Melissa Kantor - Maybe One Day

“I’m sick, Zoe,” said Livvie.

“Wait, you’re sick?” I was still thinking about the twins. “Hang on a second … what?”

“I’m at UH,” said Olivia.

University Hospital was only a few blocks from the Fischer Center, where NYBC was located. We’d driven by it every day on our way to and from dance classes and performances, its glass towers telling us we were just minutes from our destination or that we’d begun the journey home.

“But you were just at the doctor’s office.” I knew, even as I said it, that it was a stupid thing to say. It wasn’t like there was no way to travel from the doctor’s office to the hospital.

Olivia’s voice was freakishly precise. “The doctor found a bruise on the back of my leg,” she said.

“I saw that!” I shouted, remembering the bruise from when I’d slept over Saturday night. It was dark purple and spidery, and I’d almost asked her about it, but then we’d started talking about something else and I’d forgotten.

Livvie continued. “Well, she saw it and she asked how I’d gotten it, and I said I didn’t know, and then she found this other one on my arm—on the back—”

“I didn’t see that one,” I admitted. Why was I interrupting her? I pressed my lips together to get my mouth to stop asking questions.

“It’s there,” Olivia told me, as if I’d doubted her. “I saw it in the mirror. Anyway, then the doctor started asking about the bruises, and how long I’ve had the fever, and then my mom said that I’d been really tired lately and she asked if maybe I could be anemic. And Dr. Weiss said she wanted us to go to the Med Center.”

The Med Center was a cross between a doctor’s office and an emergency room. They had X-ray machines and doctors and stuff, but I didn’t think you would go there if you were having a heart attack. “Yeah,” I said, “I know where that is. Remember when my dad stepped on a nail last summer? My mom and I took him.”

Looking back at that conversation, I can’t help wondering: Did I know? Did I know what was coming, and did I think that as long as I wouldn’t let Livvie say the words, they wouldn’t be true?

“They took blood,” she went on. “And they found abnormal cells.”

“Abnormal cells,” I echoed.

“Abnormal cells,” she repeated. “And they said they wanted us to go to UH so they could do a bone marrow aspiration. That’s when they take some bone marrow out of your pelvic bone with a needle.”

“A needle ? Oh God, Liv.” I clutched my arm in sympathy, even though I knew that wasn’t where your pelvic bone was.

“My dad came,” Livvie said. Her voice caught for a second, but she didn’t cry. “He came to meet us, and the doctor said that they’d found blasts in my bone marrow.”

“What does that mean?” I whispered.

“They admitted me,” she went on, ignoring my question, “and they put in this thing called a central line. It’s so the medication gets right into your body.”

“The medication?” My voice was a whisper.

“I have leukemia, Zoe.”

I gasped.

“But that’s … that’s impossible.” It was impossible. I knew it was impossible. How could Olivia have leukemia? “There’s a … I mean, there has to be some mistake. How could you be getting medicine already?” Somehow that was the most implausible part of what she’d told me. I’d slept at her house Saturday night. She’d been fine. I’d talked to her this morning . Eight hours later she was in the hospital and getting medicine? How could they even diagnose what she had that fast?

“It’s true, Zoe.” Olivia’s voice quivered. I heard a voice in the background, and Livvie said, “My mom wants me to get off the phone. The doctor just came in. Can you come? I need to see you.” It sounded like she was starting to cry.

“I’m on my way,” I said, my voice fierce. Then I said it again, as if maybe she would doubt me. “I am on my way .”

“Okay,” said Livvie. “Love ya.”

We always said Love ya . We ended every phone call, every chat, every conversation the same way.

See you tomorrow. Love ya.

Gotta go. Love ya.

My mom’s calling. Love ya.

I have leukemia. Love ya.

“I love you, Livs,” I said, my voice nearly breaking on her name.

“I love you too, Zoe,” she answered. I could hear that she was crying. And then she was gone.

I stood on the edge of the lawn, the phone still pressed to my ear. Cars pulled in and out of the parking lot, and kids tumbled from the building, taking the stairs two at a time as they raced into the liberty of the afternoon. The sky over my head was almost painfully blue, the grass a bright and vivid green. It was a crisp, beautiful, perfect fall day.

All that beauty was completely wrong. The sky should have been black, the grass withered, the students wailing with grief. Olivia is sick! I wanted to howl. What are you people doing? My friend is sick! It was impossible—the sky, the cars, the kids walking around as if it were a day like any other day. Nothing made any sense.

Before I could start screaming, I turned and raced for home.

My dad was in Washington on assignment, but I didn’t even think to be relieved when I saw my mom’s car in the driveway—what if she’d been at the gym or a meeting and I’d had to wait for her to return my call and come home, had to sit there on the front porch cooling my heels and losing my mind while Olivia stared at the door of her hospital room, expecting me to walk through it any minute? I flew up the wooden steps of our front porch and into the house. Flavia barked as I entered.

“Mom! Mom!” I could hear the hysteria in my voice.

My mom’s an architect, and her office was in the back of the house, but she must have been in the kitchen because she appeared in front of me about a second after I threw open the door. “What is it? What’s happened?” She was holding the coffeepot, like maybe she’d been pouring a cup when she heard me yelling.

Still panting from my sprint home, I managed to choke out, “Livvie’s … she’s sick. She’s in the hospital. We have to go.”

“Olivia’s sick?” My mom’s eyes popped wide with concern.

“We have to go, Mom. She’s at UH. We have to go right now.” I started pulling on her arm, like when I was a little kid.

“She’s in the hospital ?” My mom grabbed my elbow.

“That’s what I said .” Why was she not moving? “Now let’s go .”

“Zoe, sweetheart, you have to explain what’s going on.” Instead of racing for her keys and shoes, she put her hand on my shoulder. “Calm down. What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Olivia?”

“Mom, I told you! She’s sick. She has leukemia. She’s in the—”

“She has leukemia ?” She dropped my arm and pressed her fingers to her lips. “My God! When did this happen?”

“When do you think it happened?” I slapped my forehead. “Oh, yeah, it happened last week, only I forgot to tell you about it.”

“Zoe, there’s no need to get—”

“Why aren’t you hurrying ?” I ran over to the stairs and grabbed a pair of shoes. “We have to go .” My voice was shrill, and my eyes stung.

For a second, my mom stared at me from across the room as I stood there, holding her black ballet flats out to her. If she didn’t put on her shoes and get in the car, I was seriously going to take the keys and drive myself. I had my learner’s permit. I’d been driving (with one of my parents in the car) for months. I would make it.