"Good," she says, shifting so she’s pressed against my side. "I'm starving."
"Do you want to talk about your mom?" My question is partially muffled by the top of her head.
"No," she answers. "Not yet."
I nod my understanding. We sit quietly, but inside my head it's loud, and I wonder if it's the same in hers.
* * *
"Here."I hold out a beer. Autumn takes it from me, eyes grateful.
She twists off the cap and tosses it. It lands on the dining room table and spins twice before it falls over. She takes a deep pull, her throat bobbing when she swallows.
"I needed that," she says, placing the beer on the table and opening the box of pizza that I set down a couple minutes ago. "Oh," she gasps softly, covering her mouth with her hand.
"What?" I ask, concerned. "Did I get the order wrong? Do you hate it?"
"You remembered my favorite."
Chicken and mushrooms with garlic and fresh basil. That order has been imprinted on me for over a decade. And not just because it's delicious, but because it's Autumn's order. I'd never heard of such a pizza until our second date, when we'd walked to a nearby place after school and I heard the girl who stole my heart order something that seemed so advanced for our fifteen years. It only made me like her more.
"Onion rings with barbecue sauce. Spaghetti with olive oil and garlic. The wordmoistmakes you shudder, scabs on elbows gross you out, and you absolutely detest olives, which doesn't make much sense because you love pickles and they're not that different." I could go on. And on and on and on…
"Owen … I…"
Whatever it is she's trying to say, the words just won't come out. She gets up from her chair and comes to me, sitting down on my lap.
My hands wind into her long hair, cradling her head. "I haven't forgotten a second of you, Autumn. Not a damn second."
"Me neither, Owen. I remember all of us, every moment, every laugh, every pain."
I swallow down all my fear of losing her a second time. "What do you think about giving us another chance?"
She presses the tip of her nose to mine. I smell beer on her breath, mixed with the sweet smell of Autumn. "What do you think I've been doing these past few weeks?" she giggles.
“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
She nods.
“Autumn Cummings, will you be my girlfriend?” I say in a nerdy voice that resembles my fifteen-year-old self.
Laughter peals out of her and I’m thrown by how insanely beautiful she is.
“Yes,” she answers, and kisses me quickly before pulling away. "So, we're really doing this?" she asks, and I know it's not a direct question but a statement of wonder and disbelief.
"We really are," I confirm. "And this time we're going to do it a hundred times better."
"Yes," she murmurs, her velvety lips on mine. "So much better."
Autumn reaches for a slice of pizza, but she doesn't go back to her seat. She eats pizza on my lap, alternating bites and kisses. I can almost see her high fading as thoughts of her mom creep back in.
"Are you certain she can't fight, Owen?" Autumn wipes her mouth with a napkin and grabs another slice.
I've had more time to process it all, and still the thought is sharp, jabbing at me as I contemplate Autumn's question. As much as I want to sugarcoat it, I know Autumn would prefer a straight answer. "It's too advanced. There is literally nothing modern medicine can do for her now but ease her suffering. No stem cell, no bone marrow transplant or transfusion has ever medically brought someone back from how far along she is. I … I failed her. I failed you."
I keep thinking of how I didn’t catch its progression sooner. I followed every protocol and it still snuck past me.
I hear Autumn’s sharp intake of breath, see it in the rise of her chest. It remains puffed up for five full seconds before she releases it. "You didn’t fail anyone.” She reaches out and runs her fingers through my hair, raking them along my neck. “Do you think I could change her mind?" Rueful hope lives in her question.
