I wake up feeling a little bit queezy. My stomach feels as if someone stuffed a bunch of rocks in it, disabling me from moving around. I stay in my bed, just lying there, for at least half an hour after waking up, mentally and physically preparing myself to stand up. Even after all that time, I don't feel ready to get up, but I get sick and tired of just lying there, so I uncover myself and swing my legs over the bed, until I can feel my toes touch the ground. As soon as I push myself off of the bed and to my feet, I realize what a bad idea that was.
There's a hurricane inside of my stomach, twirling and twirling and twirling around. I put my palm over my mouth in the moment my stomach starts rising up, making me feel as if I'm suffocating. My throat is burning already.
I'm going to puke.
I hurry over to the bathroom, thankful for having my own bathroom, attached to my room, because otherwise I'd probably puke all over the hallway floor. I fall on my knees and bend over the toilet just in time. My throat is on fire now, my stomach is clenching and my lungs are desperate for fair, as if they can't get enough of it. Puking in the morning, or any other part of the day for that matter, is not an unfamiliar concept for me. But this is different, it feels as if the only thing coming out is water. There's no bile taste in my mouth, but my throat still hurts, as if something spiky is trying to crawl out of it.
When I'm done, when my stomach falls back into its place, I move away from the stench coming from the toilet and lean myself against the wall. The tiles are cold, making goosebumps appear all over my skin. When I'm done dry heaving and trying to catch my breath, I get up from the freezing ground to pull down the water, when I notice something strange when I look down at the toilet.
Blood. There's almost nothing but blood there, mixed with water.
I gulp, my throat contracting again, but this time out of fear. Blood is not unusual for me, either, but it happens so rarely, especially in the last year. It can mean numerous things, each of them worse than the other. I flush it down the toilet, trying to pretend I've never seen it there. It's just a minor step back, just like every time my bones ache or my head hurts. It doesn't mean anything but that cancer is not entirely gone. It likes to remind me from time to time that my body is not just my own.
I hurry downstairs to make some hot tea to warm my stomach. But as I sat there, alone, too early for anyone but me to be awake, I can't get the image out of my head. My thoughts and made up scenarios are a much bigger problem than the picture in my head is, though.
"Hey, kiddo," I hear my dad's voice, so I pull myself out of my horribly uncomfortable thoughts and whip my head around to face him.
I force myself to smile softly at him. "Hey," I bury my face into the hot cup, allowing the steam to roll right into my nostrils.
"How come you're up so early?" he kisses me on my temple and goes straight for the coffee pot. He shakes it and, when he realizes there's no coffee in there, he frowns. He's not used to being the first one up.
It's nice to see my dad like this, maybe because I rarely get a chance to. Whenever I wake up he's already in his suit, drinking coffee and reading morning papers, ready to head off to work. I haven't seen him barefoot, in a house robe and with a messy hair since I've been a kid. Mum would always yell at him for not wearing slippers and leaving footprints everywhere around the house.
"No," I shake my head, making my answers short and simple. I don't want to tell him the truth. I don't want him to know that I'm afraid, because if he finds out, he will think this is serious. And it's not.
"Nervous?" he pushes it, boiling water steam rising all around him.
"A little," I admit. Maybe that's why my stomach felt funny, because I've been worrying too much the previous day. I fell asleep with uncomfortable and fearful thoughts on my mind.
He doesn't say anything for a while, he concentrates on making his coffee the way he likes it. Then, with a cup in his hands, he sits next to me. "We're going to let you go, don't worry," he says confidently. I guess he had managed to change my mothers mind.
"Thank you," I say meekly. My mind is too busy worrying she's going to say the wrong thing to Stefan tonight, to be truly thankful to them for allowing me to do this. "She just doesn't understand.." I bow my head down, "What she said.." I try to attack her words, to defend myself, but I find no means to do that. Because she was right.
"Elena," he says my name when he notices my struggle, "Your mother is just trying to protect you. We've been your age once, and we know of all the horrible things that might happen to you, and all the horrible feelings you might go through. But by trying to protect you from all the bad stuff, she's protecting you from the good stuff as well. Like love."
I raise my head up in surprise. I've never talked to my father like this, or about things similar to this. I usually don't discuss it with either of my parents, but with aunt Jenna.
