My Life After Now Page 10

  Well, I wasn’t expecting that.

  Papa continued. “Patrick was irresponsible and reckless and didn’t know the first thing about taking care of himself. You are smart and young and have the whole world in front of you. You are not Patrick,” he said again. I didn’t know if he was trying to convince me or himself.

  It was then that Lisa came downstairs. She took one look at Papa and said, “Christ, Seth, you look bloody awful,” before helping herself to a gigantic bowl of cereal with a heaping tablespoon of sugar on top.

  “Good morning to you too, Lisa,” Papa said, shooting her a loathsome glance.

  “Lucy, Seth,” Dad stepped in, “why don’t we leave Lisa to her breakfast and go sit on the back porch?”

  “It’s about forty degrees outside, Adam.”

  “So?” Dad replied, giving him a pointed look and nodding his head in Lisa’s direction. “Thank you,” I mouthed to Dad as the three of us left the kitchen.

  “All right, what was that all about?” Papa asked after we were all safely outside in the crisp morning air.

  “Lucy has requested that we don’t discuss any of this in front of Lisa.”

  “I don’t want her to know,” I said.

  Papa nodded, thinking. “She would probably be less than understanding.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not exactly it. I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “No one?”

  “No one.”

  “What about your friends?”

  “I told Evan. It didn’t go well.”

  “Oh.” Papa frowned. “What about Courtney and Max?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not telling anyone else.”

  “What about—”

  “Papa, I’m not telling anyone. End of story.”

  “You may change your mind about that,” Dad said. “But now that the three of us are together, we need to figure out what we’re going to do next.”

  A slight tremor rumbled inside me. “What do you mean?”

  “First, we need to find you a good doctor. You need to go on medication,” Dad said.

  “And regular therapy is going to be crucial as well,” Papa continued. “I’ll make some calls, ask around.”

  It seemed the idyllic let’s-not-talk-about-it arrangement from yesterday was long gone. I shook my head. “No way. No doctors, no therapy.”

  They stared at me.

  “What are you talking about?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t want any of that. I went online, Dad, I know what this thing is going to do to me. I’d just rather live my life normally for as long as I can before I have to deal with any of that stuff.” I didn’t think it necessary to mention that my life had already lost all semblance of normalcy.

  “But, Lucy, doctors and medication and therapy are the things that are going to allow you to live a normal life. Don’t you understand?” Dad said.

  “I don’t care. I don’t want it,” I repeated stubbornly, arms folded over my chest.

  So quickly I didn’t even see him do it, Papa crossed the porch and grabbed my face. “You listen to me, young lady. You are a minor, and we are your parents. Therefore, you will do what we say. Got it?”

  My eyes grew wide. Papa never spoke to me like that—he always took my side. But clearly something had changed in him. “But—”

  “This is not up for negotiation, Lucy,” Papa said, releasing his grip on me. “You are not giving up.”

  “Papa,” I said slowly and calmly. “What is HIV?”

  “Don’t you know?” he asked.

  “Of course I know. But I want to hear it from you.”

  He remained silent.

  “Fine, I’ll say it. It’s the virus that causes AIDS. And what is AIDS?”

  I waited again for him to respond, but he didn’t, so again I answered my own question.

  “It’s a disease that tears your body apart until you die.” I paused to clear my throat and collect myself. “Papa, don’t you get it? I have HIV, and someday I’m going to have AIDS, and someday after that I’m going to die.”

  I heard Dad’s sniffling, but I didn’t remove my gaze from Papa’s face.

  He stared back at me with fiery eyes and a set jaw. “Not on my watch,” he said.

  • • •

  That evening as I was getting ready for bed, they came up to my room.

  “I did some investigating,” Papa said, “and found a doctor in the city that comes highly recommended. I’m going to call first thing tomorrow to get you an appointment. And this,” he said, handing me a stack of computer printouts, “is information about different therapists, group meetings, and support centers in Westchester and Manhattan. You can review them and decide which ones you’d like to try.”

  “I don’t want to try any of them,” I mumbled.

  “Well, you should have thought about that before going home with some guy you didn’t know, shouldn’t you?” Papa snapped back.

  I gasped. I’d assumed Dad would tell him the whole story, but the last thing I expected was for him to throw it back in my face like that.

  He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Lu,” he said more softly. “I didn’t mean…I don’t blame you. It just…would mean a lot to me if you chose a meeting to go to. Or a private therapist, I don’t care. But you have to do something. Please?”

  The picture of Papa’s face, frozen in time, as he told me Patrick had died, flickered across my mind.

  Why did everything have to be so damn complicated? “Fine,” I relented, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’ll go. For you. But it’s not going to help.”

  20

  One Night Only

  Two days later, I was seated on a cold, metal folding chair in the basement of a Methodist church in Greenwich Village. My plan had been to get a seat in the back, but the chairs were arranged in a circle, so there was nowhere to hide. Instead, I chose the seat closest to the door so I could book it out of there as soon as the meeting ended.

