Page 28 of Promise Me Sunshine

He laughs, shakes his head, and turns.

When I get back to the studio apartment, I change the batteries right away, so I don’t forget. I’m confused, though, because the light is already blinking green even before I change them. I collapse onto the twin bed and pull my phone out.

Pretty slick,I text Miles.

A few minutes pass and then,What?

You assign me a fake chore just to make sure I go back to this apartment tonight?

Another few minutes pass.So it worked?

I will not dignify that with a response,I respond, and go take a shower. I scald myself and nearly weep, it feels so good. I make an honest attempt at combing my hair, but 2-in-1 was not designed for people who can tuck their hair into their waistbands. I give up.

I haven’t bothered with any lights, so eventually darkness fills in all the cracks. I slide to my butt next to the bed and wipe the tears out of my eyes with my knees. The tears don’t stop until I’m on my side, counting floorboards, until the light changes again and I’m hollow and ragged and the world that everyone else lives in is a funhouse.

The next day is here but I haven’t done anything to say farewell to the last one. Time dogpiles me and I marvel at the fact that anyone, ever, has the strength to get up off the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Lou says as I clear away the soup I just made for her that she couldn’t make herself take even one bite of.

“Please don’t apologize.” I mean it with every fiber of my being.

“I have to apologize, Lenny,” she replies, immediately humbling me beyond what I’d thought possible. Because, of course, she’s the one who’s sick, and that’s her burden. I’m the one who’s not sick and my burden is figuring out exactly how much I can carry for her. And her regret, sorrow, apologies, those are things I can carry for her.

“Cream of mushroom used to be my favorite,” she laments emphatically behind two hands. Her fingers slide down and I spot her clear brown eyes. “No one tells you that cancer even steals all your favorites.”

We wilt together, shoulder to shoulder, until suddenly I stiffen. “Cancer is such a loser! Quit bullying people. Get a hobby. Get a job, loser.”

Lou laughs and my world rights itself. “Yeah! Totally. I bet cancer has a substack where it’s always writing about how nice guys finish last.”

“Cancer is probably convinced the female orgasm isn’t real.”

“Cancer probably pressures undergrads to drink shots of 151.”

“Cancer probably got secret plastic surgery and then started selling diet pills on its Instagram page.”

“Cancer can blow me,” Lou gripes.

“Well.” I consider this. “Someone probably should. It’s been a rough couple years.”

“It has,” Lou agrees. “It really has.”

Chapter Seven

I’m convinced some people have all the luck because there’s not really a better explanation for why I don’t have any of it.

It probably seems like I’m making it up that I trip and fall in the crosswalk on my way to Reese and Ainsley’s. But alas. I’m suddenly staring down at a square of concrete framed between my palms.

I dust the sting off my hands and hobble the rest of the way to the building. It’s all so bleak. The apocalypse could be fun. At least it’d be socially acceptable to toss my hands in the air and run in a circle.

I dash into the building and hide from the world inside the elevator. The ding as I get to their floor is so artificially cheery it feels like satire.

“Try-hard,” I accuse the elevator as I step off at Ainsley’s floor. “You’re probably faking it like all the rest of us.”

I turn the corner in the hallway and there’s a big scary man waiting for me outside Reese and Ainsley’s apartment.

“Talking to yourself?” Miles asks dryly.

“Well, I have to. God’s not picking up my calls ever since I tried to rope her into that MLM.”

---