Histiocytosis. The word has plagued our family for the past six months. That’s Ava’s rare diagnosis: part cancer and part immune malfunction. It’s turned every day into a gamble. The steroids stopped working; the chemo made her feel awful, and now it’s surgery or risk letting the disease spread further through her tiny bones.
I stare at the stack of itemized bills that don’t even look real anymore. The ones that have been removed from their envelopes are stacked neatly next to a notebook with scribbled numbers, prices, math on math on math. It’s more than my annual salary. More than Angela could ever pay back.
“Think I’ll have to beg the foundation again, but I’ve bled that well pretty dry,” she sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I can?—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say before I’ve thought it through. It just comes out. I can’t just sit here and watch this happen.
She looks at me; the breath leaving her lungs in exasperation. “How?”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“April—”
“Hey. Stop,” I say, forcing a half-smile that I know is absolutely not genuine. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Youknow I’m always happy to help, and I can help with this, so let me.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
She sighs and nods, pushing up from the table. “Okay,” she mutters, grabbing the groceries and moving them to the counter. “You want a coffee?”
“Sure.”
I slip my phone out of my pocket, check the notification, and nearly shove it back the moment his name flashes across my screen.
Anthony Voss:
I’ll bet you double your upfront payment that you’ve been struggling not to think about me.
Well, that’s a trap, I think.
Me:
That a joke or are you serious about the offer?
Anthony Voss:
I’m serious. I’ll adjust the contract right now if you say I’m right.
My head spins. An extra million just for telling him he’s right? I am tempted to lie so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing how much I’ve been thinking about him. But he’s practically paying for honesty…with amillion dollars.
Me:
You’re such an asshole
But fine. You’re right.
Anthony Voss:
That good?
Me:
Do you want a Yelp review?
You’re being cocky. That’s what it’d say.
4/5 stars. Talks a big game, then begs for reassurance.
“Are you okay with Splenda? I ran out of Stevia,” Angela asks.
