The Beautiful Between - Alyssa B. Sheinmel [36]
“I understand.” But my muscles are tense, like I’m angry at Jeremy. Angry because he’s already given up, and I feel like he has no right to.
“It’s strange to think you went through this and you don’t remember it.”
“I don’t know anything about it, Jeremy.” Even though I don’t agree with him, I want to say something comforting. “But I guess I’m living proof that you survive it.”
Jeremy nods. “Yeah, I guess you are.” He drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with his heel.
“See you tomorrow, CJS.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek and hails a cab at the corner. I shuffle back up to my apartment and into my bed. I fall asleep without thinking. In the morning, my alarm surprises me, like I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep at all. It occurs to me that ever since that night, the night when I found out about the cancer, I’ve been falling asleep faster. Maybe it’s just the fact that Jeremy keeps me up later, so I’m more tired by the time I actually get into bed, or maybe he’s keeping my mind busy—I’ve always fantasized about something or other before I could fall asleep, played a fairy tale in my head to entertain myself. But I haven’t for a while now.
On Friday, Jeremy invites me over for dinner.
“Just come home with me after school.”
I hesitate. “Will your parents be there?”
“Wouldn’t you come if they were?”
“Well, yeah, I’m just … I’d like to know what I’m getting into.” I’ve never met Jeremy’s parents, beyond seeing them at school events. I wouldn’t know how to act. Like, before people meet the Queen of England, aren’t they schooled in the proper etiquette: the way they’re supposed to address her, look at her, that kind of thing?
“My parents will be there. The food will be good. And Kate will sit at the dinner table and look skinny and pale and bald.”
My face falls. “Jeremy, that’s not fair. You know I don’t care—I mean, I care, of course I care. But you know that doesn’t make me uncomfortable—except for, you know, being upset that Kate is sick. But you know that that wasn’t why I would hesitate to come to your house for dinner—not that I was hesitating, I’d love to come. But you know that I just get nervous—”
“Jesus Christ, Sternin.” Jeremy looks hard at me. “I know.” And then he launches into his own rambling tirade. “It’s okay. I’m just defensive for her; her hair’s almost really gone now, and I know she’s embarrassed about it. I know you would never look at her like that, but believe me, you might, without even meaning to. Sometimes I find myself looking at her—she just looks so different, and I’m not used to it. But you wouldn’t stare at her; I should know that.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jer.”
“Meet me out front after your last class.”
The Coles sit at their dinner table in sweats. Well, not Mrs. Cole, but everyone else. I don’t know what I was expecting—that they’d dress for dinner? Jeremy changed into sweats almost as soon as we got there—in his bathroom while I sat on his bed, comfortable now, flipping channels.
I don’t see Kate until dinnertime. Jeremy said she was sleeping when we got there. She does look like she’s just woken up. She’s wearing a scarf wrapped around her head; actually, it’s pretty stylish, and would look cute if not for the bags under her eyes, the sallowness around her mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room with someone so sick before. Except, perhaps, my father, when I was too young to remember.
Jeremy says that on Friday, they order in Chinese food. We sit in the dining room, not the kitchen. The wooden table is glossy beneath our food, and the five of us only take up half of it. The chairs, which are surprisingly comfortable, are covered in what I can tell is very expensive fabric, and I’m scared that I might spill something on it. Usually I douse my Chinese food in soy sauce, but tonight I’m trying to stick to foods I’m least likely to spill. But Kate is sitting across from me, and when she sees my sauceless plate, she says, “Jeremy,