  There were about a dozen other people in the room: milling about, chatting, laughing, eating their donut holes, and drinking their coffee. They all knew each other already; I was an outsider. I was also the only teenager. I actually may have been the only person under the age of thirty.

  Dad and Papa were waiting in a Starbucks around the corner. They’d insisted on escorting me not only to the city but to the front door of the church—they probably thought I would bail on this whole support group idea if left to my own devices. Okay, they were probably right.

  I was anxious. I didn’t want to tell these people personal things, and I didn’t want to listen to their sob stories. Plus they were probably all going to think I was just a dumb kid who had no business encroaching on their intimate little group.

  Stop worrying, I told myself. It’ll be fine.

  I chewed on my fingernails.

  It was 8:05 now—we were supposed to start at eight. What was the holdup? Why couldn’t we just get this damn thing over with already so I could go back to my dads and inform them that it was all a waste of time and that I had no need to ever go back?

  At ten after, I was seriously considering leaving. Wasn’t there a ten-minute rule or something? Like, if the meeting doesn’t begin on time, you all get a free pass to go home? Besides, it wasn’t like anyone had even noticed me. I could sneak out now and they’d never know.

  Yes. I would go. Run the hell out of this place and never look back.

  But just as I’d reached my decision, the big wooden door opened again, and a burst of energy flew into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late, guys! My bad!” the woman said. No, woman was the wrong word. She was a young woman, a girl. She couldn’t have been much older than I was. She had light brown skin, tight blonde-streaked spiral curls forming a halo around her head, funky eighties-inspired neon pink and green earrings, and hot pink nails. She was the one who was running the meeting?

  After everyone was seated and the girl had managed to catch her breath, she grinned at each of us. Her teeth
were shiny and perfect. “Welcome!”

  “Hi, Roxie,” a few voices responded back.

  “I see we have a new face with us tonight,” Roxie said, looking at me. Apparently I wasn’t invisible after all. My cheeks turned red at once. “I’m Roxie. What’s your name?”

  Here we go.

  “Lucy,” I said.

  “Welcome, Lucy. Have you been to a support meeting before?”

  “Um, no, this is my first.” And last.

  “Well, we’re happy to have you. Would you like to share?” Roxie asked.

  “Share?” I repeated.

  “Yeah. Your story, your experience with HIV/AIDS, how you’re feeling today…whatever is on your mind.”

  Everyone looked at me with interest. I couldn’t believe they all actually expected me to tell them the most personal details of my life. I didn’t know them.

  “Um,” I said, trying to find my voice again. “Actually, I’d rather just listen for now. If that’s okay.”

  Roxie gave me a kind smile. “Of course.” Then she turned to the rest of the group. “Who would like to go first? And remember to introduce yourself to Lucy.”

  A man two seats to my left raised his hand. “I’ll go.” He was…midthirties, maybe? I couldn’t quite tell because his face was oddly concave, like his cheeks had deflated. “I’m Ahmed. It’s been a bad week. I was laid off from my job on Monday.” There were a few sighs of empathy from the group. “So that means I’m losing my insurance at the end of the month. I don’t know what to do—I can’t afford my medication without it.”

  When Ahmed was done speaking, Roxie assured him it would all work out and told him she’d put him in contact with some organizations who would be able to help him get his meds. And he actually seemed more at ease, like he had faith in her ability to help. Who was this girl?

  Next, a woman in a big wool sweater and sandals and socks spoke. “I’m June. My daughter had her baby yesterday.” There was a wave of congratulations and mazel tovs. June smiled, but only a little. “I went to the hospital to see them. She’s beautiful. Andréa Marie. But I wasn’t allowed to hold her.” She paused and looked down at her lap.

  “Why not?” Roxie asked.

  “My daughter said she ‘didn’t want to risk it.’”

  “Oh, June,” Roxie said. The lady next to June reached out and placed a comforting hand on her back.

  I thought back to Evan’s reaction when I touched his arm that day in the car. Would it never get better? If people found out I had this disease, would they not want to shake my hand or give me a kiss hello or let me hold their babies?

  Several more people shared. Some stories weren’t nearly as bad as Ahmed’s and June’s. One man spoke giddily about a woman he’d just met on an HIV-positive dating site. One woman didn’t talk about HIV or AIDS at all—she was just so excited that she’d been asked to be the maid of honor at her best friend’s wedding.

  And then it was 9:30 and Roxie began to wrap up the meeting. “There is one announcement tonight,” she said solemnly. “You may have noticed that Lawrence hasn’t been here in a while. I got the sad news this weekend that he passed away last Monday. Before we go, let’s have a traditional moment of silence for our friend.”

  The room went quiet. Some people closed their eyes, others’ lips were moving in silent prayer. But I noticed that no one cried. It was like they’d been expecting the news. Maybe Lawrence had been sick for a long time. But then again, Roxie said something about a “tradition.” Maybe getting the news that a fellow group member had died wasn’t an altogether uncommon occurrence around here. The thought sent a shiver up my spine.

  After about a minute, Roxie spoke again. “Thanks, everyone! Remember, there’s no meeting this Thursday, but I hope to see you all back here on Friday!”

