CHAPTER 28
HOLLY
“Holly, put the plate down. You’ve done enough,” Pops scolds me, his voice gentle and low.
“I don’t mind cleaning up.”
“No. You made dinner. I’ll do the dishes. Talk to your brother.”
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been convinced that Pops is a mind reader.
I arrived at Pops’s house Saturday afternoon, still recovering from my public-bus sob-fest, and the first thing my adoptive father did was pull me into a tight hug. If I could hand out awards for the best hugs, Pops would get the blue ribbon every time.
Apparently, Marcus had already called him, so he knew what my surprise visit was about. Pops made me a strong cup of tea, and we spent the rest of the evening playing chess before ordering Chinese takeout. The familiarity of the situation calmed me. Until my sophomore year of college, I lived at home, and there were plenty of nights Pops and I filled the time with board games and greasy food.
Exhausted from the day, I went to bed early. In the morning, I was greeted by Marcus and a bag of bagels. The moment I saw him, I had to fight back tears, and just like our father, he gathered me into his arms, holding me close. His face was stoic, accepting of yet another bad turn of luck.
And, every moment since then, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell him my decision.
We spent the day catching up, mainly Marcus talking about his job and me about my classes. Nothing deep. Avoiding the looming storm cloud darkening the room. Then, we cooked together like old times, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
But, now, the food is all gone, and it’s time for me to poke the storm cloud and bring on the rain. He deserves to know.
Pops collects the dishes, balancing them on his arm like a pro. Before working as a mechanic, he waited tables, and apparently, the skills stuck with him.
“Thanks, Dad.” Marcus leans back in his seat, eyes focused on me. “What do you want to tell me, sis?”
The two of them are too perceptive for their own good sometimes.
I breathe in deep to brace myself and then let the truth flow. “I’m still giving my kidney to Ben, which means that I won’t be on the exchange list for you anymore. And I’m sorry. I’m so unbelievably sorry about that. But, when I think about Ben suffering through everything you deal with and having the opportunity to help him … I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”
Both of us sit in the quiet for a moment before he responds, “Good.”
“Good?” I sputter over the word.
“Yes. Good. It’s good that you’ve found someone else you care about. It’s good that you can put a stop to that person’s suffering. It’s good that you realize my entire well-being does not rest solely on your shoulders.”
“I-I don’t think that.” This is not at all how I thought he’d react. I expected frustration, maybe the silent treatment. Classics from our childhood when I’d pissed Marcus off.
Instead, I got, “Good.”
“Come on, Holly. You’re more invested in my health than I am. And I’m grateful. I really am. But it’s not your job to cure me.” He holds me with his eyes, but I don’t shy away. “Tell me you understand that.”
I huff. “Maybe it’s not my job, but—”
The doorbell ringing cuts me off.
“My hands are kinda full. Could one of you …” Pops calls out from the kitchen where the water is running loudly.
I don’t know if he really can’t get to the door or if this is his way of de-escalating what was probably going to turn into an argument. Either way, I’m the closest, so I push up from my seat and try to guess who could be coming by this time on a Sunday. Probably one of the single women in the neighborhood. A lot of them like to flirt with Pops and bring him food. One time, I heard a lady whispering that he looked like Idris Elba. He just turns on his Southern charm and keeps them at a distance.
I’m prepared to politely greet a middle-aged woman when I open the door, so the sight of my boyfriend standing on the front porch has my mouth popping open like a dead fish.
“Holly,” he sighs my name out along with a heavy dose of tension from his shoulders.
I, on the other hand, don’t really know how to react. Ever since I ran away from his parents’ house, I’ve been dealing with a toxic combination of devastation, anger, anxiety, hopelessness, and regret. My coherent thoughts have all consisted of plans on how to tell Marcus my decision. I didn’t let myself think about Ben.
But Marcus knows now, and I need to figure out the rest of my issues.
“Ben.” The way I say his name sounds harsh to my own ears, and I try to take the bite out of my voice. “What are you doing here?”
He runs his eyes over me, frowning. “Looking for you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. And to talk to you.” His hand lifts, as if to reach for me, but then it reroutes to land on the back of his neck. “I needed to tell you the donation is off.”
I flinch at his words. “Yeah, I know. I might have gone a little nuts the last time you saw me, but I didn’t forget. Fred’s not viable. No kidney for Marcus.”
Why doesn’t he just squeeze lemon juice in a paper cut while he’s at it?