"There's not a father in this world who likes the idea of his daughter having a boyfriend until she's at least thirty," he chuckles, so I laugh as well, "But in these last few months, you started smiling a lot more. And if he's the reason, then I don't mind him one bit."
Mesmerized, and a little bit shaken up by his words, my voice adapts a surprised tone. I try to cover it with some softness and actual gratitude when I say, one more time, "Thank you."
I wait for Stefan in front of the house, to make sure I'm the one who actually greets him. My stomach is still bothering me and my head is all fuzzy, like a stampede is running across my brain. I must have changed five times by now, not because I wasn't satisfied with my choice, but because I've been sweating a lot. Finally, I chose something sleeveless to wear, since it seemed as the only real solution to my problem.
I'm standing on my front porch, jumping from one foot to another, freezing myself to death. My mother is too busy in the kitchen to notice. Even if she doesn't like the idea of Stefan, she doesn't want him to think poorly of her hospitality.
He's not late, he still has 15 minutes to show up. I'm too early.
I see a familiar car pull into our driveway. Aunt Jenna. I arch my eyebrow, out of curiosity, as I see her trip out of her car, handling several bottles of wine in her arms. Her cheeks are flushed, and her coat is spread wide open, flapping around her in the wind.
"My goodness, Elena!" she shrieks when she sees me standing there with my arms bare, "You're going to catch a cold," she seems horrified by my decision to stand there, not dressed well enough to be out in this weather.
Sometimes, she sounds too much like my mother.
I ignore her backlash.
"I didn't know you would be joining us," I eye the bottles in her hand.
She catches my eye and smirks.
"Oh, yes. Wouldn't miss it for the world. It's going to be so fun. I bet things are going to get wild."
I guess my face adapts a horrified expression, because she laughs right into it. "I'm joking, sweetie," she steps around me, towards the house, "I'm here to keep your mother at bay. And you should really come inside."
"Can't," my teeth clatter as I speak, "Waiting for Stefan. I want to hold his hand as we walk into the 9th circle of hell."
She doesn't say anything, she just takes her coat off and throws it at me. "At least wear this, then," the coat crashes into my back and falls on the floor.
She doesn't even let me respond, she closes the door, so I have no other choice but to pick it from the floor and put it around my shoulders.
I can see Stefan come out of his house five minutes too early. When he sees me standing there, Jenna's coat draped around my shoulders unevenly, he cocks his eyebrow at me, with a smile on his face.
He looks nice. Okay, he looks more than nice. He looks amazing. If I were a mum, I would want my kid to date a guy who looks like this. But maybe I'm biased.
His sandy hair stands steady on the top of his head, as always. His eyes are warm, and his smile soft and angelic. He's wearing a bouquet of flowers, lilies to be precise, my mum's favorite. So he has been paying attention to my ramblings after all.
"You look very nice," I watch him climb the stairs towards me. He's wearing a sky blue button up shirt and dark jeans. He's a mixture of a sweet boy next door and a devil in disguise.
"So do you," he comes up to me, enveloping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer, "As always," he burns a kiss on my cheek. But it's not a painful burn, more like hot honey mixed with sugar dripping on your lips.
"Thank you," I say sweetly before pushing him away. "Okay, let's get over it one more time," I can see him roll his eyes, but I don't care. We've been over this several times, but it has to be perfect. We can't screw it up, it's too important. "She will try to break you. She will try to find your flaws and then pick through them until you're lying in pieces on our dining room floor. She will try to get a reaction out of you," I sigh. It's not him I'm really worried about. "More importantly, she will try to get a reaction out of me as well," I look at him, "So I'll need you to hold me and not let me murder her with a butter knife."
He chuckles. "Elena, she can't be that bad.."
Guilt slashes through me. "She's not bad at all," I say, feeling like the worst person ever for giving him such impression, "She's an amazing mother. She's an amazing person as well. But she hates the idea of.." I move my finger between our bodies, "Us. She hates the idea of me being with anyone, at least not until I'm 100% well."
I can see the wheels in his brain turning, he's thinking it through, choosing what to say. He pulls me closer to him again, closing the distance between us. At first, I think he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. He misses my lips, my face all together, and I can hear him whispering into my ear, "Then we'll just have to convince her otherwise."
That task is close to impossible, but he says it in such a convincing way, that I have no heart to counter him. He almost makes me believe it as well.
