Five Feet Apart(32)

“Come on. Stop.” He turns his head to give me a look, before his face softens. “I’ll . . . I’ll figure it out.”

A silence falls over us, the quiet, open air of the big room making my ears ring. This isn’t just about money. Besides, I know more than anyone that money can’t fix everything. Maybe someday my mom will catch on.

“Thanks, though,” Poe says finally, smiling at me. “I mean it.”

I nod as we fall silent again. How is it fair that my mom can hover over me, while someone else has his just ripped away from him? Here I am, counting down to eighteen, while Poe is trying to slow time down, wishing for more of it.

More time.

For me, it was easy to give up. It was easy to fight my treatments and focus on the time I do have. Stop working so damn hard for just a few seconds more. But Stella and Poe are making me want every second more that I can get.

And that terrifies me more than anything else.

*

That evening I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling as I do my nebulizer treatment without Stella.

Anything? Jason texts me, which doesn’t help, since the answer is a resounding no.

Still nothing from her. Not even a note. But I can’t stop thinking about her. And the longer she’s silent, the worse it gets. I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be close to her, to reach out and actually touch her, to make her feel better after I screwed up.

I can feel something reaching from deep in my chest, in the tips of my fingers and the pit of my stomach. Reaching out to feel the smooth skin of her arm, the raised scars I’m sure are on her body.

But I’ll never be able to. The distance between us will never go away or change.

Six feet forever.

My phone pings and I grab it, hopeful, but it’s just a notification from Twitter. I throw my phone down on my bed, frustrated.

What the hell, Stella? She can’t stay mad forever.

Can she?

I need to make this right.

I switch off the nebulizer and throw my legs over the bed, sliding into my shoes and peering into the hallway to make sure the coast is clear. I see Julie sliding into a room farther down the hall with an IV drip, and I quickly slip out of my room, knowing I have time. Walking quietly down the hallway, I pass the empty nurses’ station and freeze in front of her door, hearing music softly playing on the other side.

She’s in there.

Taking a deep breath, I knock, the sound of my knuckles reverberating off the worn wood.

I hear the music shut off and then her footsteps as she comes closer and closer, stopping in front of the door, hesitating. Finally it opens, her hazel eyes making my heart pound heavily in my chest.

It’s so good to see her.

“You’re here,” I say softly.

“I’m here,” she says coolly, leaning against the doorframe and acting like she didn’t just ignore me for the whole day. “I got your cartoon. You’re forgiven. Back up.”

I quickly step all the way back to the far wall, putting the six frustrating feet between us. We stare at each other, and she blinks, looking away to check the hall for nurses before looking down at the tile floor.

“You missed our treatment.”

She looks impressed that I actually remembered but stays silent. I notice her eyes are red, like she’s been crying. And I don’t think it’s from what I said.

“What’s going on?”

She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks, I can hear the nerves lacing her words. “The skin around my G-tube is pretty badly infected. Dr. Hamid’s worried about sepsis. She’s going to purge my infected skin and replace my G-tube in the morning.”

When I look in her eyes, I see it’s way more than nerves. She’s afraid. I want to reach out and take her hand in mine. I want to tell her that everything will be okay and that this shouldn’t be a bad one.

“I’m going under general.”

What? General anesthesia? With her lungs at 35 percent? Is Dr. Hamid out of her mind?

I grip the railing on the wall to keep myself in place. “Shit. Are your lungs up for that?” We stare at each other for a moment, the open air between us feeling like miles and miles.

She looks away, ignoring the question. “Remember to take your bedtime meds and then set up your G-tube feeding for the night, okay?” Without giving me time to respond, she closes the door.

I walk slowly to it, reaching out to lay my hand flat against it, knowing she’s on the other side. I take a deep breath, resting my head on the door, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s going to be okay, Stella.”

My fingers land on a sign hanging on her door. I look up, reading it: NOTHING TO EAT OR DRINK AFTER MIDNIGHT. SURGERY 6 A.M.

I pull my hand away before I get busted by one of the nurses and walk down the hallway to my room, plopping down on my bed. Stella is normally so in control. Why is this time so different? Is it because of her parents? Because of how low her lung function is?

I roll over on my side, my eyes landing on my own lung drawing, making me remember the drawing in her room.

Abby.

Of course that’s why she’s so freaked out. This is her first surgery without Abby.

I still need to make things right. An idea pops into my head and I sit bolt upright. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I set an alarm for 5:00 a.m., for the first time maybe ever. Then I take my box of art supplies off my shelf and get planning.