Page 59 of Wild Flower

“Why? So, he can tell you what?” I press. “That the cancer’s gone? That it’s never coming back? That I’ll live to be eighty and cheat death? Those are all lies and I don’t need to hear them.”

“You can manage this, Arch, and have a futu—”

“Iammanaging it. I’m healthy and active and life is good. That’s all you need to hear. You don’t need to hear it from a doctor. I’m fine.”

“But what if you’ve missed something? You feltfinefor months before you knew cancer was eating you up.”

“And I will miss something again. It’s inevitable. That’s how it is. Catch it too soon … catch it too late. It doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say it doesn’t matter? You’re literally the only family I have left.”

“I’m not a poet, Val. I don’t have something pretty and thoughtful to say.”

“Then make a damn appointment. Do it for me, if not for you.”

“So you can give yourself the illusion of comfort and safety? I call bullshit.”

“It’s better knowing than not knowing.”

“Maybe for you,” I reply harshly. “You’re not the one who’s going to be given a ticking time bomb. Knowledge letsyouprepare, so you don’t have the world torn out from under you again like we did with mom and dad. But for me, Val, I don’t want to know when I’m going to get hit by a drunken asshole. I’d rather it be shocking and fast.”

I hang up.

It’s a dick move.

My sister is literally standing at the site of our parents’ accident, begging me not to abandon her. I get it. She’s scared of being left all alone. But this is the reality of it: she will be.

We all will be.

Sure, I could be nicer about it. But I’m tired of having to act like cancer is the only thing we can talk about. When people know about the C-word, it becomes the only word that’s allowed to live in my mouth. I left San Diego because I was sick of the look in Valeria’s eyes asking,How much longer do you get? How many more days?

I love my sister, but she was suffocating me. It’s not like the C-word wasn’t enough. So I came to Hawaii where life is simpler, easier.

Paradise.

My phone buzzes again, and I click the answer button and lift the receiver to my mouth. “Look, I’m sorry about that last comment,” I say to my sister. “You know I can be a dick when you call talking about doctors and cancer shit.”

“Doctors and—? Archer?” A confused voice answers.

Oh fuck. I look at the screen and it’s Becca on the line.

“Becca? Hey, uh—” I backpedal. “Sorry, I thought you were my sister. We lost the connection and …”

“Is your sister okay?”

“What?”

“You just said cancer and doctors …”

“Oh …” I frown. I’m not telling Becca about any of that. Once she knows, it’s all she’ll see. Even Finn had to bring it up and make it a thing when he found out. “Um, she’s, uh, fine. Nothing’s conclusive right now,” I lie. “I’m sorry, what were you calling about?”

“We can talk about your sister, if you want to,” she offers. It’s sweet, but I’m not biting. “It’s scary, not knowing if something’s serious or not.”

That’s an understatement.

“Thanks,” I mumble. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mostly because,I’m it, not my sister. If my sister actually had cancer, I’d be talking Becca’s ear off. If Becca knew about the C-word, there’s no way she’d let me pin her against the glass last night. Not if she thought I was sick. Nope, the kid gloves go on and everyone starts dancing around on their tiptoes like they’re in the Cancer ballet.

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