Work Text:
It starts with a headache.
November, 1990 is mild comparatively, but the windchill alone means that it’s not exactly the best weather to deliver papers at the ass-crack of dawn.
“Why the hell are we still doing this?” Tiffany exclaims as they pedal down Mercer, finishing the last of her route. KJ watches her chuck the roll at the next porch with extra force.
“Friendship or whatever,” Mac mutters, cigarette protruding out of the corner of her mouth. KJ snorts, and the redhead’s moody expression lightens somewhat.
“Aw, Mac loves us!” Erin playfully crows, doing little zigzags down the street as they move forward. “Some of us more than others,” Tiff adds, glancing back at KJ.
“That’s because I’m a hundred percent quality girlfriend material,” she boasts, and the smug face she sends Mac causes the girl to blush slightly.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Mac grumbles, flicking the finished cigarette to the pavement as they all slow to a stop and dismount. Erin lets out an “Aww” when KJ leans over to plant a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek, while Tiff gags.
“Ugh, should never have said anything. It’s enough we have to see their hickeys.”
“That’s jealousy talking, asshole!” Mac shoots back, her face beet red, and KJ sticks her tongue out at the other girl who just rolls her eyes.
To be honest, her parents had been pressuring her as of late to give up her route. And it’s not like she needs the trickle of money it brings in per say, but it feels good to actually earn it. Even as homework and field hockey eat up her schedule, the paper route at least allows for spending time with friends- and, of course, her girlfriend.
She sits back on her bike seat, watching fondly as Mac and Tiff get into an unserious argument while Erin cheers on both of them. None of these relationships, romantic or platonic, had been easy to make. But here she is, starting high school with the best girls she could have asked to know.
“All I’m saying is that the PDA is gross!”
“Maybe you’re just homophobic.” Nobody says anything for a moment, before the entire group bursts into laughter. Everyone knows that’s rich, coming from the girl who not two years ago called AIDS “the fag disease.” Things have changed markedly since then.
Mac is in the middle of clearing her throat when she suddenly winces, eyes screwing shut, before shaking her head slightly. “Are you ok?” Erin asks, placing a concerned hand on the redhead’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry about me,” Mac dismisses, brushing the other girl away, “just dealing with a headache.” She sends a mock glare at Tiff. “Your nagging is making my brain hurt.” Tiff glares right back. “KJ, I do not envy you in the slightest.”
KJ gasps dramatically. “How dare you!” She hugs Mac from behind, placing her chin on the top of the other girl’s head. “She’s like a chihuahua. With freckles. Short and fierce.”
Tiff scoffs. “Here they go again.” The annoyance falls away, and she gives them a small, genuine grin. “Well, I have to go home to get ready for school. Two places that have heat.”
Erin sighs. “Yeah, it’s about that time.” Her shoe starts to tap rapidly on the ground, one of her many nervous tics that KJ has come to know. “Can we meet up after school?”
“I’ve got nothing else to do,” Mac shrugs, lacing her fingers with KJ’s, and that’s about as nice an answer as you can get from Mac at any given moment. Tiff nods her assent.
“My place?” KJ suggests. Erin’s mom isn’t the biggest fan of their presence, and Tiff’s parents tend to try and get a little too involved in their hang-outs. KJ’s house at least has a big basement, and her mom and dad are the opposite of interested in their doings. The benefits of having parents who only half pay attention to their daughter, she supposes.
The other girls voice their approval, remount their bikes, and begin to pedal home. Mac and KJ are left standing there, tucked into one another.
Mac grunts, a tight, labored noise. KJ turns the girl around slowly, looking her over. “Are you sure you’re alright? If you’re sick-”
“I’m fine, Kaje, I promise.” And it’s that tone, that reassuring, slightly sarcastic tone, that tricks her into letting it slide. “Do you think some bitch-ass cold could take me out of service?” Mac looks up at her, cocky green eyes squinting slightly as her face takes an expectant look.
She meets her girlfriend’s gaze. It had taken a year to realize that there was something more than friendship between them. A complicated process that involved self-denial, crushing in secret, fights, confessions, realizations. They’d forded the river, though. And maybe it’s thrill of young love, that overwhelming emotional chokehold that accompanies all firsts, but KJ’s world seems to revolve around Mac.
