Send Me a Sign(89)

“It’s not okay! I can’t do it all.” I continued crying, alternating sobs with coughing fits that hurt enough to make me cry more and left me woozy. “I … I can’t worry about being your perfect daughter with the 4.0 and pretty friends and popular boyfriend and fight cancer at the same time.”

I wiped my cheek on my sleeve and took a few deep breaths. “I don’t want to do it all.” Paused to cough. “And I need it to be okay if I don’t always do what you want.” Paused again to catch my breath. “Or live your dream for my life.”

Mom handed me tissue after tissue. She wasn’t saying anything, but she was listening. That was a start.

Between gasps, I managed to convey the conclusions I’d reached. “I was focused on the wrong things. Everything I gave up and couldn’t have. I stopped realizing how lucky I am. I mean, treatment is going well, right, Dad?”

“Very well. Your latest platelet count—” Mom held up a hand and he nodded and let me continue.

“If I can’t go to college far away, or can’t go full time, or even can’t go right after graduation—it’s not the end of the world. Neither is not cheering or not having hair.”

“I can make a list of colleges near hospitals with good oncology programs,” mused Dad.

I nodded; list making was his form of comfort. It was the Dad version of superstition, but I needed more than that. “I want to have conversations where you hear me, not just compile facts and make mental graphs. Do you get the difference?”

Mom shot him an I-told-you-so look, but I took one last shaky breath and finished. “What I’m saying is, I’m sorry I lied to you. I get it now.” I wiped my face.

“Feel better?” Mom asked, her voice hopeful.

I would have nodded and smiled yesterday. Today I shook my head. “No. But can I see Gyver?”

“Now?” Dad asked.

I lost my battle with a yawn. “I need to talk to him. I’ve been waiting all morning.”

“All morning? It’s four thirty. You need some sleep, kitten.”

“After I see Gyver, I promise.”

Dad spoke up, “No. No more promises or bargains. I listened, I heard you, but you’ve got to earn back our trust. Right now, your top priority has to be your health. You need to sleep, not socialize.”

“But …” My voice rose in pitch as my eyes filled again.

“But nothing. Sleep and eat breakfast; then you can see him.” Dad’s voice was firm.

Mom looked between Dad and me. She nodded. “Get some sleep and then he can visit. It’s just Gyver; he’ll wait.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” I whined like a toddler protesting bedtime, my argument undermined by a second traitorous yawn.

“Then I guess you don’t want to see your friends,” Dad countered.

“Fine.” If it’s possible to slam your eyes shut, that’s what I did. Of course, all it did was jar tears loose and send them disloyally down my cheeks.

Mom wiped them. “He can visit after ten. I’ll send him home to get some sleep too.”





Chapter 50

Since I slept until eleven, my parents compromised and allowed Gyver to visit while I ate breakfast. They even allowed me to see him alone—after a stern “Make sure she eats”—because they were speaking with the counselor I’d soon be meeting. Mom still wasn’t keen on the counselor idea. “What are you going to tell her about me?” Gyver rolled his eyes, and Dad shooed her out of the room.

“If I eat the toast, will you eat the rest so they get off my case?” I bargained when the door shut.

“Nope.” Gyver smiled and sat on the edge of my bed. I didn’t like the table with my breakfast tray between us, but my parents would be peeking in, so it stayed.

“I’ve been asking for you since three thirty,” I confessed.

“I know.” He grinned wider.

“I did some translating.” I reached under the table for his hand and blushed. “How do you say ‘kiss me’ in Italian?”

Gyver’s forehead wrinkled, and as the seconds stretched silent, my smile melted. My eyes itched with the tears of the rejected. I wrestled for composure, but my heart sprinted and my irregular breath caused a coughing fit. Gyver’s fingers had tightened when I’d asked, but now he released my hand and passed me a cup of apple juice.

I fought for control of my breathing, fought the tears blurring my eyes. I sipped, sending stinging juice down my raw throat.

“Forget I said anything,” I whispered, studying the banana browning on my tray. I wanted to shove it all aside and pull my knees to my chest.

“No, Mi—”

The door opened and we turned toward my father. “You okay? I could hear you coughing down the hall.”

I nodded and held up my juice, hoping he wouldn’t look too closely at my stricken face.

“I’ve got her, Mr. Moore. I’d come get you if anything …”

Dad smiled at Gyver. “I know you would. Just checking.” He pointed to the tray. “Eat,” and backed out of the room.

I crumbled some toast and peeked at Gyver with a hummingbird’s heart thrumming in my chest. “I assumed … Forget it.”