So I smile at him and go in for one last kiss before we have to go inside. His lips are incredibly warm, warming up my icy ones with a sweet and gentle kiss.
In the middle of a kiss, I can hear the front door open, and my defense mechanism switches into panic mode.
"Lena," I hear my brothers voice, slightly relieved it's him, even though I pull myself from Stefan instantly.
"Eww," he seems grossed out by what he had just seen, just like any 9 year old probably would.
A light smile climbs up my lips because of my brothers innocence. "Jeremy," I take Stefan by the hand. When Jeremy notices my movement, his face softens. "This is Stefan. Stefan, this is my little brother, Jeremy."
We walk over to Jeremy who's standing in the hallway, peeking through the half opened door, shielding himself from the cold.
"Hello, Jeremy," Stefan gives my brother a hand. He does a good thing by not crouching down to be at Jeremy's level. My brother hates when people do that to him, especially because he's the shortest kid in his class.
Jeremy takes his hand and shakes it. "I'm Jeremy," he seems weary of Stefan, "So, you like to kiss my sister?"
"Jeremy!" I scold him, my voice angry enough for him to take a step back.
"Umm," Stefan looks at me, but I don't know how to help him. "Well, she's a very pretty girl," it looks like he doesn't need my help after all, he's doing just fine by himself.
Jeremy seems to be considering his answer for quite some time, until his little face softens up and adapts that usual expression of innocence. "Yes, she is," he agrees, which makes me blush. "Well," he pushes the door open, "Come in."
I pull Stefan by the hand and lead him in, closing the door behind us.
My nervousness is ticking inside of my throat, making me feel as if I'm going to explode. We walk over to the dining room where I can hear the chatter coming from. Jeremy hurries before us to take his seat. He doesn't understand what's really going on, but he can feel the nervousness and anticipation.
When we enter the room, all voices quiet down, and now there are three curious faces staring at us, and Jeremy lovingly eyeing the food on the table.
I clear my throat as I squeeze Stefan's hand hard enough for him to feel it. "Stefan, these are my parents," I point at my mum and dad, "And this is my aunt Jenna," I point towards a smiling Jenna, her glass already filled with wine. Well, at least her and dad look friendly enough. "Everyone, this is Stefan."
He greets them all, starting with Jenna who's closest to him. When he passes her to shake my dad's hand, she winks at me and shows thumbs up. I roll my eyes, but secretly, I'm smiling.
When he reaches my mum, his voice is friendly, and he doesn't even have to try. That's just how he is. "Mrs. Gilbert, it's so nice to finally meet you," he says charmingly. I can see how surprised my mum is. She wasn't expecting Stefan, she was expecting a boy I could rebel with.
It's then when it dawns at me that she didn't think this could be something serious. She probably thought this is just my way to spite her.
"These are for you," he gives her a bouquet of lilies.
I can see that she's impressed. She looks from him, to me, then back to him, which is when she finally smiles. "Thank you," she nods, "I'll go put these in water. Please, make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back."
Who knows, maybe Stefan even manages to break my mums opinion when it comes to us.
To my surprise, dinner goes smoothly. Stefan finds a topic of discussion with everyone, even Jeremy, which delights my little brother to no ends.
My mum brings her famous carrot cake out, and I dare to think this is more than I could have hoped for, which is when my mum gives Stefan a serious look and directs her next question to him.
"So, Stefan," as soon as she starts, I recognize that voice. She's like a hunter, slowly approaching her prey. Making no sudden moves, so careful, not giving anything away. But I can tell. All of us can. "I trust you know about Elena's condition."
A piece of carrot cake gets stuck in my throat. I want to die. Or to throw a fork at her.
Most of all, I want to yell at her to shut up. To beg her not to do this.
"Miranda," my dad says with warning.
"I really don't think now's the time," aunt Jenna adds.
But it's Stefan who surprises me when he says, "No, it's okay." All of us look at him, surprised. Even my mum seems a little bit thrown off. "Of course I know."
Of course I know. He says it so lightly. Why wouldn't he know? He's indicating that I trust him enough to share this piece of information with him.
"Not many boys your age would date a girl with cancer."
"Actually, she's in remission," my dad explains.
"Yes, I'm aware," Stefan's unusually calm for a situation like this one. Situation in which I'm slowly losing my mind. And my cool.
"And you don't mind?" my mum pushes it.
