76
Griff
They’re out. Both the kidney and the lie that I had woven so tightly into my existence, each severed from me. One is giving
Lisa a chance at life, while the other may unravel it. The hospital ceiling swims above me, blurred by the echoes of her angry
cries.
I understood the stakes from the start, knowing that my last true relationship would be with Beau and Beau alone, a sacrifice
I convinced myself was worth making. But I never accounted for this.
The transplant will be the closest thing to an apology I can offer, a semblance of atonement. In hindsight I should have instructed
them to give her both kidneys.
A deep sorrow makes my whole body ache. She believes not only that I abandoned her but also that I could have saved Mum and
left anyway. I close my eyes and see it all like it was yesterday, not decades ago.
“Please, Griff. Please do this for me.” Mum’s eyes plead from her hospital bed.
“No, Mum. I can’t. There’s too much at stake.”
“This could be life-changing.”
“Life-changing, not life-saving! I’m a match, Mum. I wouldn’t have gotten tested if I wasn’t prepared to donate. Paris isn’t
going anywhere.”
She pats the edge of the bed, and I sit beside her. Has she always looked this small? “You told me yourself—this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. It’s Benoit, your dream restaurant, Griff.”
“I can delay it.”
She places her hand over mine, gentle but firm. “Griff, you know that’s not true. I spoke to Justin. He said you’ve asked
twice about a later start date. It’s now or never. They’ve got someone else lined up.”
Bloody Justin—I’ve never before had a housemate so addicted to gossip.
“Mum, that’s insane. You need this kidney. And with your tissue type, the doctor says you won’t find another in time.” In
time. The phrase haunts me. “They said my risk of inheriting now is negligible and have cleared me.”
She sighs, long and hard. “I’m not in great shape, love. And even if I had a new kidney, there’s no telling how long it would
last. You’ve already done more than enough for me.” She traces the scar on my arm with her finger. “You carried too much,
too young. And I didn’t tell you when it mattered most—that you were never wrong for who you love. I should have been braver.
I’ve lived my life, now I want you to go and live yours.”
I stare at her, stunned. She can’t leave us like this. If I have to, I’ll get the doctors to declare her mentally incompetent.
“What about Lisa? She would want you to live.”
Mum squeezes my hand, her eyes locking with mine. “Lisa is who I am thinking about. We don’t know that she won’t develop the
disease. She’s still young. If she ever needs a kidney, I want you to be able to help her. And vice versa: I know the doctors
said your risk is almost zero now, but if you ever developed it, I’d want her to help you too.”
I freeze. I see the tiny baby with her finger curled around mine, the six-year-old shadow, wearing a chef’s hat made of paper
and glue. Looking at me like I was magic, like I could do anything. I imagine her in this bed instead—pale, fragile, scrambling
for time. I couldn’t bear it.
All resistance drains from me. All the rage, the stubbornness, the arguments—I let them go. “Okay, Mum.” The tears spill before
I can stop them.
“You’re going to Paris, Griff!” Mum says, ruffling my hair like she did when I was little. “You’re going to change people’s
lives with food, mate. Just like I said.” She shifts closer, wrapping a frail arm around me. “One day, if you ever have kids,
you’ll understand. The greatest gift you can give me isn’t your kidney. It’s the promise that you’ll have a big life, that
you’ll follow your dreams.”
I sniff, still reeling. “How are we going to explain this to Lisa?”
Mum turns to the window, exhaling slowly. One hand rests on the IV pole, the other twitching in her lap like it’s working
through something she can’t bring herself to say. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet and careful, like she’s trying
not to break the moment. Or me. “Griff, there’s something I need to ask of you. And it won’t be easy.” She places a hand on
my knee. “I’ve thought about this, over and over. She can’t know you were a match. I don’t want her believing that you chose
not to donate or that I chose not to take it. I couldn’t bear for my little girl to think I sacrificed myself for her or died
for her sake. That kind of guilt would ruin her. If she ever needs a kidney, you can cross that bridge then. But for now—”
“How can you ask me to do that?” I press my palms to my forehead.
She looks at me, her eyes full of pain. Not just from the illness, but from years of silence, of trying and failing, of carrying
more than she can name. “I’ve made so many mistakes Griff. So many. I know I’ve stuffed things up for you. And I’ll regret
that forever. But this is one thing I can get right. I can protect Lisa. I need to. This decision is for her own good, to
ensure she has a chance.” Mum flicks away a tear. “I know it’s a hell of a lot to ask. But I really believe it’s the kindest
thing. Promise me, Griff. Just like you promised not to tell her about what Brent did to us. We protected her once. We can
do it again.”
“But she’s not a child anymore, Mum.”
Her hand tightens around the hospital blanket, knuckles pale. “I realize that, but you know how she is. She’s always felt
things far more strongly than we have. My dying will be hard enough on her. It’s simpler this way. I can’t have my little
girl believing I might still be here if it wasn’t for her. I’ve seen what that can do to a person . . .” Mum looks at me,
pain in her eyes.
I look away.
“Let Lisa live her life. She’s got the new job at the school she’s settling into. She’ll be okay.”
My thoughts turn to my sister. She’s a young adult yet so immature, so emotional—always feeling guilty about the smallest of things.
Perhaps Mum is right; maybe Lisa can’t handle the truth, and keeping it from her is the kind thing to do.
I look at Mum—the woman who lost the love of her life, because of me—who filled the hole I made with a monster.
I’ve spent my entire life trying to make that up to her. Maybe this is another way.
“Please, Griff, please do this for me. Promise me you will.”
I take her hands in mine and whisper back, my throat thick, “If this is really what you want . . . then I promise.”
I pour myself some water and take a long, slow drink. I could barely look Lisa in the eye when I left for Paris—torn in half,
ashamed, maintaining a silence that wasn’t mine to begin with. I’d come back for the knives Mum gave me when I got into culinary
school, not because they were the best I owned but just so I could have a part of her in the kitchen with me. Yet I hadn’t
come back for what mattered.
I shift against the pillows, trying to find comfort, but there’s no position that makes this easier. Mum was so wrong. Lying
about trauma just caused more. If this kidney had gone to her all those years ago, instead of Lisa, what would life look like
now? Would I have trained in Paris? Opened Lorraine? Had a relationship with my sister? Mum thought silence was protection,
that hiding the truth could keep Lisa whole. But it only made her doubt her own memory, her own worth. It turned me into a
shell of a brother who could never fully let his guard down with her as he had too many secrets to hide.
And now, in my plan to donate anonymously and slink away, I’ve done it again. Pretended. Disappeared. Dressed a lie up as
mercy and called it love. But love doesn’t lie. Love doesn’t vanish when things get hard.
Beau’s gone. But Lisa’s not. And for once, I don’t want to disappear: I want to fight.
The worst thing I ever did wasn’t walking away—it was deciding, again and again, that Lisa couldn’t handle the truth.
We had underestimated her. The way she stepped up when Beau was sick .
. . when I was. The way she sees when someone is struggling and knows exactly what to do.
She has more strength than we ever gave her credit for, deserving more than shadows and stitched-up silence.
She needs to know that she was always the reason.
That it wasn’t indifference, but love, albeit misdirected, that drove me.
I can’t undo what I’ve done. But I can give her the truth in full. And then, at least, she’ll know she mattered.
I pick up my phone and call her.