“Awesome.” I can’t wait to see more of Aj. She's my reality check in all the crazy. Somehow she and Dad have completely opposite personalities. If only they could switch. Now that would be awesome.
“Where's Peter?” Mom says.
“Probably running in the woods. He really likes to run.”
“Not flying?”
“He would, but he doesn't like to be that far from me,” I admit as I stare at the basil. She's getting dangerously close to revealing the fact that he sleeps with me every night.
She moves to stir something bubbling on the stove. “He can stay if he wants. I don't mind.”
I shrug. “He's okay. I like to give him his space. He can't be with me all the time.” Oh, he most certainly could, but that would be a little excessive. Perfect, but excessive.
“Okay then. They should be here in a half an hour,” she says, looking at the clock.
I want to make myself scarce for that part of the day. I actually have crap tons of homework I've been neglecting as of late.
“Do you mind if I stay in my room?” I say as I carefully slice the basil into ribbons.
“Of course, ma fleur, do whatever you feel comfortable with.”
I give her a hug and she kisses my forehead. I finish up the basil and toss it in with the rest of the pasta salad.
“I've got a ton of homework to do, so I think I'm going to work on that. You sure you don't need any more help?”
“No, I'm fine. Enjoy your homework.”
I pretend to shoot myself in the head. “Yeah, right.”
Peter is waiting for me, my homework already spread out and waiting for me. Aw, how sweet. It's not roses, but I'll take it.
“You going to do it for me, too?” I say, shutting the door.
“No, but I thought I could help you a little.”
“I guess,” I say, moving some of the papers so I can sit.
“How are you feeling?”
I tip my hand from side to side. I think the shock of the night before hasn't settled over me yet. I'm sure I'll freak out about it later.
“You should do something to take your mind off it.”
Like make out with him? Yes, please. I lean toward him, but he leans back and holds a notebook in front of his face.
“Haha. You're hilarious. What, am I not allowed to kiss you now?”
“I think it is wiser to let things cool off for a little while, don't you think?”
I think it's a terrible idea. Peter's kisses are one of the things I look forward to all day.
“I guess,” I say, pulling back. I don't want him to know I'm upset about it. He can probably sense it anyway. Stupid mind reading. At least it's selective. I couldn't stand it if he could read my mind all the time.
I get down to my homework as Peter reads some of my books. Somehow I got him into Jane Austen, and he is making his way through an omnibus edition of her books I found at the library, but every now and then he helps me with a problem or a passage in a book. He's the best tutor I've ever had.
“How am I going to learn this so I can take my stupid exam?” I say as I wrestle with a geometry worksheet.
“I have faith in you,” he says, turning a page. I wish I had so much faith in me. I have faith in him, but it isn't the same thing.
I hear laughter from downstairs. That's encouraging. I've been eavesdropping without trying to eavesdrop. I've heard snatches of their chat and as far as I know, Mom hasn't gotten to the bad part yet. I really don't want to hear that part, but I know I probably will.
The laughter downstairs fades naturally, and I hear my mother's voice. Oh, shit. Peter looks up from his book, knowing exactly what's going on. I want to block my ears, but I can't.
“I have something to tell you. I'm still sick. I know I told you it was in remission, but it's not. The cancer is back and it's not getting better. I'm terminal.”
It's awful. The silence that follows her declaration is stunning. The biggest, loudest silence that I've ever heard in my life. Almost as big as the silence when she told me.
I hear crying, but I can't tell who it's coming from since there are five women down there and they all pretty much sound the same when they cry. Peter grips my hand tight, making the bones crunch together. I'd rather he break it than let go. With my sensitive hearing, it's like having them right beside me.
The crying gets worse, and I can hear Mom trying to soothe them. I should be down there, but I can't make myself move. I can't walk into that tornado of grief. I've got enough as it is. A few more moments of this and it's going to tear me apart.
“It will be over soon,” Peter says, kissing my hand. I just want him to take me away, right then and there. Fly me to somewhere else, anywhere else.
I hear Mom walking around, and I bet she's giving out hugs and bits of advice, because that's what she does. She gives and gives and gives. The world should have more people like her, not less.
I can't force my attention back to my homework. Peter shoves it aside and pulls me into his arms.
“Shhh,” he says, rocking me. I don't want to cry, but it's hard not to. I don't know when I became such a crier, but I've shed more tears in the past two years of my life than in the fifteen prior. Almost sixteen. I'll be eighteen on September 2. I don't know if she'll be around for that birthday. It will be my first as an adult, and it might be the first without her, a little more than three months away.
I hear another car in the driveway. Must be Dad. God, he has no idea what he's getting himself into. The door opens and he hesitantly asks what's going on, and Mom says in her calm voice that she told them about her diagnosis. Whatever plan he had about surprising her is squashed as he goes to hug her. She doesn't cry. She never cries in front of anyone anymore.
“Will you take me out for a few minutes?” I ask Peter.
“Of course.” Peter slides out of his shirt and I think for a moment about losing myself in him. In the feel of his skin under my hands, his smell and those eyes. I try to catch them, to let him pull me in, but he looks away and holds his arms out to me. I throw myself into them gratefully, and we're out the window.
***
We're only out for a few minutes when I start feeling the tug of guilt. What kind of daughter am I? A terrible one, that's what.
“Take me back,” I say, tapping Peter's shoulder. I can't be happy in my heaven when my mother is down there in hell. “I can't leave her to face this alone.”
Peter doesn't say a word and banks left, spiraling toward the house and landing gently on the roof before popping me back through the window.
“I will be waiting for you.”