Mimi was lying on the bed with her door locked. Roger was pacing just outside the room waiting patiently for her to talk to him. Doughboy, her fluffy new gray and white kitten Roger had found, was working his way between her legs. Life Support hadn't gone well and she was beginning to spiral back into depression. Mary fainted during the meeting and had to be rushed to the ER. The doctors didn't think she was going to make it. The virus was taking hold and she wondered who was next.

She took very little comfort in the fact that she knew it wouldn't be her. The doctor at the free clinic said that she could have years left now that she'd completed rehab and was clean, was taking her meds, and was taking care of herself. Roger, too. But the whole certain death thing was never far from her mind. She just hoped it would be quick. When Angel expired, it was slow and painful. Maybe she would be hit by a car or something and wouldn't have to suffer through such a degrading demise. Angel would have slapped her for thinking something like that. Angel. It always came back to Angel.

"Come on, Meems, just talk to me!" Roger finally shouted from the other room.

She sighed and held her head in her hands. "Roger, please," she said calmly, "just ten minutes alone to myself. That's all I need. Please, Roger." No answer. "I love you?"

She heard him letting out a long breath. "Ten minutes," he relented.

She said nothing. Ten minutes was a lot to ask from a man who didn't know if his girlfriend was about to suffer a nervous breakdown. Just because she'd cried during Life Support. Everyone had just kept pushing her to tell her mother about her disease. They didn't understand why she couldn't—why she wouldn't. But before they could go any further, Mary collapsed and it was all down hill from there.

She pulled Peter Pan out from under her bed. There was something special about that novel. It wasn't just a book. It was precious to her. Angel had given it to her nearly 2 years ago when she got those test results back from the clinic. Angel had found solace in the story of the boy who could never die because refused to grow up. Now Mimi turned to it for comfort. The cover was nearly torn off, she'd read it so many times. She kept reading when the phone rang and Roger answered. She kept reading even when she heard him hang up the phone and bang on the door.

"Mimi!" He shouted in his angry tone. "I get that you're going through something, but I swear if you don't open this door…" His voice trailed off.

She didn't want to talk to him. She wanted to stay in Neverland. "What do you want!"

"I just got off the phone with your mother!"

Uh oh…

She dropped her book and ran to open the door. "I can explain!"

"Don't bother," he yelled. "God, Meems, I can't believe you!"

"No!" She cried, "You don't understand."

He gritted his teeth and pointed an accusing finger at her. "Don't understand what? How in addition to lying to your mother about yourself, you've also been lying to her about me! Telling her I'm a doctor…that we're buying a 3 bedroom apartment…that we're engaged! They have a name for this. It's pathological lying!"

Her eyes widened in fear. "You…didn't tell her the truth, did you?"

His jaw dropped. "So you admit you lied! That's low, Mimi. Even for you!"

She touched his arm, but he shook her off. "Roger, please. It's not that big a deal!"

"Yes, it is! What, are you ashamed of your loser ex-junkie rock star boyfriend? Or should I say fiancé? We talked about this! I thought we were on the same page! Neither of us are ready for marriage! Or at least I'm not. I guess you are!"

"Just stop yelling!"

"NO!" He bellowed. His face was bright red with rage. A purple vein was puling in his temple. Why was he so mad?

Stung, Mimi began to cry. "Asshole," she whispered, and ran out of the apartment. She waited outside the front door for a moment for Roger to come after her. Then they could kiss and make up and everything would be right again. But Roger didn't come after her. She listened for a moment. Maybe he was tying his shoes? Then he'd come for sure. But all she heard was the bedroom door slam shut and rock music blasting. Oh, God, she thought, What if he hates me?

Tears streaming out her big brown eyes, she bolted down the stairs, out of the building, and down two blocks. Before she knew it, she was in the only place she could think to go. Maureen's and Joanne' place.

Joanne was representing a woman who'd killed her rapist, so Maureen answered the door.

"Freckles!" She cried, giving Mimi a big bear hug, "Why are you crying! What happened? Are you okay?" She felt her forehead.

