Chapter Twenty-Three Sera
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sera
Mom and Dad said yes to the Provincetown trip last night, but now over breakfast they’re second-guessing. Abbi surprises me by coming to the rescue.
“If you haven’t noticed,” she says, “Sera’s heart readings have been steady. I think doing more helps.” She fills my coffee mug to the allowed line and pushes it my way. Luke knocks on the sliding glass door and slips in as they discuss the length of leash I should be allowed.
“Morning, Luke,” Mom says, giving him a smile to let him know this isn’t his fault but also not his place to weigh in.
He comes and stands next to me by the counter, and I lean against him.
He slips his hand into the back pocket of my shorts, where no one can see.
I pinch my lips together to keep my giggle in.
“I don’t know,” Dad says from his spot at the kitchen table. “You have an appointment in Boston soon. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I think that’s another reason why she should go,” Abbi pushes, snapping open the binder with the records of my check-ins since the incident written in her careful hand.
“Who knows what Dr. Lee might say then. What if we have to go back to Brookline?” Even though I’ve been okay since the night after the blood drive, my entire family has reverted to micromanaging me like they had to last summer. I needed it then. I don’t need it now.
“I guess that’s true,” Mom says before taking a slow sip of her tea.
“I can go with them if you want,” Abbi offers, “but Luke is really responsible, and he’ll know what to do if Sera feels off at all. Right?”
Luke nods. “Absolutely.”
“Sera also knows what to do when Sera feels off,” I mutter under my breath. Luke squeezes my hand.
“Okay, then,” Mom says, getting up and placing a kiss on the top of my head. “Come home if you’re feeling tired at all. But have fun.”
When I’m ready to go, Abbi does my vitals and Mom clears me to leave. Luke stands in the corner of the kitchen and watches the whole process with hyperfocus, learning the steps.
“You’re sure you’re feeling okay?” Abbi asks quietly once Mom is out of earshot.
“Yeah. Promise. Do something for yourself today too, okay?”
Abbi hugs me in response, and I hug her tight, squeezing her until her back pops. She pulls away and laughs, then looks between Luke and me. She leans in to whisper in my ear.
“Just be careful. Maybe hold off on any…cardio…until you talk to Dr. Lee about whether it’s safe.”
“Abbi.” I blush. I glance over at Dad, but he’s reading something on his phone, oblivious.
Abbi rolls her eyes, winks. “Fine. Have fun.”
“Not too much,” I promise.
*
In Provincetown, Luke insists on dropping me off in the center of town before he finds a spot to park.
I wander through the bookstore while I wait for him, saying hi to the dog in residence and listening to his owner tell a visiting couple his rescue story.
I buy Abbi a book on the history of alternative energy on the Cape as a thank-you, then go meet Luke on the corner.
He’s holding a bag from the Portuguese bakery.
I snap a photo of him waiting for me and text it to Maddy.
Sera
hot boy + hot =
should we bring you back some?
Maddy
yes please! Are you wearing THE DRESS?!
I laugh and take a selfie. I’m wearing a T-shirt and shorts and one of Luke’s baseball caps.
Maddy
I demand a date worthy of THE DRESS, and DETAILS!
Sera
I demand unlimited free fries and Sienna details in return!
Maddy
I’ll consider it. Meet up tomorrow? Just us?
I send her a thumbs-up and sidle up to Luke.
“Are those for me?”
“Save me a bite,” he teases, “but yes. It was a long drive.”
We find a bench on the main drag to sit and eat. When we’re done, we escape the sun by drifting from shop to shop. As we walk past a little park, we step apart to let a gaggle of brunch-going drag queens pass by.
“I love your hat!” I shout to the queen at the end, who’s wearing a giant crocheted shell perched atop her bright red wig.
“Thanks, doll, I love your arm candy!” She gestures to Luke, and he blushes.
The gallery I’m looking for is pretty far up Commercial Street, and Luke holds the door open for me as we step out of the sun into the well-lit, air-conditioned space.
The gallery is run by a local artist, and their current show features work from young up-and-coming artists all over Cape Cod.
We wander through for a bit until I find the corner where the artist I’m looking for has their work hanging.
The three paintings hanging here are all portraits of people caught in the wind, their hair wild, one guy bald but clearly feeling the wind on his wrinkled skin.
The detail is so impressive. I take a selfie and post it to Instagram, tagging the artist and sending them a note.
On our way out, Luke’s drawn to an impressive array of mixed-media pieces that are just his style. Graphic and bold, a combination of print design and photography, according to the artist’s statement. The central piece is of the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.
“Wow.” I’m stunned.
“It’s really good,” Luke agrees.
“Your work is just as good, Luke. It could fit right beside this piece easily. You should make something to submit.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t have time. Plus it’s just a hobby. It’s relaxing, you know. A distraction.”
“Sure.” I don’t want to let this go for some reason. Worse than him refusing to think about what he wants outside of what his family needs is this insane idea he has that his art isn’t worth his time. “But it’s still really good.”
“Your work will be here, though,” he says, deflecting. “Those underwater portraits maybe? They don’t just have to be for your application.”
“Maybe. I don’t know that I’ll have enough time to start showing in galleries…” I say, trailing off.
“Don’t say that,” he says, looking hurt.
“Luke…”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I just want you to let yourself have hope. Neither of us was supposed to live past two, and look at us now. You can’t know what will happen.”
He’s both wrong and right at the same time.
Sure, there are the unknowns that give me hope.
But I know I’ll need a new heart one day.
I know my body could reject it. I know my life will still be shorter than his.
It’s hard to think past next summer, to pretend we have all the time in the world like I know he wants me to.
Am I taking up all the air, not having long-term hopes and dreams for us simply because I think it’s too hard to picture them?
Summers down on the Cape have always felt like a break from reality, and this one has the same taste of suspended time, but maybe that’s not fair.
Luke lives here all the time. This is his life.
I’m just a visitor. In more ways than one.
“You should submit your work to them,” Luke says. He marches up to the front desk and takes a pamphlet with information on the gallery. I keep quiet, my head a little fuzzy from all the thinking and the long day.
On the drive home, I let one hand trail out the window while the other rests warm and secure in Luke’s hand. My thoughts swing back and forth between this moment and several imagined futures, the bright and impossible kind I haven’t been allowing myself to entertain.
Luke calling me while I walk around Paris and me telling him about the light in the city.
Maddy and me tired and grungy on a train to Amsterdam—her rambling about the food we’re going to eat while I sketch the view.
There are so many ways my future could look if I have one, each daydream more beautiful than the last.