CHAPTER 4
HOLLY
“You’re doing too much.”
I glance up from my textbook to the simmering soup on the stovetop. “No, I’m not. I’m just studying until it’s ready.”
Pops shakes his head at me as he leans on the doorframe between the kitchen and the front hallway. He’s still got on his uniform, the jumpsuit covered in grease stains from all the cars he’s been under during the day. Mondays are usually his long days, trying to catch up with the weekend drop-offs.
“That’s not what I meant. Well, yeah, it kinda is.” He lets out a deep sigh as he runs his hand over his face and sits at the kitchen table across from me. “You’ve got too much going on. School, your jobs, the clubs, and the kidney donation. Pile on top of that, you coming here, cooking for me? It’s too much, sweetie. You need to slow down.”
“I’m fine.” That comes out more defensive than I meant it to.
“Maybe right now. But this’ll wear you out fast.”
I breathe in deep through my nose, reminding myself that he’s just trying to take care of me. It’s been his job since I was ten, so it’s probably hard to let go. “Trust me, Pops; I’ve got it all under control. Look.” Reaching into my bag, I pull out my striped notebook, my day planner, and my monthly calendar. “See? I’ve already organized all my days. It’s all set.” My fingers run over the lovely color-coded schedules, and I find myself relaxing at the sight of the organization.
Pops pinches his bottom lip between his fingers as he scans everything. “And which of these colors is for fun?”
“Huh?” I turn the calendar toward me, not understanding what he means.
“Where’s your break? When do you relax? Spend time with your friends?”
He stares at me, eyes sad, and I shift in my seat.
“I see Terra every day.” I’m back to defensive.
Pops starts using my fantastic scheduling skills against me. “Look here. Class. Class. Work. Club meeting. Doctor appointment. Study. Class.” He ticks each off like they’re offensive. “Right there. Saturday. You should be doing something fun, but you just made it a whole day of studying and work. Come on, Holly. I want to see you give yourself a break.” His Southern accent is starting to get thicker, which means he’s actually getting agitated.
Pops moved from Atlanta to Philly to live with his uncle when he was fifteen after his parents died. He tried really hard to get the twang out of his voice, so he could fit in, but it’s never gone away completely.
“I do.”
“When? Write it in this fancy schedule. I want to see it here or else.”
He scowls at me, but I give it right back.
“Or else what?” I don’t live under his roof anymore. I’m my own woman, and I can live my days however I please.
“Or else I’ll tell your brother.”
Crap.
“You wouldn’t.”
Pops raises his thick eyebrows, daring me to test him. He’ll do it. I know he will. And he knows one of the things I hate most in this world is worrying my brother. Marcus should be focusing on his own health, not whether or not I’m overextending myself.
Grumbling under my breath, I pull the calendars back to my side of the table. I guess Saturday doesn’t have to be all studying. It pains me to write over the neatly drawn boxes. I use colored pens once I have everything mapped out, and now, it’s like a toddler scribbling on a Monet.
After adding Break to all my Saturdays, I go to set my pen down, but Pops’s voice stops me.
“And?”
“And what?”
He taps the calendar. “Sometime during the week, too.” When I just glare, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Wonder if Marcus would agree with me.”
“Fine!” I throw my hands up and then scan the week. Thursday is the only other day with a huge chunk set aside for studying. Going with Ben to his treatment the other week didn’t throw off my schedule, even with my meeting oversight, so I take a chunk out of that day, too. “Happy?”
My adoptive father looks over the calendar, and I swear, I’m ready to scream when he goes to point at something else. It’s the Monday evening box labeled Make Pops dinner/Study.
“Change that. Now, it’s Takeout with Pops and gin rummy.”
He grins at me, and I melt. How can I stay mad when all his meddling comes from love?
“Okay, you win.” I make the change.
He stands up and pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket. “Not yet, but I will.”
Holly only came with me once, over a week ago, but walking into my parents’ house without her depresses me. The idea of sitting in that chair for hours with only a TV to distract me is torture.
To put off the inevitable, I search the house for my parents. I find them in the sky library. That’s what I named it when I was ten, and it stuck. The way the bookshelves are only broken up by windows revealing the tops of buildings always gives me the sense of sitting above everything. Floating in the sky.
Muted light spills from the lamps, just bright enough to read by. Dad sits in his work clothes. He’s removed his shoes, tie, and jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. When I was younger, I knew this meant I could climb into his lap because he was out of work mode. Tonight, he has some papers in front of him, glasses sitting low on his nose as he reads.
His file is propped on top of my mom’s feet, which rest in his lap as she stretches lengthwise on the couch. She’s wearing one of her silk nightgowns, but she still has a string of pearls around her neck. Her fingers run over the smooth beads as she reads a well-worn novel.
This is classic Mom and Dad. I’m one of the lucky ones with parents who’ve found a way to battle their issues and maintain their love, even after twenty-six years of marriage. Watching them together warms my chest but also brings focus to an empty section inside me.