“No. I mean, our donation. I appreciate that you’re willing to stick it out, but I’m going to respectfully decline. Okay?” His satisfied expression reminds me of a cat that’s just brought you a dead bird and expects you to say thank you.
“Okay? Okay?” Now, he’s the one who flinches as I shout at him.
What is it with the Gerhards and their ability to make me want to scream?
Up until this point, we’ve been talking in the open doorway. Wanting some privacy, I move to push Ben back, so I can step out on the front porch with him. Then, I get hit with an icy shot of cold air and change my mind. Wrapping my hand in the front of his jacket, I tug him into the house.
“You wanna talk? Let’s talk. Upstairs. But don’t get any ideas. This is a front-porch discussion that’s happening in my bedroom only because it’s colder than a snowman’s butt out there.”
I glare at him and then turn to stomp up the stairs, hearing him following behind me. When we reach my room, I shut the door behind us and round on him.
Ben watches me with wary eyes.
“You want to respectfully decline my kidney? Fine. That’s your right. But, just know, if you do, we’re done.”
“What?” His stare goes wild, and he steps toward me, reaching out a hand that I brush away.
“You and me. We. Are. Done.”
Panic sends shards of glass shooting through my veins. She can’t mean it. We can’t be over.
“Why would you even say that?”
“Because it’s true.” Holly leans back against her bedroom door, crossing her arms and glaring at me. “If you don’t accept my kidney, then we’re over.”
Now, I get a burning in my chest, some righteous anger of my own. “So, you’re going to hold our relationship as ransom?”
Apparently, I stole my fire from Holly because she loses her defensive posture with a full-body sigh.
“No, Ben. This isn’t some game I’m playing with you. I’m telling you what I need. From a partner. If you don’t let me help you, I’ll go insane. It’s the only thing I’ll ever think about when we’re together. Is that what you want?”
“No.” Unhappiness fills me, making me pace around her small bedroom. The purple carpet muffles my footsteps, but the beaded bracelets on her dresser rattle with each step.
If this were any other situation, I’d love to have the chance to explore Holly’s childhood bedroom. But I can’t spare any thoughts for the posters on the walls or the knickknacks on the dresser. My brain is too busy, trying to think of different scenarios, some kind of solution where she isn’t picking between her brother and me.
None come to mind.
With a defeated exhale, I give in, self-disgust roiling through my gut. “Okay. We’ll do the transplant.”
“Thank you,” Holly whispers the words, her eyes closing and head falling back against the door.
Even with the dark emotions churning inside me or maybe because of them, I need to hold her.
When I cross the room and place my hands on her upper arms, she softly asks a question, “What did your mom mean about you being in the hospital?”
I wince. I thought, in the high emotions of the moment, she’d missed that. Should’ve known better when it comes to Holly.
“It’s nothing. Just forget it.”
She goes rigid in my grasp. “Your mom was practically in hysterics. That’s not nothing.”
“She was overreacting.”
“You’re lying.” Holly shrugs my hands off and stalks away from me, putting distance between us. “I don’t have much experience with relationships, but I’m pretty sure you don’t hide important parts of your life from each other. Like, oh, I dunno, a medical emergency!”
This whole situation is getting away from me. I’m desperate for a fix, something to get the anger off of Holly’s face. I don’t think the truth will help, but it’s the only option left to me unless I want to throw out an even bigger falsehood.
“Fine. Thursday, I woke up with a fever. Jasper and Sammy took me to the hospital. It wasn’t much worse than a cold. Any normal person wouldn’t have needed professional care, but my body couldn’t handle it. But I’m better now. In the clear.”
She watches me with stunned eyes and a hand over her mouth. “Why didn’t anyone call me? Or at least text me?”
“I told them not to.”
“Why?” The question comes out on a hurt gasp, and the betrayal in her stare feels like someone is carving into my chest with a melon baller.
So, like an idiot, I get defensive. “Because you already get a front-row seat to all my other medical issues! I hate you seeing how weak I am! So, forgive me for wanting to maintain just a shred of my dignity.”
My fingers claw through my hair. I watch her face go from shocked to ice-cold, and I know I’ve fucked up.
“Weak? You think that I think that you’re weak?” Holly speaks slowly, like an executioner giving a gentle practice swing of their ax.
My jaw clenches as I shrug.