"I'm fine," 'Freckles' said, her voice choked. "Since when is that my new nickname?"

"Since I saw those freckles on your face."

"Maureen, that's a zit. Oh, God, I'm breaking out. I hate stress! Oh, God!"

"Here, sweety," Maureen cooed, leading her to the sofa. "Sit. Okay, it's time to bring out the hard liquor. Oh, but you're not 21 yet! Oh my God, you're not 21. You're so young! Aww, that's adorable. But hell, it's like what? A month until your birthday? Less, right? No, maybe it's more. We're going to have to throw such a huge party for you! We can get you another cat! How's Doughboy, by the way? Oh, and we'll have LOTS of booze at this party! Speaking of which, here it is. Scotch. Not like I drink it. I mean, Hell! Why do you think the bottle is full? I'm a martini girl all the way. Actually, I'm an anything girl. What about you? What's your favorite drink? I might have something stronger…"

"MAUREEN!"

She stopped and handed Mimi the drink. "What?"

"Roger and I…wooh! That's strong scotch! Well, we had a fight."

Maureen looked relived. "Oh, honey, you fight all the time!"

She nodded sadly. "Half our conversations are arguments. But not like this one. This…was a fight. It's not like it was even an important thing to fight about…but the way he yelled at me…it was scary!" Her lip began to quiver. "What if I screwed this whole thing up? Everything…" she said, "It's all falling apart." Maureen looked at her quizzically. "Roger and I fight all the time. And it's usually fine. Hell, it's fun! But my life…there's things in it, you know, with my family. And it's screwing everything up. Plus…"

"What?"

"What if I'm dying?"

"Honey…"

"I know the doctor said I had some time, but I remember how I felt last year when I almost died. I think I'm feeling that way again."

Maureen took Mimi's chin in her hand and said, "You're. Not. Dying. You're too stubborn. It's all in your head." She took a big fluffy blanket and covered Mimi. "We're sisters, right?" She said, laying her head on Mimi's lap.

"Yeah…I guess we kind of are."

"Well then you can sleep here tonight. That's the kind of thing sisters do for each other. Tomorrow you'll be all cooled off and you can go home. You can tell him the truth."

Mimi finished the scotch and poured herself another glass without getting up. "How do you know I'll be ready?"

"Well," she said, taking the bottle and pouring liquor straight into her mouth, "This is your first big fight, right?"

"Indeed."

"So that means that tomorrow you get to have your first make-up."

The next morning, Mimi left Maureen's place before the sun was fully up and headed home bravely. She marched right up the stairs and into her flat. Everyone was still asleep. She walked straight over to her door and threw it open. Roger shot up, confused.

He looked comforted when he saw Mimi standing in front of him, but before he could say anything, she blurted out, "She has lung cancer."

He rubbed his eyes and motioned for her to come closer. "What? Who?"

"My mother. She's a chain smoker and it's killing her."

He sighed heavily with sadness. "Mimi, I…"

"We found out a couple of moths ago. I'm sorry I didn't tell you—I couldn't. I couldn't."

He pushed his hair off his face and reached for Mimi's hand. She took his and sat on the bed next to him. "Mimi, I'm sorry. If I'd known…"

"I'm not finished yet. I shouldn't have told her those things. But in all fairness, half of it was her assumptions. I'm not ashamed of you." She licked her thumb and wiped some dirt off his cheek. "I never could be."

"I'm sorry I—"

"But my mother always had these dreams for me, you know? And she's dying now. She's not going to live to see Christmas. I just…wanted to give her everything she wanted for me. I don't know what I was thinking when I made up that bullshit. You of all people know I'd never marry a doctor. I didn't think you'd ever find out."

"Mimi," he began uncertainly.

"Let me finish. She's dying, okay? So can't I just let her have her dream? Can't I let her go on thinking that I'm a healthy girl who's in college and marrying a doctor and that I'm going to make lots and lots of little doctors?"

He smiled. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry." She said. "I just want to stop fighting. I…love you."

"I love you, too."