What is that kind of love like? How do I find something that fits so well?
I’ve dated plenty, all nice girls I should’ve been happy with. But it never felt right. There was always a gap between us, a fake face I wore like a mask. Even before I got sick. Now, it’s worse. I can barely stand myself in the mirror, imagining what other people see.
Sick. Dying.
That’s got to be why I’m hung up on Holly. It’s not that I’m attracted to her really. She’s just the answer to my health issues. Once she heals me, I can be comfortable with myself again.
“Oh! Ben, you scared me!” My mom clutches her chest, smiling and shaking her head at me. “Why are you lurking in the doorway?”
I shrug. “Just thinking.”
“Everything all right?” Dad scans me from feet to forehead. Searching for any indication that I’m not well. At least, more not well than usual.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Guess I’m just putting it off.”
Like synchronized performers, they frown simultaneously. The pity does nothing but make my neck itch. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Honey, do you want me to come sit with you? We can watch a movie together.”
She offers to keep me company all the time, even saying she’ll work later on the mornings I get my treatment done. But, no matter how cold and calculating Victoria Gerhard is in the courtroom, she can’t hide the devastation of watching her only son hook up to a machine in order to continue living the semblance of a healthy life. It’s better for both of us if she keeps her distance.
“Nah. That’s okay. I’ll leave you to …” I lean forward to read the title of the book in her lap and give a scoff when I make out the words.
“Don’t you dare insult Jane Eyre.” Mom waves a scolding finger at me, and Dad chuckles as he returns to his papers.
My hands rise in surrender as I back out of the room. “Of course not. Charlotte Bront? can do no wrong.”
“That’s right. Don’t you forget it.”
From the shadows of the hallway, I spy on them a bit longer, not ready to leave the peacefulness of their presence for the cold hum of a machine.
Dad lets his hand rest on one of the bare feet cradled in his lap and gives a gentle squeeze.
“Benjamin Gerhard.” Mom always refers to my dad as Benjamin, so I know she isn’t calling me back.
“What?” His shoulders rise and fall, but I catch the sneaky curl of his lip.
“Just know that my foot is in a very precarious position if you decide to try anything.”
Dad grins, but he retracts his hand. “Yes, dear.”
Like stepping from the warmth of a bonfire into a frigid winter night, I descend the stairs.
Once I’m plugged in, I try watching a movie. Maybe Die Hard will do the trick. But, every time I start to get absorbed, my arm throbs, and I’m pulled right back out. A groan of frustration leaks from my throat. Luckily, my parents are still a floor away and don’t hear me.
If only Holly were here. Treatments seem even harder now that I know what it’s like with her next to me. Holly didn’t pity me or look at me like I was less of a person. The needles grossed her out, but she put that on her fears and issues. Not me.
Around her, I forget the discomfort.
Not giving myself time to reconsider, I lean to the side, so I can slide my phone out from my back pocket.
Over the past week, we’ve exchanged a few texts. Just the basics, like me telling her I got home safe after the bar and her asking how Sammy’s hangover was treating him. I’ve wanted to see her again, but if I show up outside of her class, I’ll feel like I’ve crossed over from friendly acquaintance to stalker. Just because I can’t stop thinking about her doesn’t mean she wants to spend time with me.
But texting her isn’t a big deal. Friends do it all the time.
Ben: How do you feel about Die Hard?
There’s no guarantee I’ll hear back anytime soon.
I wonder where Holly Foster is on a Monday night. Class? Studying? Working? Or maybe she’s hanging out with her boyfriend. It seems unlikely that someone as kind and sexy as her would be single. Selfishly, I want that to be the case. I almost asked her at the bar but held off for two reasons. First, I reasoned she might get uncomfortable if she thought I was hitting on her. Second, I was afraid of her answer.
My phone vibrates.
Holly: One of the best holiday movies I’ve seen.
Damn, this girl keeps getting better.
Ben: Of course. So much better than A Christmas Story.
Holly: Definitely. But everything is better than A Christmas Story.
Ben: You don’t like A Christmas Story? It’s a classic!
Holly: That classic gave me nightmares of ginger-haired bullies and getting my tongue frozen to a lamppost. It took me weeks to get over it! No, thank you.
Ben: Guess I won’t be giving you a sexy leg lamp for Christmas then.
Holly: Only if you want to get smacked in the face with it.
I snicker at the thought of Holly chasing after me, waving that iconic lamp as a threat.
Holly: So, whatcha doin’?
Ben: Dialysis. I’m bored. Entertain me!
A few minutes pass, and I wonder if I was too demanding. Then, my phone buzzes repeatedly.
Holly is calling me.
I sit up straighter and fix my rumpled shirt. As if she could somehow see me.
“Hey.”
“Hey there,” she speaks softly, and I hear some rumbling in the background.
“How’re you doing tonight?”
“I’m good. On the bus. Coming back from my dad’s. So, you’re bored, huh?”
