Page 73 of Past the Broken Bridges

When I look at him, I can’t help but shake my head. This is the same boy who stole my Taco Bell unapologetically. The same person who avoided me for almost two entire weeks. I can’t help but smile again, knowing how far we’ve come.

“You want to make me soup?” I ask quietly.

He studies my face before his eyes go forward. “It’s just soup,” he murmurs.

But I don’t buy that.

And I don’t think he does either.

“It’s a shame,” he murmurs not long after we fall back into silence.

I look at him.

“I was going to suggest we pick up where we left off the last time I was over,” he says nonchalantly. “To celebrate midterms coming to an end. Guess that’ll have to wait.”

No matter how crappy I’m feeling, it doesn’t stop my heart from picking up. I squirm on my chair, muttering, “Tease.”

All he does is chuckle, going back to the doodles in his notebook.

* * *

I know the second I answer the phone that I should have let it go to voicemail. When I woke up, I could barely talk. My throat hurt, and my neck was swollen. After downing half a bottle of NyQuil at six in the morning, I opted to go back to bed and ignore all other responsibilities.

Mom’s voice is full of concern when she hears theraspiness that I greet her with. “You never told me you were sick” is the first thing she says. “What have you taken? Are you drinking enough? Have you eaten anything today? I’ll call your father.”

Groaning, I force myself to sit up in bed. “It’s just a cold,” I tell her. I knew she’d freak out, but this was the risk I took by coming here. It shouldn’t be a surprise that I caught whatever was going around. “You don’t need to call Dad.”

“I can look into getting a plane ticket sooner. I’ve got the paperwork printed out.”

The paperwork? “Did you print the ticket information?” Who does that anymore?

“And the insurance information,” she adds, papers rustling in the background. “Just in case. You can never be too safe.”

Rubbing my tired eyes, I lean back against the headboard. “There’s an app for that, you know. I showed you before I left for Louisiana. It’s a lot easier than carrying around paperwork.”

Mom sighs. “Old habits die hard. I’m too old for all that phone stuff. Your brother just tried to show me how to use that dancing app he’s on all the time.”

“Are you talking about TikTok? Why do you want to use that?”

I remember begging her to let me have a Facebook. She was against social media for a long time and only agreed if she made an account too. She promised not to stalk me online and then started using it more than I ever did, posting embarrassing photos of me from when I was a kid and tagging me in them.

It was a great way to make sure I didn’t go online often.

“Bentley was just showing me how it worked. It’s notsomething I’d ever use. But enough about that. How are you feeling? What do you need? Your father can be there in an hour if I call him now.”

I grab the glass of water that I put on the nightstand when I got up earlier and take a sip to relieve my achy throat. “Mom, I’m fine. I’ve been taking cold meds. It’s nothing.”

Mom’s voice lowers. “Do you remember what happened the last time you said that?”

That isn’t fair. “It’s not like last time.”

When I ignored the stomach bug that came after the party I’d snuck away to, it turned into a cold that medication didn’t touch. I’d been sick for weeks when I finally went to the doctor and was prescribed antibiotics for bronchitis. But at the weeks passed, those hadn’t helped either. Then came the chest X-rays when they sent me to check my lungs for pneumonia.

Except that’s not what they found at all.

Nobody expected to see the lump that had closed off one of my lungs, much less suspected it was cancer. Within two months of seeing the first doctor, I started treatment. While other girls my age celebrated their sweet sixteen at parties full of close friends, I was hooked up to a machine in the treatment center with strangers.

My mom and aunt bought me a chocolate cake for when I got home.

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