I give her a harsh look. She's doing it again. She's reducing me to my illness.
I can see Stefan frown, because now he understands what I've been telling him about. He can finally see it for himself. "Why would I mind?" he asks, "Elena's wonderful, cancer or no cancer."
My brother sucks his breath in. He hates the c word.
But I can hear aunt Jenna basically swoon.
"You're saying her illness plays no part in how you treat her?"
I don't even understand what my mum is trying to achieve with this.
"Of course it does. She has to handle some things other girls don't, which means I have to handle it as well," it's like he came prepared with answers. "Would I like it more if she didn't have cancer? Well, that's a silly question, since there's only one answer to it. But if you're asking me if her condition makes me love her more or less than I would otherwise, then the answer is no."
Love. He just said that he loves me in front of my family.
I can see that my father is pleasantly surprised with his answer. Jenna is a puddle on the floor by now. But my mother just won't let it go.
"That's fine," she nods, as if his words haven't affected her at all, "But she's asking us to leave her in your hands for a week, several hours away from home. I just want to make sure you know how to help her if things go wrong."
How to help me? Doctors don't know how to help me, and she thinks an 18 year old boy does? She's asking too much from him.
Stefan stays silent for quite some time, and just as everyone think that he's given up, that my mum has won, he speaks up. "Acute lymphoblastic leukemia is a cancer of white blood cells. Immature, cancerous white blood cells are overproduced in the bone marrow where they kill healthy blood cells and spread to other organs. It's common in childhood and old age. Symptoms are chest pain, shortness of breath, anemia, vomiting, etc. There are about 6,000 cases of this type of cancer reported every year in the US. There's a 80% chance of survival in children, but only up to 40% of adults can be cured. Forms of treatment include chemotherapy, radiation and biological therapy and immunotherapy. Transplant of bone marrow is efficient only in patients who had the cancer come back," he sucks in some breath, either because of shortness of air, or because his next words actually pain him to say out loud, "If it ever comes to that, I would have myself tested, of course. Five year survival rate has climbed to 85% and after five years it seems very unlikely that the cancer would ever come back."
He stops, and just as my mother is ready to open her mouth, he continues. "I know these are just facts, but when it comes to helping her, I can do as much as you can. Take her to a hospital and pray that the doctors know how to do their job."
"What's - "
She starts, but Stefan cuts her off instantly.
"The closest hospital from the cabin is Emory Hospital in Atlanta. 15 minutes by car. I've already memorized the path."
Silence. Nothing but deadly silence.
The only thing I can hear is everyone inhaling and exhaling.
That is, until aunt Jenna opens her mouth. "Well, I'm impressed."
I smile.
I'm impressed as well.
I help my mum clear the table and take the dishes to the kitchen.
As soon as we enter, she puts the dishes on the counter and turns around to face me.
"I know that you're mad at me, for asking that question," she looks me in the eye.
I follow her lead and put the dishes down on the counter as well. "Yes, I am," I cross my arms across my chest.
"I've had to ask it, I've had to make sure," she tries to explain, but she struggles with words and emotions and what reality she wants to live in.
I don't remember the last time I've seen my mother so torn.
"That he's someone who really cares for you, that it's real, that he loves you enough to do everything in his power to help you," she says with a crying, apologetic voice. "Someone not only you can trust, but your family as well."
"Do you really think I would ever settle for anything less?" I ask. I've never been a girl who takes anything lightly, especially love.
"No," she shakes her head, "But boys can be tricky."
"Stefan's not," I say with conviction.
"I know," she nods, "Which is why I want to give you this."
She reaches into her jeans pocket and takes out a key. She takes my hand, turns my palm around and puts the key in it. I clench my fingers around it.
"A key to the cabin. Go. Have fun. Live."
I escort Stefan out of the house, holding onto his arm.
"I have to say, you handled that situation pretty well," I admit admirably.
"I had to," he answers seriously, but evidently proud of himself.
"Stefan, how come you knew so much about my illness?" I ask curiously, leaning my head onto his shoulder.
"Remember that one time you got a really nasty headache at my place, so bad that you couldn't move?"
"Mhm," I nod against his arm.
"Well, after that, I got scared, because I had no idea what's going on, or how to help you. I don't want to be in that situation ever again."
"Does it scare you? My illness?"
"No. But the though of losing you does."