“To tears. Tried watching Die Hard, but it’s just not working for me tonight. Thought I’d see what’s up with you.”
“Well, I just got soundly beat in a game of gin rummy, so my pride’s a bit dinged up. And I’ve still got a chapter to read for my class in the morning.”
“Digital marketing, right? With Jasper?”
“Yeah. Thank the universe he’s in that class. Everyone else drives me crazy.” Even over the phone, I can hear the smile in her voice.
If I were a good guy, I’d be happy the two of them were close. Instead, petty jerk I am, I get the urge to give her a detailed recounting of the morning our freshman year when I found my roommate passed out outside our dorm room, wearing a tube top and booty shorts with half of his head shaved. With effort, I keep it to myself.
“Yeah, he told me about the time you put someone in their place. Gave him a verbal beatdown?”
Her chuckle is low, sending goose bumps over my chest and down my legs. “Well, that’s what happens when you get on my bad side.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Oh, Benny boy,” she sighs out the nickname, and I’m shifting in my seat, suddenly restless. “You are so far from my bad side; you’d have to take a weeklong road trip just to catch sight of it.”
Her confession knocks me on my ass. I swallow multiple times while I try to come up with some witty response.
“Same.” Nailed it.
Holly laughs again. “So, are you at the beginning or getting to the end of your session?”
“Pretty much exactly halfway. Been here for an hour. One more to go.”
“Only two hours?”
“Yeah. Two hours on Mondays and two hours on Tuesdays. Then, I get three hours on Thursdays and Saturdays.”
“And it’s working for you?”
“As much as it can. Can’t wait to get all this time back though.” The moment I say it, I realize how that could stress her out. “Sorry. I know you’ve still got all the checkups. No pressure. Seriously.”
“It’s okay. I get it. Actually, I’ve got one of my first appointments tomorrow.”
“You nervous? ’Cause of the needles and everything?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” The humor leaves her voice, and I miss it. “I’ve had blood drawn before, obviously. So, I can do it.”
Holly sounds off now. And it’s all my fault.
“You definitely can.” Wanting to get the happiness back in her voice, I change the subject. “Anything interesting happen since I saw you last?”
“Hmm … let me think.” Through the phone speaker, I hear her humming to herself. “Oh, yeah! I almost got into a fight at work on Saturday!”
“Really? What happened?”
Holly proceeds to tell me a story of a bachelorette party with a bridezilla to rival all others.
“Then, when I told her I had to cut her off—and this is after four tequila shots and three Long Island iced teas, I remind you—she literally jumped up on the bar to get at me!”
“No!”
“Yes! And, the whole time, she was yelling about how I was ruining her special day.”
I’m too shocked to laugh, but Holly punctuates the story with her sweet chuckles.
“Did she reach you?”
“No. Terra saw what was happening, so she was already on the other side of the bar, ready to call for security. When this lady started climbing, Terra grabbed her by the hair and pulled her off. You do not want to mess with Terra. She held her until Jimmy, our security guy, came to carry her out.”
“That’s insane.” Knowing that Holly got out okay, I give in to the urge to laugh along with her.
“Well, that’s what I get, working in a bar.”
“Do you like it there? When you’re not getting attacked by drunken bachelorettes?”
That earns me another chuckle, but then her tone turns thoughtful.
“Yeah, I do. For now. The pay is good, and the people are nice. Curt—he owns the bar—lets me help him with the books at the end of the night, so I can get an idea of what running a business is actually like. Honestly, I think that’s been more helpful than half of my classes.”
“So, that’s what you want to do? Own a bar?”
“Not a bar. But, yeah, I definitely want to own a business one day. I haven’t figured out what yet, but I don’t think I want anything to do with food service. The hours are just too crazy.”
“I could see you running a business.”
“Really? You’ve known me for only a few weeks.”
“Yeah. But you have that kind of presence. People listen to you.”
“Most people say I’m bossy.” Her voice betrays her dislike of that description, and I make a note never to call her that.
“I’d call you confident and commanding. But those are good things.” I really can’t think of any bad things about Holly.
“You’re sweet, Ben. I—”
My breath stops, on pause until I hear her speak again.
“Sorry. I just realized my stop is next. I should go.”
My good mood dims, but I keep the disappointment out of my response. “No problem.” And, because I’m fucking stuck on her, I tack on what I hope sounds like a casual thought. “The offer about my car still stands. If you don’t want to take the bus next time.”
“Noted. Night, Ben.”
“Good night, Holly.”
She cuts the call off on her end first. I lay the phone on the armrest and stare at the TV screen, not really watching. Instead, I replay our conversation, remembering how her laugh sounded and the warmth her voice brought to my chest.
How is it that Holly can take my mind off a shitty situation like no one else can?
The second half of my treatment is almost over, and I didn’t even notice being hooked up once her voice was in my ear.
This is bad.
Holly is starting to feel like a lot more than just my donor. I want her around me all the time, not just on the day of my surgery.
I don’t just want her kidney. I think I want all of her.