Chapter 23
CADEN
There’d been other close calls with Valentina since that night at Blitz.
Mostly because she was such a great distraction, and I needed a lot of that at the moment. Whenever my thoughts threatened to linger on that unanswered Anova offer in my inbox, I sought her out.
In the kitchen, when we thought no one else was in the house—and we’d only realized we’d been wrong because Mike stomped downstairs like he weighs five hundred pounds.
When she’d been on top of me in my bunk, and Alfie thought it would be fun to ding-dong-ditch our room—Valentina had flown off my lap so fast, she hit her head on the desk opposite our bed.
Another time, when we’d all been playing cards outside, and Valentina had been out first, so bored she’d fallen asleep against my shoulder, drool down her chin and everything.
Back in our room, I’d kissed her into oblivion, and mercilessly teased her for the stain on my hoodie.
We’d forgotten to close the door behind us.
All in all, we’d gotten less careful, and more needy. Which was a dangerous combination, she knew that just as well as I did, and it was probably why she was in the bunk over mine, and not just next to me.
You’ve been quiet, she noted from above me. Everything alright? There was something in her tone I didn’t quite recognize. Concern? Interest? Kindness? In the four weeks we’d been here, the only side she’d shown me was the one that pretended not to like me.
Laying on my back, my head shook, although she couldn’t see. This is just by far not my best experience with you on top, I tried to joke.
She laughed, and I could tell by the way her voice hitched half-way through the sound, she was rolling her eyes. Then, she playfully hit her mattress, and it would’ve probably been my shoulder or arm or thigh, if I’d been next to her.
Not just now, she snickered. Today. And yesterday. Seems like you’ve got something on your mind.
Yeah, a yearly salary of two hundred-thousand American dollars.
And since when do you worry about the quality of my day? I didn’t mean to sound as snappy as I did. It was supposed to be another joke that would keep us from actually talking about my feelings, but my tone was all off.
To my surprise, she answered sincerely. I’m not sure, she said.
Since that night you tickled my back, maybe?
For a solid thirty minutes, and I’d have done it sixty more if she hadn’t gone completely rigid from one second to the other, then bolted to the bunk above mine.
It had taken her an hour to fall asleep.
I sighed. Her truth made me want to level the playing field. Anova sent me another offer. The words came out so fast, I wasn’t quite sure if she caught it all.
And, of course, she said, with sarcastic disbelief in her tone. Somehow, this is a bad thing.
Awful, I agreed.
I don’t understand you, Callahan. She shifted above me, and I found myself holding my breath to hear what she’d say next. You tell me I should live for myself, then you throw opportunities away for something you don’t even want—
Ali was diagnosed when she was six. I wasn’t quite sure where that came from, but I went on.
She was the happiest baby I knew, honestly.
She never cried, she never complained. She ate whatever Mom put on her plate—vegetables and everything.
I blinked rapidly, then decided to just close my eyes.
“You’d think once she was told she had leukemia, that would change, but it didn’t.
She cheered me on from the sidelines just as enthusiastically—probably more enthusiastically, the older she got.
Like she didn’t care at all about the fact that she might die.
I started working a lot. Three part-time jobs to save for medical expenses.
My parents weren’t well-off so we didn’t have great healthcare, and our college funds ran out a year into her treatment.
Two years later, there was this new, experimental way to target blood cancer even in critical stages like hers, and I probably slept a total of three hours a night, for about six months, trying to make enough money to get us on the eligibility list. I had it, really.
I was nearly there. Ali died that month. ”
I paused, let that reality settle. It still hurt the same way it did seven years ago. I still remembered it the same way, too.
Caden thought she would die at home. They had prepared for Alison’s transfer from the CCC back into her bedroom next week, and the doctors had said it would be enough time. She’d still have a few weeks at home. A month, even. Two.
She would not.
