“Probably by the end of the year,” I respond. “Everyone knows I’ll be here for the next few weeks.”
She tilts her head, giving me a strange look between confusion and delight. “You are?”
“I’d like to stay and make sure you and your Mom have someone helping out,” I state. “This isn’t going to be easy for either one of you. It’s going to take some time for her to recover from surgery. Chemotherapy is draining for the patient and the family.”
Liv rests her head on my shoulder. “I should say that you don’t have to, but honestly, I feel a lot better now that you’re around.”
“I’ll stay under one condition.”
“That I don’t steal your T-shirts?”
I chuckle. “No. That you call me the next time you need me.”
She opens her mouth, then snaps it closed.
“You were about to tell me that you don’t need me, weren’t you?”
“I’m used to handling my parents on my own. When I was young, if Mom was sick, I had to take charge of the situation,” she explains.
“You never reached out to your dad asking for help?”
She shakes her head slightly.
I don’t know the relationship between her parents. Instead of saying something like, I’m sure your dad and Dan would be here for you if you asked, I kiss the top of her head.
“You know what you owe me?”
“Texts?”
I cup her cheeks, hold her face as I lean closer to her delicious lips. I capture her mouth, making the world disappear. It’s only us for this moment.
Just for now, her mom isn’t sick. My sister didn’t die. The world is a place where we exist only for each other—at least when we kiss. This is the magic of Liv.
She makes me forget.
She gives me hope.
Today, I want to reciprocate. I hope that the next few weeks are less dreadful because I’m here, helping her.
When we pull apart, we’re breathless. Her eyes have that shine I love to see when we’re together.
“Hi,” I say, giving her one last peck.
“That was unexpected,” she whispers.
“I would’ve done it yesterday, but I waited for the right time.”
“Is this the right time?”
I shrug. “No, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I also have a complaint to file.”
“Really?” She crooks an eyebrow. “The complaint department is closed until next year.”
“I need to speak to a manager,” I joke. “My first night at your house was different from the usual. If I had to rate my stay, I’d give it one star. I was sent to the couch.”
She laughs. “Mom is using the guest room.”
I glare at her. “Who says I wanted to stay in the guest room? I always get to be in the main suite of the house”—I kiss her nose—“with you.”
“If you behave, I might let you stay in there tonight.”
“We’re staying at the hospital for the next couple of nights,” I remind her.
“You could—”
“We’re taking turns, but you’re going to rest one night. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
She smiles. “Thank you for being here for me.”
“Always, Liv.”
After her surgery, Beatriz spends two days in the hospital. Chemotherapy begins three weeks after the surgery. Liv and I get into a routine. I take care of the house chores while she drives her mom to doctor’s appointments and chemo treatments and spends time with her. At night, we spend some time reading and then, when we go to her room, we spend a few hours having fun.
“Mom wants to go back home.” Liv grunts, turning her face toward me.
God, I’m going to miss her when I leave. There’s something about having these late-night chats after fucking that makes me feel connected to her. I wish I could stay longer. This week is going to be the shortest one in the history of the world.
“The doctor said three to six months of treatment. I don’t know what to tell her without sounding like an authoritative parent,” she says. “I just want her to get better. Why can’t she let me look after her?”
“As a mom, she thinks it’s her place to look after you,” I explain. “It’s normal for her to feel like she’s been here for too long. I understand your point of view, but maybe you need to be a little more understanding about her feelings. She lost a lot in the past few weeks. My suggestion is to get her a counselor.”
She looks at me and grins. “I wish I knew your sister. She’d love to hear you say that.”
I pull her closer to my body and kiss her nose. “I trust that you’ll never tell her.”
“We can look for a counselor. But how do I explain to her that it’d be best if she stays?”
“This might be a discussion she should have with her doctor before she makes a decision,” I suggest. “It’s his place to tell her that she can’t just pack and leave without finishing her treatment.”
“That’s doable. I’m not sure what I’m going to do after you leave,” she whispers the last three words.
It’d be easy to answer, “The same thing I did when Callie died. We live our lives in these parallel universes where we meet for only a few beats.” Those moments are never enough. It pained me to lose my sister. It fucking killed me to leave Liv behind. But that’s what we do every time we see each other. We absorb as much as we can from the other person and we move on. If only I could convince Liv to come with me. This isn’t the first time that I’m dreading the moment when we have to go our separate ways.
There’s nothing I can do or say that will change the outcome. This is probably the way our relationship works. She says that there’s always a reason why you meet someone. Maybe we met so when we face our worst storms, we’ll have each other to hold on to. In this moment I could tell her, “Every time you fall asleep, you’ll find me in your dreams.”
It’s sweet, corny, but unrealistic. We’re too old to believe in pipe dreams.
Maybe all I wish is that she wouldn’t look at me the way she does all the time, like she could love me.
Or it’s probably a reflection of what my heart is trying to avoid, falling for the impossible.
There’s a saying, do as I say, not as I do. So I move on top of her, pushing her legs open, and drive inside her. “We promised not to talk about it until Sunday night. I’ll talk to Persy tomorrow to see if she knows a good counselor for your mom.”
She bites her lip and nods. Does she feel the same as I do? Not that it matters. There’s nothing we can do. Only a lot of shit unsaid between us that feels like it’s eating me alive.
Persy would have a field day if I ever tell her about Liv. Not that I can explain my situation. What can I tell her? See, there’s this girl—now woman—I met long ago. She’s fantastic. Things between us are great when we’re together. She’ll glare at me. I’ll say something like, “No, listen. We live in some dimension where we can coexist as one.”
She’ll definitely snort when I end with, “The issue is when the real world calls us. We have to go our separate ways.”