“Of course not,” KJ chuckles, and does her best to ignore the small knot that’s formed in her stomach.
***
Mac is not fine, and she knows it.
She’s got to be sick with something, but she’s not a fucking doctor. And as the weeks drag on, none of her symptoms seem to align with a cold.
The headaches become worse, growing in frequency and intensity. She never pays attention to much in school anyways, but with how her head pounds now, she couldn’t if she wanted to. Everything seems to narrow down to the throbbing, hellish feeling that accompanies a substantial portion of her days.
It’s not like Mac is the cheeriest of the bunch, not by a long shot. But whatever is happening to her makes her irritable, far more than her usual grumpy self. When she screams at Tiff one morning for forgetting the walkies for example, nobody, not even her, knows what’s gotten into her.
And that’s before the other shit starts to happen.
Mac wakes up one morning to find her limbs like putty. She’s weak, it’s a hassle for her to even move. Her arms and legs feel pathetic. It would be dangerous to go out into the rest of the house- if Dylan, or god-for-fucking-bid, Dad is there… well, she can’t rely on her agility now, can she? Escape through the window isn’t an option either. Even trying to climb up to it feels like a chore.
So she lies in her fraying, shitty mattress, trying not to move. The day passes by in a fugue, a hazy blur of pain that only stabilizes when a rapping sound comes from above her. Blinking away the double vision of the ceiling fan, she manages to push herself up in time to see the window slide open and Tiffany’s head pop through.
“Jesus!” She can only blink in surprise as the girl squirms through the window, landing awkwardly on the bed next to her.
“Fuck, Tiff,” she rasps, suddenly aware that she hasn’t used her voice all day, “why are you breaking into my room?”
Tiff rolls her eyes. “Because KJ’s visiting family and Erin’s hanging out with her sister, so who else could I annoy?” She squints, pursing her lips. “Is this another one of your headaches that make you even more of an asshole that usual? Because Erin and I-”
“Great, nerd 1 and nerd 2 wanna play operation on me.” Mac rolls her eyes, but Tiff doesn’t bite, just raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Have you been lying in bed all day?”
Mac nods, feeling a sting of shame. “You didn’t go out to eat?” Her friend’s frown deepens when she doesn’t respond.
She scowls. “Tiff, if you wanna risk going through my dad on a weekend…” Tiffany winces at this. She’s told them some of the less pleasant details of what goes on in the Coyle household. Only KJ knows the full details, told in late nights after she’d snuck into the brunette’s window, in those rare moments where it’s all just too much.
Fuck, she misses Kaje.
But Tiff is here, Tiff knows things are bad, and Tiff places a firm hand in hers that makes her feel a little more there. “I brought food. Figures without your girlfriend here, you can’t take care of yourself.” Scoffing with love. Only Tiff can pull it off.
So she shovels down the burger, and only notices afterwards how the other girl lets her have all of the fries as well.
Tiff doesn’t say anything in the days that follow, which Mac appreciates without verbalizing. And eventually, KJ comes back from her two-day visit that felt like forever. But things don’t get better. There are days where the sound of the Walkman barely seems to make it to her ear. Days where suddenly nothing she’s doing makes sense, until one her friends tugs her along.
The other three know something’s wrong, KJ most of all. Mac refuses to address it, makes it taboo even as she stops waking up early to go on the paper route, even as their group interactions become more solemn. It’s KJ who massages her temples as they lay curled into each other in her bed. It’s KJ who’s hurt look makes her feel like shit every time her temper flares up for no reason.
And it’s KJ who after Mac vomits up a day’s worth of food for the second time in a week, really tries to push her to get help.
They’d spent the afternoon of that Thursday doing homework in KJ’s room, her girlfriend spending most of her time helping Mac because once again, her fucking head is making her even more of an idiot. This time though, the pain is matched by a roiling nausea until eventually she lurches down the hall into the bathroom, a torrent of puke spewing into the toilet. KJ sits on the floor next to her, rubbing a comforting hand up and down her spine. Eventually, the last chunks of shitty cafeteria pizza and burnt toast leave her body, and she’s left a trembling mess as she leans back into her girlfriend.
“Mac, I-I really think you should see a doctor.”
She looks up as KJ’s nose crinkles in concern. Usually, it makes her heart do a little flip. But the worry that swims through those amber eyes only makes her feel worse.