He’d expected it to be quick and messy and unbelievably horrible–limbs twitching, heavy breathing, screams and tears and his mother passing out beside the hospital bed. He’d never seen anyone die, so he wouldn’t know.
But Alison had fallen asleep a few hours ago, her tiny hand in his, holding tightly, still breathing as normally as someone who’d die soon, and there was no sign that said she’d never open her eyes again.
Caden just knew.
The way he’d known her favorite songs and what she’d want for dinner and when to stop tickling her before she got seriously annoyed–and would fight back.
It was the first time in days he’d been alone with his sister, and perhaps that played into it as well.
That Alison knew as well as he did… his parents might not survive being there when she passed.
That she’d held on long enough for it to be just the two of them.
Because he was her big brother. The one who hadn’t shed a single tear in front of her.
Who’d read her bedtime stories even when she’d been unconscious, and laughed at bad jokes she’d barely managed to get out anymore.
Strong and invincible. For her.
She couldn’t know that the same strong, invincible big brother would fall into their mother’s arms whenever they were out of earshot, sobbing. Wishing he could change things. Feeling useless and empty and a million other things he couldn’t even put into words.
Now, though, noticing her grip around his hand loosening, he felt relieved. That he was there to carry this burden for the rest of his family. That he could be strong for Alison one last time, and let her go. Without a fuss, so she wouldn’t have to feel bad.
Mom’s getting coffee. Dad’s with her, he said, like his sister might need the confirmation. It’s just me. It’s okay. His eyes were burning, his nose was running, but he did nothing about it.
He was being strong for her. One last time. Like he’d promised himself. You can let go. If you want.
And for the very first time, Alison listened to her brother.
Whoever said time healed all wounds must not have had their sibling die.
She was the light of my life, Valentina.
I would’ve done anything for her. She wanted to be a doctor, you know?
Help children that were going through the same thing she was, and make them healthy again.
Those are big dreams, and she never got to live them.
Who would I be—how selfish would it be, if I got the opportunity to live my dream—her dream for me, and didn’t take it?
Above me, I could hear a muted sniffle, some shuffling of blankets. Silence, for a long while.
Fuck.
This was what oversharing felt like, then? Knowing you’d said way too much, way too fast, to someone who probably didn’t care all that much, leaving them speechless and trying to find the right words.
I’m so sorry, Caden. Is there anything I can do to help? What do you need?
My sister back, would be a start.
I expected the same standard reply from Valentina, and I would’ve understood. But she surprised me.
Don’t you think— she hesitated, and I understood that, too. Don’t you think if she’d had the opportunity, she’d have wanted to live a happy life, above all else? Don’t you think if she had to choose between success or happiness for you, she’d choose the latter?
Always.
It just seems wrong, I sighed, despite her valid point.
She echoed the sound. I know, she said, gently. It sucks thinking that every choice you’d make for yourself would disappoint someone else.
Silence, and I was glad she decided to fill it a few seconds later.
That’s why I don’t. That’s why I never complained when I had to pack my own lunches, cook dinner, do the dishes, work to keep the lights on.
I thought, if I just keep going, my family is going to be so grateful.
If I study something really hard—like physics—they had to be proud.
If I graduated with honors, they had to acknowledge it.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this about myself, she added.
But I was quite glad to get the attention off my dead sister, to be honest. I assume they didn’t?
My sister said congrats, by the way. Mom was probably too high to notice. Sorry, she said again. That’s awkward. I didn’t mean to overshare. I love my mom, she’s just—sorry.
I snickered. I just trauma-dumped my sister’s death on you. I don’t think you can beat my oversharing. Don’t worry.
I just mean— she continued, hesitating again. A wise man once told me, You can’t live the one life you have always pleasing others.
To my surprise, I could feel the corners of my lips twitching, threatening to lift. A wise man? I teased.
A semi-wise man. A sometimes wise, sometimes very dumb man, she corrected.
A sometimes wise, sometimes very dumb man, who, perhaps, needed to start listening to his own advice.