But I do want to. I have to, really. I don't know if I can survive not telling anyone.
“Maura’s sick.” As miserable as I am, my chest still feels the tiniest bit lighter the second the words are out, even though they swell in my chest and burn on their way out of my throat.
“Oh, shit,” Beau blurts. He quickly follows it with, “God, I’m sorry, not the right thing to say.”
Luke, with his perfect manners, smoothly says, “I’m so sorry. That must be hard, for both of you. Can you tell us what it is?”
“It's her heart,” I mutter. “She’s had all kinds of treatments, and she had a cardiac episode when we were in Greece. She—she has a shortened life expectancy.”
“Fuck,” Beau says, then slaps himself in the face. “Sorry, I keep saying the wrong fucking thing.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, reaching for another potato. “‘Fuck’ is about the only thing you can say to that.”
“How long has she been sick?” Luke asks.
“She had her first surgery when she was a kid.”
“And she's just now telling you?” Beau says with something like horror. I nod.
“Motherfucker,” Luke and Beau say together.
For a moment, there’s silence except with for the quiet click of my potato peeler.
“How do you feel about it?” Luke asks.
“At first, I felt betrayed. Then angry at myself, for not knowing somehow. None of that feels important now, though.” I think about my parents. When they died, my life shattered into two different halves. Before and after. Childhood and adulthood. Happiness and survival.
I remember that night at the charity gala when I was eleven. I'd wandered off, bored, and found a girl hiding in a storage room. She was drawing horses. She had the saddest eyes I'd ever seen, but when she showed me her drawings, they lit up like she'd found something worth living for.
The memory has become clearer since I realized on the plane to Greece that that girl is now my wife.
I remember I brought her cake. I sat with her while she drew. I didn't want to leave.
I never saw her again. I never even learned her name. But on several occasions in my life, when I’ve thought about people who understand what it's like to be lonely in a crowd, I pictured her.
She’s still the same as she was then. That same fire behind the sadness. That same determination to create something beautiful despite everything.
“It’s crazy, but I used to think sometimes that maybe life could've been better if I never had parents. If I never knew what there was to miss.”
Luke puts a supportive hand on one of my shoulders, and Beau clasps the other.
“I was wrong, of course,” I continue. “I wouldn't trade my memories of them for anything in the world. That's how I feel about Maura, now, too. However little time I get with her, I want every second. It’s crazy because of how this all started, but I think…I think knowing her will be worth any future pain.”
Beau blows out a breath. “Damn, man. That’s…that’s beautiful.”
“We’re with you, man,” Luke says, squeezing my shoulder. “Whatever you need. Just say the word.”
I nod toward the table. “I could use some help with the potatoes.”
“Nah, those are going straight to the compost,” Beau says with a laugh. “Total health code violation. I didn’t even make you wash your hands.”
“So I just peeled all those for nothing?”
“If it makes you feel better, you could give them to Ryan. I’m sure he’d cook them up into something horrifying.”
I shudder. “Never mind. Compost it is.”
After we’ve disposed of the potatoes, the guys drag me back into the restaurant for dinner. I feel—not better, exactly, but decided. My panic has dissolved in favor of certainty. I might not know what the next few years will bring, but I know how I want to spend them.