“Who’s going to take me? The deadbeat asswipe or the drunk who lives on the couch?” Mac croaks out bitterly, turning her head to avoid the way she just knows KJ’s face is falling. Those droopy eyebrows are enough to melt her insides.
KJ buries her chin in the crook of her neck, and Mac instinctively leans her head against the other girl. “I j-just need you to be okay.” You promised is the unspoken accusation, one her girlfriend would never level against her but that drifts from the recesses of her own memory nevertheless.
Like a pussy, she says nothing, instead choosing to just bask in the brunette’s presence.
Mac eventually gets to a hospital an entirely different way.
It’s one of those rare nights at Erin’s house where Ms. Tieng isn’t as persistent in keeping her away. She knows she’s liked the least of the group for obvious reasons. Hell, she doesn’t blame her. But seeing Kaje right now would just make her feel like a parasite, some ginger leach designed to suck all the joy from the room.
Instead, she follows Erin to her room, Missy already kicked out after a hushed argument in Mandarin.
Erin goes to get presumably a card game, seeing as that’s what they usually do when it’s just the two of them. Mac has been trying, somewhat futilely, to teach the girl to bluff better.
“Not this time, New Girl.” She closes her eyes for a moment, hoping the twin image of Erin will fade when they open. It doesn’t. “My head feels like it’s trying to fucking kill me.”
Erin’s lips pout sympathetically. “Wanna just do a movie? We don’t have to do anything strenuous.” Mac nods. Her and Erin are good like that. The other girl is a little clingy (not that Mac minds), and Mac needs a friend who won’t try to kick her ass into gear like Tiff does. The fact that Mac’s offered to beat the shit out of anyone who even so much as looked at Erin in a mean way probably did wonders for their friendship. Even so, it’s a bond she enjoys.
She sits on Missy’s bunk, trying to focus on these thoughts as the room begins to swirl. Time seems to loop. How long as she been here? How long has Erin been gone? God, what the fuck is happening? A bolt of fear shoots through her mind. Where the hell is she, she doesn’t have a bunkbed, oh god oh fuck-
The next couple minutes, when Mac tries to think back on them later, are a hazy blur of indistinct memories and sounds:
Erin’s scream.
Being herded or dragged or carried somewhere.
Her leg kicking rapidly, nothing she thinks able to stop it, but her thoughts are like slimy marbles, and she can’t seem to hold on to them before they slip through her fingers.
Ms. Tieng saying something she doesn’t understand, but she can’t respond even if she could because her mouth seems to have a mind of its own.
“Kid, a seizure isn’t-”
“It isn’t just a seizure!” Erin’s frustrated yell is where Mac’s perception starts to stabilize out. She’s fucking exhausted, and god Erin’s bed feels- wait.
The outside world hits Mac suddenly. They’re outside the Tieng home, and far from a bunkbed she’s currently lying on a stretcher near an ambulance.
“She’s been sick for a while! She vomits all the time, and she always has a headache, she gets all tired and achy and confused-” Erin’s starting to freak out, which feels important, because Christ, what the hell just happened? Mac’s mind is still swimming, but she’s cognizant enough of her surroundings to see the concern that manifests on the face of the paramedic Erin is haranguing.
They take her to the hospital, although they don’t tell her why. Erin comes along in the ambulance, this time without a fight from her mom who no doubt is driving behind them. The other girl is babbling, or at least talking too fast for Mac to really listen in this state.
“Erin. I-I need you to slow the fuck down.” Erin looks slightly hurt, so she amends her statement with a murmured “please.”
She feels just about ready to collapse, but she needs to know what the hell is going on, and she asks as much. Erin’s face screws up in worry.
“You- you had a seizure, and I only stepped away for a little bit, but when I came back…” She stares at Mac, fear building in her eyes. “You were saying nonsense, and you wouldn’t move, but your leg just kept kicking.” Erin seems to tighten up. “I mean, fuck, the only reference I have for this is a fucking Diff’rent Strokes episode!”
Mac lets out an amused exhale, too physically tired to laugh. “Call… Kaje… don’t… Alice…” Her words, a fraction of what she meant, only just escape her mouth before sleep claims her suddenly.
***
KJ is the type of person who’s optimistic on the good days and pessimistic on the bad. She goes whichever way the river tends to be flowing, as her dad once had put it.
