Five Feet Apart(23)
“Leave it on for the whole time,” she says, before sliding out the door.
The door is barely closed before I fling my laptop open, calling Stella on Skype as I lie upside down off my bed, pink bedpan in one hand for mucus disposal.
“Hey, sorry about that. Barb . . . ,” I start to say when she picks up, my voice trailing off when I notice the dejected expression on her face, her full lips turning down into a frown as she stares at her phone. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, looking up at me and taking a deep breath. “My entire class is in Cabo for our school’s senior trip.” She turns her phone around to show me an Instagram picture of a group of people wearing bathing suits, and sunglasses, and hats, posing happily on a sandy beach.
She shrugs, putting her phone down. I can hear her vest vibrating through the computer, the steady hum in time with mine. “I’m just a little bummed I’m not there.”
“I get that,” I say, thinking of Jason and Hope and all that I’ve missed out on these past few months, living vicariously through their texts and social media feeds.
“I planned the whole thing this year too,” she says, which doesn’t surprise me. She’s probably planned every step she’s ever taken.
“And your parents? They’d let you go?” I ask, curious. Even before the B. cepacia, my mom would’ve axed the idea. Vacations from school have always been needle times for me.
She nods, curiosity filling her eyes at my question. “Of course. If I was healthy enough. Wouldn’t yours?”
“Nah, unless, of course, a hospital there is claiming to have some new magical stem-cell therapy to cure B. cepacia.” I sit up and cough a whole bunch of mucus into my bedpan. Grimacing, I lie back down. I remember why I kept taking this off before it could really get going. “Besides, I’ve already been. It’s beautiful there.”
“You’ve been? What was it like?” she asks eagerly, pulling the laptop closer.
The blurry memory swims into focus, and I can see my dad standing next to me on the beach, the tide pulling at our feet, our toes digging into the sand. “Yeah, I went with my dad when I was little, before he left.” I’m too caught up in the memory to process what I’m saying, but the word “dad” feels weird on my tongue.
Why did I tell her that? I never tell anyone that. I don’t think I’ve even mentioned my dad in years.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I quickly change the subject back to Cabo’s scenery. This isn’t about him. “The beaches are nice. The water is crystal clear. Plus, everyone is super, super friendly and chill.”
I see the dejection in her eyes growing over my rousing review, so I throw in a random fact I heard on the Travel Channel. “Oh, man, but the currents are so strong there! You almost never get a chance to swim, except for maybe, like, an hour or two every day. You just broil on the beach most of the time, since you can’t go in the water.”
“Really?” she asks, looking skeptical but grateful at my attempt.
I nod eagerly, watching as some of the sadness slides off her face.
We vibrate away, a comfortable silence settling over us. Except, of course, for the occasional hacking up of a lung.
After we finish using our AffloVests, Stella hangs up to give her mom a call and to check in on her friends in Cabo, vowing to call me back in time for our nighttime pills. The hours pass slowly without her smiling face on the other side of my computer screen. I eat dinner and draw and watch YouTube videos, just like I used to do to kill time pre–Stella’s intervention, but it all feels extra boring now. No matter what I do, I catch myself glancing over at my computer screen, waiting for the Skype call to come in as the seconds tick by at a glacial pace.
My phone vibrates noisily next to me and I look over, but it’s just a notification from her app, telling me it’s time to take my nighttime meds and set up my G-tube feeding. I look behind me at my bedside table, where I’ve already laid out a chocolate pudding cup and my meds, ready to be taken.
Like clockwork, my computer screen lights up, Stella’s long-awaited call coming in.
I hover over the accept button, stifling my smile as I wait a few seconds to pick up, my fingers tapping away on the trackpad. I click accept and fake a big yawn when her face appears on my screen, casually glancing at my phone.
“Is it time for the nighttime meds already?”
She gives me a big smile. “Don’t give me that. I see your pills behind you on your bedside table.”
Embarrassed, I open my mouth to say something, but shake my head, letting her have just this one.
We take our meds together, then get our tube-feeding bags out to set up for the night. After pouring the formulas in, we hang the bags, attach the tubing, and adjust the pump rate for how long we’ll be asleep. I fumble with mine, and glance over at Stella to make sure I’m doing it right. It’s been a minute since I’ve done it myself. After that we prime the pump to get all the air out, our eyes meeting as we wait for the formula to make its way down the tube.
I start to whistle the Jeopardy! theme song while we wait, which makes her laugh.
“Don’t look!” she says when the formula gets to the end of the tube. She lifts her shirt up just high enough to attach her G-tube.
I look away, hiding a grin, and inhale sharply, flexing the best I can while I lift up my shirt and attach the tube to the button sticking out of my abdomen.