“So, by that logic, you think I think my brother is weak?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Those words come out whip-fast. “To clarify, I’ve never thought of you as weak or less than because of your illness. If anything, I admire your strength when it comes to dealing with all the crap life has piled on you. So, this issue you have is yours, not mine. And it doesn’t give you the right to lie to me.”
“You’re making this bigger than it has to be,” I growl, frustrated that she doesn’t understand. That I can’t make her understand. “I didn’t tell you. So what? I’m fine now. It’s over.”
Holly stares at me for a moment, no expression on her face. I thought I wanted the anger in her eyes gone, but this blank look is even worse. Silence sits heavy between us, pressing on my chest, making me wish I could take back everything I shouted at her.
“Do you know why I’m afraid of needles?”
For a moment, I can’t speak, the abrupt topic change throwing me off.
Apparently, she doesn’t need me to respond, continuing to talk in an almost-conversational tone. But sitting in the bottom of her voice is a hint of some emotion I can’t place.
“I’ve told you about my mom. Her problems with addiction. It started with pills and booze, but when those stopped giving her what she needed, she moved on to bigger things. Like heroin.”
She pauses to take a breath, and that’s when I realize what the emotion is.
Pain.
“She’d tell me she was done. Say she wasn’t going to use anymore. Then, that needle would slide into her arm, and my mom would disappear. Instead, I’d get a stranger. She’d forget I existed. Or remember and curse at me for existing. Then, the drugs would wear off, and my mom would come back. Again, she’d tell me she was done. Then, she’d get another needle.” Holly’s tone doesn’t change, but her eyes shine overly bright.
Every word of her sorrowful story digs into me, and I ache for her. If I thought she’d let me, I’d pull her into my arms, have her rest her head on my chest, and tell her to let the tears gathering in her eyes fall.
“The last thing she said to me was, ‘I’ll see you next week.’ That was two years ago. So, yeah, your lie might not seem like a big deal to you or anyone else. But I’ve had more dishonesty than I ever need from someone I care about.” While she talks, Holly keeps her gaze just over my shoulder, and now, she raises it to the ceiling, blinking rapidly and visibly swallowing.
“I’m sorry, Holly. I promise I won’t do it again. I’ll tell you everything.”
When I move to step toward her, she holds up a staying hand.
“We should probably take some time.”
The shards of glass are back, cutting up my insides as I try to stifle the panic. “What do you mean?”
She talks while keeping her face tilted upward, “This whole situation is stressful. There’s a lot of pressure. Let’s just put things on hold for now.”
My first urge is to shout, No!
I have to breathe in deep a few times before I can respond without yelling, “I disagree.”
There’s steel in my voice, and it gets her to finally look at me.
Holly frowns, obviously frustrated that I won’t just follow along with her dictate. “We can talk after the surgery.”
I shake my head.
“I made a mistake. I was stupid. But I’m not your mom. And it doesn’t matter if it’s before or after the surgery; I’m still going to want you.” This time, I ignore her staying gesture, moving to stand in her personal space so that she has to crane her neck to glower at me.
Her palms press flat on my chest to push me away, but I capture them in my hands and hold her close.
“I need time,” she growls at me.
If the words didn’t hurt so much, I’d find her fierce scowl adorable. All I want is to kiss her plump mouth, so she’ll stop saying things that tear up my insides.
“More time to what? Convince yourself that I’ll screw up again? Well, I’ve already got an answer for you. I will.” Through my desperate anger, I still find a way to smirk down at her. “I’m an idiot a good portion of the time. But no one’s perfect.”
“I didn’t say you had to be perfect.” The hint of uncertainty in her declaration lights a spark of hope under my rib cage.
“Good to know.” Watching the tangle of emotions on her face, I take a risk. Her hands slide from mine as I step back. “You want time? Fine. Take it. I’ll leave you alone until the surgery, if you promise me one thing.”
Holly gives me a wary look that almost melts my own irritation. “What?”
“I get to drive you to the hospital the day of the transplant.”
Her lips purse, and she glares. “I need to drive the car.”
I glare right back. “Deal.”
Then, I storm out of her house before she can change her mind.
He tricked me. I never actually agreed to ride with him, but he left before I thought to point that out.
My head hurts, a pounding pressing against the backs of my eyes. Probably from the tears I held back. I can’t believe he lied to me. That he withheld something so important.
What if it had been more than just a cold? What if he had died, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to say good-bye?
I try to ignore the rational voice in my brain pointing out that breaking things off with him because I’m mad that I might not have gotten the chance to tell him how much he means to me is a twisted mess of idiocy.