The past couple days have proven to be an exception. Because if she doesn’t maintain a determined, forward-facing mentality, she’s going to collapse.
It had been eleven at night when the house phone rang. She’d run to intercept it; after all, only three people would be calling her this late and especially for one of them she does not want her parents deciding to suddenly poke their nose into her social life.
It had been Erin, in halting tones, who told her that Mac had been hospitalized. That’s all it had taken, because the next thing she’d done was call Tiff, whose dad was willing to drive them both there. Not that her parents would bother at this hour. When she tells them she’s going to the hospital to see a friend, their responses are noncommittal hums.
Mac apparently had had a seizure, and as she rushes into the hospital room, KJ disregards the loving eyeroll she gets as she gathers the redhead in a crushing hug.
“I told you!” KJ insists with an undercurrent of anger she’s unable to hide, “I fuckin- sorry Mr. Quilkin-” the man in question, standing near the doorway of the room, shrugs- “I told you something was wrong!”
“Kaje, you’re gonna squeeze me to death before you can chew me out.”
KJ lets out a wet laugh, feeling the tears rise within her, and she slumps back on the hospital bed, letting Mac lean against her
“Stubborn prick,” Tiff growls as she sits on the foot of the bed, glaring at Mac. “I’d punch you if you weren’t hospitalized.” She looks to KJ, who gives an amused nod. “And I have her permission, so there.”
“Oh my god you guys are finally here!” Erin bursts through the door, carrying what has to be a vending machine’s worth of junk food, and unceremoniously flops on the other side of Tiff. The candy gets dumped on Mac’s feet.
“This is why we kept you around.” Erin looks back, sees her mom eyeing up Mr. Quilkin suspiciously, and takes the opportunity to flip Mac off.
They talk, and joke, and laugh, and she tries to take her mind off what could be wrong with her girlfriend.
The next morning marks the start of a new routine for KJ. She wakes up and bikes to school, usually accompanied by a quieter Tiff and more anxious Erin. She goes through the day, doing as much work and homework as she can cram into each period. Field hockey practice happens. This is the first half of her day, and it is done with a preppy rigor. The moment she gets out of practice, it’s a quick shower at her house before a phone call to the only taxi service in Stony Stream. Her delivery earnings are eaten up paying for it.
She then spends as many hours as she can by Mac’s side, tamping down her worry. Mrs. Quilkin works at the hospital, and so manages to pull some strings to get her in even when visiting hours are closed.
On a blistering Monday in December, she manages to stumble through the blessings and the menorah lighting, grateful as her bubbe gives her a knowing smile and shoos her off as her parents look for the dreidel.
She meets Tiff’s mom in the lobby, who guides her to waiting room on the same floor as Mac’s. To her displeasure, the rest of the Coyle household is sitting there too, looking none-too-happy themselves.
“Lesbo,” Dylan mutters as she walks past, and KJ has to repress the urge to turn his face into pulp, instead choosing to sit down and pretend to read a magazine. Mr. Coyle looks vaguely pissed, which could be for any number of reasons, but likely the hospital bills. Which she can almost sympathize with, if she hadn’t seen the bruises that bastard’s left on his daughter. Alice surprisingly is there, looking somewhat more alert than she’s ever seen her. Dylan just seems uninterested.
Mac has been subject to a battery of tests and despite her refusal to succumb to despair, the fact that her girlfriend is currently undergoing a brain biopsy (a term that made her blanch when she cracked open a medical textbook to look it up) is causing her heart to jackhammer. For what feels like forever, she sits there, staring at the same article about the Rwandan civil war. Her daze is broken when Doctor Quilkin taps her lightly on the shoulder.
“Honey, we- we need to talk.” She has a look that tells KJ that something is wrong, this tight-lipped grimace that stays with her as the doctor leads her down the corridor.
Mrs. Quilkin’s office feels cramped as she slides into one of the chairs. There’s a single picture on the desk, one of Tiff and her parents. Mrs. Quilkin looks at it for a moment, sighs, then sits, crossing her arms on the desk.
“I know you and MacKenzie are…” she pauses, as if trying to find the right word, “close.” KJ grabs her necklace out of pure nervousness, tugging at it as she tries to control her breathing. Nothing good ever starts out with a sentence like that.
