Me: Grow up.
DJ: Absolutely not. You’re my big sister. You supposed to be wholesome except for the whole lap dance shit you got going.
Me: Says the man with three situationships at once.
DJ: Those are diversified emotional investments.
I shake my head. The smile fades a little as the weight creeps back in. He senses it again.
DJ: Okay. What’s the other thing?
I swallow.
My thumbs feel heavy now.
Me: After the last flare, the doctors ran some tests.
Three dots appear instantly.
Disappear.
Reappear.
DJ: Lena.
I inhale slowly.
Me: Years of flares and pain have compromised my kidneys and spleen.
Me: They’re functioning. Just not like they used to.
The typing bubble appears immediately this time.
DJ: What does that mean?
There it is.
The question I’ve been answering all day.
And I realize that telling my brother might be harder than telling anyone else. I rest my head back against the couch and type slowly.
Me: It means I’m still fighting.
Me: It just takes more out of me now. The risks are higher when the flares happen because there’s damage to my organs.
The three dots come back.
Stay.
Then finally?—
DJ: Okay.
That’s it.
Just okay. And somehow that’s worse. I know him. He’s holding it together. I brace myself. Because the banter is over now. This part isn’t funny.
The three dots sit there for a long time.
