Chapter Sixty
Sixty
“WOW, YOU’RE REALLY MAKING that sundae your bitch, huh?”
Peter shoves another scoop of salted caramel into his mouth. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m dying or what, but this is legitimately the best ice cream I’ve ever had.”
I dip my finger into the whipped cream and take a lick. “It’s definitely better than the shit they tried to pawn off as ice cream at our senior social.”
“I wasn’t at that,” Peter says.
“I noticed.”
He smiles. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh my god, get over yourself.”
“Never.”
“Where were you, anyway?”
“I was at a geneticist with my mom.”
“I’m sorry …”
“Nah,” he says. “It’s okay.” Peter dips his spoon back into the gigantic bowl, but he doesn’t take another bite.
“I just feel so bad for my mom, you know? I can’t stop thinking about what it’s going to be like for her.
Without me. I mean, I’m … I’m going to die before my dad.
It’s …” He swallows. “She’s not going to get over this. ”
“She’ll be okay. Eventually,” I say, even though I have no idea if she ever will be. She might be fucked up for the rest of her life. She might not survive. “It might take a really long time, but I can tell your mom is kinda badass.” I put my hand on his. “She’ll be okay.” Lies, lies, lies.
Peter takes a breath and nods like he might actually believe me. “Will you do me a favor?”
I steel myself, waiting for him to ask me to look after his mom or something, but he just smiles and says, “Will you dance with me?”
I laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“Peter—”
He grabs his phone and opens the Spotify app and presses play on Savage Garden’s “Truly Madly Deeply.” “A romantic nineties playlist. Just for you.”
“Oh my god, this is the cheesiest thing that’s ever happened.”
“Yeah, and you better enjoy it.” Peter stands up on the bed and holds out his hand to me, and I take it and then I wrap my arms around his neck and he puts his hands around my waist. And we dance. He’s dying. And I’m living. And we’re dancing.