about Mom . . . Your grandmother,” Dad starts, his voice unsteady—a rarity for him. “She . . .” He runs a hand through his graying hair, a nervous habit I’ve never seen him display before.
“Okay, talk to me.” I lean back against the wall, arms folded across my chest, trying to brace myself for whatever they’re about to say. My heart is pounding now, a sickening rhythm that echoes in my ears.
“Your grandma . . . She’s sick, Liam.” Mom’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, her hands wringing together as though she could squeeze the bad news into something more palatable. Her lower lip trembles, and I can see the effort it takes for her to hold herself together.
Mom’s mother died when she was young. She never knew who her father was. When she met my grandparents there was a special connection between her and Grandma that even after the divorce hasn’t faded away.
It makes sense why Dad is here and she’s about to crumble with the despair of knowing that Grandma . . . How sick is she? My heart stops as I just now realize that this conversation is way too serious for simply pneumonia or . . .
“Okay, sick how? Like, flu sick or . . .?” I press, though part of me isn’t sure I want to hear the answer. My stomach twists, a sense of dread settling like a lead weight.
Dad takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “It’s breast cancer, Son. They caught it early enough, but the risks of complications are higher because of her age.”
The words land like a punch to the gut, knocking the air clean out of me. My breath catches, trapped somewhere between my lungs and the open air as I struggle to wrap my mind around the concept. I can feel my knees buckling, and I grip the edge of the counter for support.
“But they can try to save her, right?” I ask, my voice sounding small and childlike even to my own ears. The words feel foreign and unwelcome, a desperate plea against the inevitable.
Mom nods, a single tear escaping down her cheek. “They’re going to do everything they can, but . . . she’s not that young and her body might not be able to withstand the treatments, Liam. We have to prepare ourselves for whatever the outcome.”
I feel like I’m underwater, the world around me muffled and distorted. This can’t be happening. Not to Grandma. I swallow past the lump in my throat, my vision blurring with unshed tears.
“She wanted to wait until after the anniversary party to tell the rest of the family. She didn’t want to ruin the celebration.”
A humorless laugh escapes my lips, the sound harsh and grating. “Of course she didn’t. That’s just like her, always putting everyone else first.”
I push off from the wall, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the small kitchen. “I . . . I need some air. I’m going to take a walk.” My heart races, the urge to escape overwhelming. I need to get out, to breathe, to process this news away from the suffocating sympathy in my parents’ eyes.
“She is going to start treatment,” Dad says, ignoring what I just said. His voice is steady, but I can see the cracks in his composure, the way his hands tremble slightly at his sides. “Next week we . . . I have to go to New York. To help her and your grandpa.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask, my voice rising, accusation lacing each word. I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me, a hot, prickly sensation that threatens to consume me.
“Grandma didn’t want us to tell you over the phone,” Mom explains, her voice a soft whisper now. She reaches out to me, her hand hovering in the space between us, as if she’s afraid to touch me. “But we thought you should know before she gets here. Give you time to adjust and really process this.”
“She’s at peace with it, Liam. Mom wants us all to be at peace with it, too.” Dad’s words are meant to be comforting, but they feel like a slap in the face. How can anyone be at peace with this?
“Peace? But she’s getting treatment, isn’t she?” I choke out, tasting the bitterness of the word. How can anyone make peace with losing her?
I’m pacing now, in an attempt to outrun the ache in my chest. The room feels smaller, like the walls are inching closer with every labored breath. I need air, space, anything to dilute this suffocating grief.
“Mom, Dad, we can’t just sit here. There’s gotta be something we can do, right? Some trial, or experimental thing?” The words tumble out, tripping over each other in their haste. I’m grasping at straws, desperate for any shred of hope to cling to.
My parents exchange a look that says they’ve tried this before, worn the path down with their own frantic searching. So this—my reaction—is really nothing new to them.
“How . . . how long have you known?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m not sure I want to know the answer, but I need to ask, need to understand why they kept this from me.
“Two weeks,” Dad interjects, his tone heavy with apology. “We’ve known for two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” My voice rises, a note of betrayal sharpening the edges. “You waited two weeks to tell me?”
Their expressions crumple a little more, if that’s even possible, and the weight of their decision presses down on the room. I can see the guilt in their eyes, the way they shrink under the force of my anger.
Mom steps forward, her hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “Liam, honey, we wanted to tell you in person. We didn’t want you to be alone when you found out.”
“As we just told you, Mom didn’t want to worry anyone, Son. And she especially didn’t want you to cancel coming back for the anniversary party. She’s been talking about seeing you getting married since you were in high school, you know that.” Dad runs a hand through his hair, his eyes distant, lost in pain .
“Grandma always said she wouldn’t miss my wedding for the world,” I murmur, more to myself than to them, as I try to latch onto something, anything, that feels solid in this quicksand of despair. The words feel heavy on my tongue.
“Exactly,” Dad chimes in, nodding vigorously. “And she meant it. So we thought, let’s have one last big family gathering, full of love and joy, even if it’s not your wedding—and the family is the McCallisters.”
“It would be great if it was indeed your wedding—or if at least you were serious about someone.” Mom’s words are gentle, but they cut deep, a reminder of all the expectations and hopes that rest on my shoulders.
I try to understand their reasoning. Their practicality is admirable, wanting to maintain normalcy for her sake and ours. But it leaves me feeling torn, aching to make the most out of these dwindling moments. Should I move to New York to spend time with her or just start to search for the best oncologist to treat her?
“Don’t you have a girlfriend or someone we could invite?” Mom continues. “We’ll pay for her trip from San Diego. It’s just to give your grandma some hope.”
I stare at her slightly confused.
“Stop, Susie,” Malcolm says. “You can’t pressure him to find someone. What’s next? Suggesting he hires an actress?”
“Liam is a handsome man. I’m sure he has a lady in San Diego,” Mom says hopeful.
Someone from San Diego? I repeat in my head . . . A girlfriend? Hire an actress? What are they talking about? Like they want me to introduce my grandma to someone who might become the future Mrs. Cohen even if it never actually happens?
I remember Audrey and how we promised to shield each other from exactly this, right? Love lives, meddling family members, and boredom—it was something like that.
And suddenly, the lie escapes my lips, a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything. “Fine, if you must know, Audrey McCallister and I are engaged.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and momentous. I can see the shock register on their faces, the way their eyes widen, and their mouths fall open. For a moment, the room is silent, the only sound the pounding of my own heart in my ears.
Fuck, what did I just do?