Hold My Breath(78)

“Boy, Evan Hollister was a real prick,” she says through a mix of mad laughter and tears.

“It’s starting to seem so, yes,” I agree.

Tanya’s right hand forms a fist, and she presses it against her mouth as she glances away.

“How did you find out about me? From Will?” she asks, glancing at me sideways.

I nod yes.

“You must have thought I was awful,” she says, her eyelids sweeping closed, her knuckles still flush against her lips.

“For a little while, yes,” I admit. “But Will told me everything. I didn’t hate you after that, and when I met you…and Dylan.”

She sucks in her bottom lip, her eyes opening on me before she turns to look over her shoulder, down the hallway.

“He’s an amazing kid,” she says. “He’s hard…oh god, is he hard. And there are days,” she pauses, shifting her posture and moving her hand open, pressing the palm against her chin. Her eyes stare back out into the room, and I see her slip away to someplace else, the corner of her mouth drawing down, her chin denting—as if she’s going to be sick.

She is going to be sick.

“Come on,” I say quickly, sliding my arm behind her back, carrying her weight and moving with her quickly into the kitchen. I turn on the faucet while she leans on me, and I start to cup water in my open hand, splashing it on her neck and forehead. She’s breaking out in a sweat, her normal pale skin is growing paler.

“I’m going to throw up,” she coughs, not able to move herself quickly enough as yellow, acidic bile drips from her lips.

“Tanya, that doesn’t look good. You might have the flu, or food poisoning,” I say, switching into my nursing mode.

“No, I’m okay,” she says, coughing again and spitting out more vomit.

“When was the last time you ate?” I ask, turning the water on higher before bending down to open up the cabinet in search of a switch for the disposal.

I stand back up and put my hand on her back, rubbing in circles while she rests her chin on her folded palms, the water running in front of her and her eyes squeezed shut.

“I’d feel better if we at least saw your doctor, or maybe urgent care…I don’t want Dylan to catch something if you’re contagious,” I say.

Tanya’s body starts to shake, and I press my hand to her harder, kneeling down to look her in the eyes. I rest my head on my hands next to her, both of us bent over the edge of the sink, and her eyes flit open to mine.

“You can’t catch cancer,” she says.

Her words sink in quickly, followed by the crashing train they carry along with them. I lift my head just as she does, and we both stand.

“You being so tired…it wasn’t just you being tired…was it?”

She breathes in slowly through her nose, then exhales swiftly. She doesn’t answer or shake her head. I don’t ask any more questions. We simply stare at one another, understanding how cruel fate can be.

After nearly a minute, Tanya breaks our gaze, her hand wrapped around the edge of the counter to steady herself while she cleans the sink and runs a towel along the counter surface with her other. I reach to help, but her hand stops the instant I move to take the towel from her.

“I know you want to help, but I need to do what I can do on my own, Maddy. While I can,” she says.

“While…” I repeat that key word, my eyes glued on Tanya’s profile. Her eyes close again, then open on me.

“This is my second fight. Ovarian. I had a hysterectomy. De-bulking surgeries. Chemotherapy,” she says. I don’t blink. I’ve been around this—I’ve seen this. I know what she’s saying before she says it. She isn’t giving up, but she’s going to lose anyway.

“When did you find out?” I ask.

“A few months ago,” she says. “It’s…it’s everywhere.”

We both pause when we hear laughing mixed with a loud, happy groan echo from the hallway. Her eyes begin to tear and she covers her mouth while she shakes in front of me. I pull her into my arms and hold her frail body—one that I previously thought was small from not eating, from exhaustion.

“Does Will know?” I ask, feeling her shake her head against me.

“I can’t do this to him again,” she says.

“He’d want to know. You’re his family,” I say.

She steps back from my hold, her mouth pinched tight, her eyes again blinking away tears.

“The stress of it all last year almost killed him,” she says.

I freeze on that thought, my focus blurring out. The car accident—Will’s bottom. It was her cancer.

“He’s still going to want to know, Tanya,” I say, refocusing on her face. “All of the hidden things have been killing him, too.”

“After trials. I just…I just want him to have this,” she says, and I can tell she loves him when she speaks. I don’t even really care if she loves him the same way I do. It’s nice seeing people love him. He needs more of that.

“After the trials,” I agree.

Tanya looks down to my hands, limp and lifeless at my sides, and she pulls the one closest to her in her own. I look at how similar we are—our skin, our size, the small wrinkles—mine from hours in the water, hers from life.