Chapter 51
Greta
When I entered the bedroom, she looked smaller than the last time, even if I knew that was impossible.
They’d brought her down to her room after she’d spent two weeks intubated.
Her lips were cracked, her face pale, she had bags under her eyes.
She looked up at me. And she smiled. Despite everything, Lucy smiled.
“Sorry. The bus was late.” I sat down next to her in bed, and Mom got up from the chair with the excuse of getting a coffee so the two of us could be alone. I grabbed the blanket that was covering her feet and spread it out over her, I was worried she was cold.
“I’m hot,” she complained.
“I don’t care. It’s chilly in here. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“Greta, I’m sweating.”
“Fine.” I pulled the blanket off again.
“What did I miss this week? Any news?”
I wished I could tell her something exciting, but the truth was, nothing whatsoever had happened.
When she was in the ICU, I was working hard not to add another pink slip to my massive pile.
I spent a few nights with Taylor just to forget for a while how alone I felt when I got scared of losing her. And that’s it.
“Not a thing,” I said. “I’m glad to have you back.”
Lucy nodded, but something in her face had changed. “I thought I wouldn’t make it out this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was ready…”
“Lucy! Don’t say that. Just don’t say it.”
“It’s true, though. And I wasn’t scared. Not anymore.”
I found her hand under the covers and squeezed it tight.
She squeezed back as hard as she could, but it wasn’t much.
I looked into her eyes and my heart beat hard against my ribs.
I loved her so much, she meant so much to me, and just hearing her say she could leave this world was impossible for me.
Why? That was the question I’d been asking my entire life.
Others could go. Not her. Lucy deserved more because she had a kind heart and a head full of amazing ideas.
And she’d never been in love. She’d never traveled.
She’d never learned to ride a skateboard or play piano. She had so much left to do.
“It’s too early for you to go,” I whispered.
“What do early and late mean when you’re talking about life? My life would have been an infinity for a butterfly. I saw one the other day, yellow and orange. It landed on the window and it was dying, and I thought to myself, ‘Fuck you, I win. You just lived five days and I’ve lived for years.’”
“Stop it,” I said. “You’re being silly.” But I knew she wasn’t.
“You know what, Greta? I am cold actually.” When I reached for the blanket, she grabbed my wrist. “Lie down with me awhile.”
I settled in next to her, trying to take up as little room as possible.
She still smelled like Lucy. That relaxed me.
Night fell, and we spoke in whispers. She told me she imagined, in the next life, everything would be tinged pink, with a cottony texture and a flavor like the strawberry Creme Savers we used to buy when we were little.
I must have fallen asleep, and at some point I woke up and Mom was cuddling us.
Lucy lived another year, but when I think about that ending that I never accepted before now, what I think about most is that night we slept side by side.
The next morning, we peeked out the window and saw that the first snow of the season had fallen.
We smiled as we looked at each other, and our eyes gleamed the same way they did when we were little and we found our Christmas gifts under the tree.
That’s how I want to remember her. Just like that.