  I’d almost made it to the door when someone caught my arm. “Lucy, hold up.”

  I turned. It was Roxie.

  “Are you going to come back?” She looked at me like she knew I hadn’t been planning on it.

  “Oh, um, I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “Well, we’re here every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Except this Thursday, you know, because of Thanksgiving.”

  “Okay,” I said, turning back toward the door. “Thanks.”

  “Lucy?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  What do you say to that?

  I just shrugged and left.

  21

  Sunrise, Sunset

  I’d just gotten to school and was stashing my afternoon books in my locker when Courtney walked by, holding hands with Steven Kimani. They were both grinning from ear to ear, and I had barely gotten over the shock of seeing Courtney with a boy when I noticed something else: her mouth was conspicuously metal-free.

  I didn’t take my eyes off the new couple until they had walked through the double doors at the end of the hall and out of sight. I hadn’t known she liked Steven. I hadn’t even known they knew each other. How had this happened?

  And the braces! Courtney had had braces since sixth grade. Every time she went to the orthodontist she came back in tears because her stubborn overbite forced him to keep pushing back the removal date.

  But now it seemed she had the two things she’d always wanted, and I wasn’t a part of any of it.

  I went up to her in homeroom and spoke to her for the first time in weeks. “Are you going out with Steven Kimani?” I said.

  Courtney tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her smile. “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t even know you liked him,” I said.

  “Well, you haven’t exactly been around lately.”

  “Don’t have sex with him, okay?” I blurted out. I don’t know what made me say it—it wasn’t even an appropriate response to her comment.

  A shadow crossed Courtney’s face. “Excuse me?”

  “Just…trust me. Nothing good can come of it.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you!” Her voice was rising. “Go away, Lucy.”

  Max came into the classroom right then.

  He looked from Courtney to me, confused. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Lucy has decided that it’s somehow her business whether I do it with Steven or not,” Courtney announced, apparently not caring that people were starting to look.

  I couldn’t help but notice Evan’s head snap up. He was listening to our every word.

  “Never mind. I’m sorry I said anything,” I muttered, and walked out.

  Max followed me down the hall.

  “What do you want?” I barked, spinning on my heels.

  “What exactly did you say to her in there?”

  I sighed. “I told her not to have sex with Steven.”

  Max raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  I gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “Listen, Lucy, just because things didn’t work out for you and Ty or Evan or that guitar guy doesn’t mean it won’t for Courtney and Steven. Just stay out of it. Don’t ruin this for her.”

  I shook my head and gave a little sarcastic laugh. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Max, so why don’t you stay out of it?”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Fine,” I said back.

  We stared each other down there in the empty hallway for a suspended, unblinking moment, and for just the tiniest split-second I thought I saw something sad in his face, something that made me think that maybe he was just as unhappy as I was with the way things between us had deteriorated. But then it was gone, and the anger was back, and we went our separate ways.

  • • •

  “Lu! Dinner’s almost ready!” Dad called.

  Reluctantly, I put my guitar down and slogged downstairs. The kitchen smelled amazing.

  My dads had decided to forgo the usual full-day Thanksgiving marathon visit to both sides of the family and instead opted for cooking a small dinner at home. Not having to put on a happy-untroubled-teenage
r act for my grandparents was what I was most thankful for this year.

  “The turkey just needs a few more minutes in the oven, and then we’ll be ready to eat,” Papa said, moving around the place settings to find room for the salad bowl.

  I stared at the table. The roasted potatoes were there and so was the stuffing. But there was also an unfamiliar brownish puffy-looking thing in a casserole dish. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Lisa made it,” Dad said. “Wasn’t that nice?”

  Nice and Lisa weren’t two words I’d put in the same sentence. “But what is it?”

  “Steak and kidney pie,” Lisa said proudly.

  “Steak and kidney pie,” I repeated, just to make sure I’d heard right.

  She nodded. “It’s English. Try it.”

  “Sounds…good,” I said, and turned my attention back to the actual edible food on the table.

  Papa came in with the turkey. “Ta da!” he proclaimed, placing the turkey in the center of the table. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!”

  The turkey was golden, cooked to perfection, and…revolting. A dead bird was lying in the middle of our kitchen table. A headless carcass, wings folded, innards confiscated. Those visible dark veins used to house pumping blood. A reminder that no matter where I looked, death was following me.

  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and fought the urge to bolt. “Papa,” I whispered, “can you get that thing out of here, please?”

  “What thing? The turkey?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  I could only imagine Dad and Papa’s silent exchange—they were probably engaging in a series of concerned glances and word-mouthing. There was some shuffling and clanking of dishes, and then Papa said, “Okay, it’s gone.”

  I opened my eyes and blinked against the light. The turkey was nowhere to be seen. “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “Lucy—” Dad began gently.

  But I stopped him. “Let’s eat,” I said, and speared a potato with my fork. Dad and Papa seemed to understand that I didn’t want to talk about it, but Lisa was another story.

  “What the bloody hell was that all about?” she said.