Opposite of Always(82)

“No assurance necessary, ma’am. That’s actually why I’m calling you today. It is my aim to help ensure Kate continues to benefit from her education here at Whittier.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Her illness, Mrs. Edwards. We want to help get her well.”

“You want to . . . I don’t think I understand.”

“We’re prepared to make a rather large donation on Kate’s behalf to one of the best hematology doctors in the world. Our hope is that, at the very least, he can get her sickle cell under control.”

“There’s no way we can afford that. Her father and I don’t have—”

“It’s already taken care of, Mrs. Edwards. You and your family will not have to make a single payment.”

A long beat.

Did I lose her? “Mrs. Edwards, are you still there?”

“Yes . . . I’m here . . . Mr., uh?”

“Thomas.”

“Mr. Thomas, may I ask you a rather rude question, sir?”

I try my hand at how I think a wealthy benefactor might chuckle, a cross between don’t be ridiculous and I wipe my butt cheeks with fifty-dollar bills just because. “Ask away, Mrs. Edwards.”

“Are you and my daughter . . . are the two of you . . . are you sleeping with my daughter? Is that why you want to help her?”

“Mrs. Edwards, to tell you the truth, I have not even been formally introduced to your daughter. But I can assure you there is no impropriety here. Every year the board reviews dozens of applications for candidates who may be in need of some form of assistance. This is at the bequest of several of our rather, to be perfectly blunt, financially able alumni who are eager to give back to the school that they love. Your daughter is this year’s chosen applicant.”

“So, this is something she applied for? Kate filled out some application?”

“No, we work on a nomination basis. Kate was nominated by one of her peers.”

“Can you tell me who? Who nominated Kate?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. But what I can say is, with your and Kate’s blessing, we are anxious to get started. I’d like to verify your mailing address and best point of contact, so that we can be in touch, Mrs. Edwards?”

More silence.

“Mrs. Edwards . . .”

“I just can’t believe this is happening. I’m grateful. I am. But . . . well, pardon my cynicism, but . . .”

“I’m going to send you over the official paperwork, dear. You’ll see. Everything’s already in motion.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing, my dear. You’ve raised an exceptional child. It is this school who wishes to thank you.” I clear my throat, feeling my voice aching to crack. “So, shall we get this ball rolling?”





Dilemmas, Dilemmas


Even after my Thurgood Marshall Thomas II routine (or maybe directly because of), it’s safe to say Kate’s mom is still (understandably) skeptical, but eventually, once I’ve forwarded her all of the appointment information, along with a letter of explanation printed on Whittier letterhead (the miracle of Photoshop) indicating the evaluation fee payment is already pending and with a phone number directing her to Whittier’s impossible-to-navigate alumni directory with any questions, she slowly starts believing.

I do my best to keep tabs on Kate from a distance.

Which sucks because trying to watch someone from a distance is exactly the way it sounds—like observing someone through a telescope. Sure, you’re zoomed in on them and you get to see everything that they do up close and magnified. But could you really claim to know them, when you miss out on all the details, on what’s happening around them, what they’re really feeling, what they’re going through?

And it blows because the best part about my life lately has been Kate. Only in this life, I don’t get to know her at all. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not my friend. She’s not even an acquaintance. I’m nothing to her, and she’s supposedly nothing to me.

And yet—

That’s the one thing she could never be.

Sometimes it feels like I’m cheating on Jillian. So much of my time is spent arranging things and monitoring Kate’s progress and talking to Dr. Sowunmi, who informed me, given that Kate hasn’t given written consent, he can’t actually discuss with me any specifics regarding her treatment, that he shouldn’t even discuss it in the very broad strokes that he’s thus far spoken in.

Today he’s carved out three minutes between his patient appointments to talk to me.

“I don’t want to get you into any trouble. If you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about your work, I understand. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I guess I feel like you deserve to know something. I don’t know, Jack. It’s complicated.”

I laugh.

“So, why this girl, Jack?”

I shrug. “Just paying it forward.”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Jack. You can do better than that.”

“Because she’s one of these people who go through life caring about everyone else, doing for everyone else. She deserves for someone to do for her. She’s so smart and funny, and this planet needs her here for as long as it can have her.”