Once I’m sure I won’t start crying, I head downstairs to find Marcus and Pops setting up Monopoly. Some of the tension eases from my chest.
“I get to be—”
“The banker,” they finish my sentence in unison, grinning at each other as I roll my eyes.
“Am I that predictable?”
Marcus smirks. “When it comes to being in control? Yes.”
I stick my tongue out at my older brother, and he chuckles while passing me the fake money.
We’ve gone around the board a few times before Pops addresses the big, fat elephant sitting at the table with us.
“So, your man left here in a bit of a huff. Something go wrong between you two?”
I grimace, getting the urge to brush the topic off. But then I’d be doing the exact same thing I’m mad at Ben for.
“We argued. But the transplant is still going forward.”
I shoot Marcus an apologetic look, but he just smiles and rolls the dice.
“What did y’all argue about?”
“Gosh, Pops. Nosy much?”
Instead of answering, he stares at me. Waiting.
I sigh before giving in, telling them the gist of what we yelled at each other about.
“And then he tricked me into agreeing to drive to the surgery together.”
Pops coughs, but I would swear it started out as a snort. “Just so I understand, you’re mad at the boy because he got sick and didn’t tell you?”
“No. I’m mad that he lied about it when I asked him.” My roll comes out of my hands harder than I intended, and the dice go bouncing onto the floor. I huff in irritation, crouching beneath the table to retrieve them.
“Hmm. Okay. I agree that was a bad move on his part. But, sweetie, I think you might be going a little hard on the boy.”
His words shock me, and I swing my head up to tell him just how wrong he is. The only problem is, I haven’t cleared the table, so I end up whacking my head so hard that the game pieces rattle.
“Ow,” I wail, clutching my throbbing skull.
Pops clucks his tongue in sympathy, kneeling down in front of me to gently take my head in his hands. He skims his fingers over my scalp, and I hiss when he reaches the sore spot.
“Didn’t cut yourself, but you’re gonna have a knot the size of a chicken’s egg.”
I settle back in my seat, Marcus running his eyes over me in concern, and my dad leaves the room, only to come back with a bag of frozen peas.
“Hold this on there.”
The icy vegetables help take away some of the tenderness, but my mood is officially as sour as a whole bucket full of lemons. A box of lemons? A tub? I don’t know how large quantities of lemons are transported, but let’s just agree that it’s a gigantic amount of lemons.
“You’re wrong. I’m not being too hard. He lied to me, and I don’t put up with liars.”
Marcus frowns, and Pops shakes his head.
“I’m not saying you should. You were right to tell him he hurt you. But, baby girl, the world isn’t black and white. Just ’cause someone makes a bad decision doesn’t mean they always will. If that’s how things worked, I wouldn’t be sitting here today. I’d be drunk at some bar, forgetting my name and drowning my worries.” He reaches across the table to squeeze my shoulder, holding my gaze with his. He looks so deep into my eyes; I think he sees more of myself than I can. “Now, you want people to be honest with you. How ’bout you be honest with yourself? Why’re so mad at the boy?”
“I told you. He lied.”
“Nah, sweetie. That’s why you’re mad. But why’re you so mad?”
The game is on pause while Pops forces me to push past my barriers. As the peas make my hand go numb, I think back over everything Ben told me, trying to figure out what my dad is getting at.
And I realize my anger was there before I even asked Ben about his hospital visit. Before he had a chance to lie to me.
Finally, a slice of understanding splits through my fog of pain and betrayal.
“If he doesn’t tell me when he’s hurt, I can’t he-help,” I whisper the revelation, the effort of holding back my tears making me stutter on the last word. My teeth bite down hard on my lower lip to keep it from quivering.
“You can’t control the things you don’t know about, huh?” Pops raises his eyebrows in question, and I nod. “But, see, there are lots of things in life you won’t be able to control. Especially people. And, if you keep letting that get you riled up, it’ll eat you up inside.”
I fiddle with my plastic houses, worried that, if I try talking again, I might start crying. Besides, what do you even say when all your insecurities get laid out on the table?
“We don’t have to talk about it anymore. Just think about it.” He waits for me to nod again before placing the dice in front of me. “Now, let’s get back to it, so I can beat you both.”
Marcus scoffs. “Yeah, right, old man. Prepare to be bankrupt.”
The game goes for another couple of hours, and I’m able to push aside thoughts of my unhealthy approach to relationships by systematically bleeding my dad and brother dry.