It was lovely, she thought, looking around at them. They were wonderful friends. She’d miss them. Or not. The Great Beyond probably had contingency plans for spirits who wanted to check in on their friends.
Besides, she reminded herself, she could have years more. Years!
“I could get hit by a bus tomorrow,” people were fond of saying, their way of trying to be sympathetic when they heard about her disease. No one knew what the future held. And hey. Unlucky bus drivers aside, it was true. Staying in the moment was better than wringing hands about the future. She wasn’t going to waste this glorious summer thinking about how sick she was.
7
Lauren
Ten months left
April
Dear Daddy,
You have a granddaughter! Her name is Octavia Lauren, and she is the most beautiful thing in the entire universe, as you probably know because I swear you were there.
Holding her before she was ten minutes old, Daddy . . . the smell of her, her little sounds, grunting and squeaking. I said, “I love you, sweetheart,” and, Dad, she opened her eyes. She looked right at me, and it was like staring into all the mysteries of the universe, like this tiny baby (well, she was eight pounds, five ounces, so not tiny for Jen . . .) was telling me that no matter what, everything will be okay. We just looked and looked at each other, and I have never felt more perfect or known in my life.
Eventually, I had to give her back to Jen, who was a champion. She is amazing, Dad. Amazing.
Then Josh came in with Sebastian, because he was in the waiting room with the little guy. Sebastian ran in with a stuffed bunny and said, “My sister! Hi, my sister! You’re so cute!” Then he started crying with love. He kissed her forehead and said, “I love you, my sister!” and everyone was bawling.
When Mom came in, for once she didn’t make it about how sad she was that you weren’t there. She was just beaming, and when Jen told her the name, Mom said, “Oh, how beautiful! What a perfect name!” and hugged me.
There was so much love in that room, Dad. I know you felt it, too.
Josh and I took Sebastian home with us later that day so Jen could rest, and he slept over. Pebbles slept on his bed, which he thought was so funny. And you know Jen; she was up and about in two days, oversharing about her bleeding and how much it stings to pee.
I’m so happy, Dad. Seeing Octavia being born . . . it was a miracle. I know, I know, it happens every day. It’s still a miracle.
Congratulations, Daddy! Take good care of your little granddaughter and her big brother. Love you!
Lauren
“Don’t think this is because you’re sick,” Jen said two weeks later. “I was always going to have a daughter with Lauren for a middle name.”
Lauren was babysitting; Jen needed a nap and a shower. Darius had taken Sebastian to the library with plans to visit Newport Creamery for lunch, and so Lauren was summoned.
She did not mind in the least.
Little Octavia fussed and cried and pooped (would Lauren ever look at pumpkin pie the same way?). Lauren put her in the baby carriage and took her for a walk to get her fresh air and vitamin D. The baby didn’t mind how slowly she walked; Octavia just made little snorting and grunting sounds, like a tiny and very adorable piglet.
“Congratulations,” said one lady from a park bench.
“Thank you,” Lauren said, smiling. “She’s my niece.”
Back home, she gave the baby a bottle, changed her diaper yet again. Lauren sat in the recliner and put her feet up, bending her knees so Octavia rested against her legs. They stared at each other. The baby’s eyes were so . . . special. Giant and wise, like she knew everything.
When Octavia yawned, Lauren couldn’t help grinning in delight like a good auntie. Then Octavia started to fuss, so Lauren shifted her to her shoulder and patted her back, making little humming noises. After about five minutes, the baby grew quiet, and Lauren shifted her to the crook of her arm for more staring, drinking in the baby’s sweet lashes, silky little eyebrows, pale brown skin, almost exactly the same shade as Sebastian’s. Her hair was fine and brown, and she had the sweetest mouth.
And then, a tear dropped on her chin. Lauren’s tear, because apparently, she was crying. Silently, but a lot.
This, she knew with an aching certainty, was as close to having a baby as she’d get. She knew. She knew. She would never be a mother. Never go through what Jen and Darius had shared in the labor and delivery room, never look at a baby and see Joshua’s eyes or her own ears.
The tears wouldn’t stop falling, and Lauren’s chest was jerking. She cough-sobbed, then got up with some effort, not wanting to wake the baby. She put her in the little bassinet and went into the kitchen to cry into a dishtowel. She wouldn’t have children, and she was going to die too soon, and Sebastian and Octavia might not even remember her. She was going to miss so much. She would leave Jen, her beloved sister, and these perfect, beautiful kids and her mom and Josh, oh, God, Josh, and it was like all her skin was gone and she was raw and terrified and wailing into the void of despair because, goddamnit, she was going to die.
Then Jen was there, hugging her, and Lauren lost it. She clung to her sister and wailed, and Jen was sobbing, too, because they knew. They knew. They held on to each other and cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left.
The baby slept through the whole meltdown.
They looked at each other, eyes red and noses stuffed, skin blotchy, and Lauren gave a half laugh. “Come on, sit down,” Jen said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’ll make you some witch’s brew.” She went back to the kitchen and made some tea out of the Chinese herbs she kept on hand for Lauren . . . astragalus root and raw schisandra berries, because she was a great sister.
Lauren was still hiccuping when her sister came back. “Sorry,” she said.
“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Jen said, squeezing her hand.
They sat there in silence, listening to Octavia breathe. After a while, Jen said, “Let’s go to the movies one night soon, okay?”
When Lauren was a dorky adolescent, wearing overalls and a cropped T-shirt and too-short bangs with a beret, Jen had generously overlooked her fashion choices and would take her to the movies. Alone or with Jen’s cool friends, and she never skimped on popcorn and Reese’s Pieces.
“Okay,” Lauren said, her voice cracking.
“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” Jen said, putting her hand over her mouth.
“I’m glad I’m dying first, so I don’t have to live without you,” she answered. “Hand to God, I’m glad.”