“Right now, her family is getting a similar talk.” The woman looks down at her desk, looking slightly perturbed. And that’s when she says the sentence that knocks the air out of KJ’s lungs.
“We don’t have the full confirmation, but from preliminary analysis of the biopsy combined with the results of the other scans, Mac likely has a form of primary CNS lymphoma-” Mrs. Quilkin pauses, mustering the courage to look her in the eyes when she finishes, “to put it simply, brain cancer.”
She then launches on a tangent about long term treatment and other words that don’t seem to make a dent. Because what KJ focuses on is that her girlfriend has fucking brain cancer. And all she can do is blink. Nothing is real, she’s dreaming. She has to be dreaming. For a singular moment, KJ almost laughs. This is absurd!
Eventually, her body forces her to take a breath, then another, then another, until she’s ripping through them without even taking air in. The back of her neck begins to ache, and it’s only until Doctor Quilkin’s next to her that she realizes she’s still pulling on her necklace.
The woman doesn’t say anything, just places a steadying hand on her back and uses the other to release KJ’s grip on the necklace, finger by finger. “This isn’t going to be easy, and that’s… that’s a huge understatement, if I’m honest.” By now, KJ’s breaths have stabilized somewhat, even as her mind races at a mile a minute. “Honey, listen to me.” Mrs. Quilkin positions herself in front of her.
“This isn’t necessarily a death sentence. MacKenzie could very well beat this. But she’s going to need a lot of support,” she shakes her head slightly, “and we both know her family isn’t equipped for that. It’s not fair to ask this of you but being there and being strong will do just as much as any treatment we can give her.”
With shuddering breaths, KJ makes herself nod. She can do that. Mac is going to be going through hell, and who else to help her through? Her mind starts to slow down a bit. She can do this. As long as she can stay determined, this is just another challenge to overcome. A monstrously more difficult one, sure. But doable, so long as there’s a chance.
KJ inhales, exhales. She’s going to do this, one grueling day at a time.
***
“Aw, sick!”
Mac spits the blood from her mouth, cringing at the crimson stain that covers her toothbrush. Not that she hadn’t been warned that this was a side-effect, but that still. Nasty business.
1991 is proving to be a tumultuous year- at least, that’s what Erin tells her. She’s never read a paper in her life. But things in her life are crazy enough as it is.
She tugs on her jacket as she makes her way back to the main room, dragging her IV behind her. The weather has been all over the place, as per the usual with April, but so far the hospital had decided to just keep the AC on. Lucky she had gotten the chest IV then; at least she can wear something she likes.
“What’d you bleed out of this time?” KJ asks playfully, drumming her fingers on the book they’re reading as she lays back on the bed. Fire on the Mountain. They’d gotten through Frankenstein just last week, and both of them had deemed it a little too morbid given everything. Her girlfriend, wonderful as she was, had taken a day to hit up Cleveland with the Quilkins for books- Mac had requested rare ones, ones she’s never heard of. KJ had delivered, and the box of finds sits stashed near the corner of her room.
“Gums. The sink looks like Carrie at prom.” KJ helps her into the bed, and she take a moment to appreciate the solid warmth of the girl besides her.
“Dang, guess I can’t kiss you anymore.” Kaje shrugs, tilting her head slightly. “Don’t want my mouth to come back all bloody.”
“Bullshit!” she protests, aware of the flush that’s broken out across her cheeks. At this point, who gives a fuck? Her own stupid body is trying to kill her or something. She’s not going to hide if some orderly walks in on them: what’re they gonna do, discharge her for a make-out session with a girl?
KJ concedes with a dramatic huff, leaning in for a quick peck before flipping the book back open. It’s been a bizarre read; even understanding the dedication required research, and it’s only gotten heavier from there. The narrative is pretty cool, but her knowledge of history is, uh, limited if she’s being nice to herself. KJ does the research during school and reports back on context- when she attends, that is. Tiff’s told her that there are days the brunette doesn’t attend, although she doesn’t mention it to Kaje.
Mac’s usually too tired to read, which fucking blows because that’s like, her one hobby besides smoking (which no one here lets her do) and making tapes (she has to rely on whatever Dylan delivers now). Letting her girlfriend read to her is calming as hell though, and it makes her forget that she’s starting to look and feel like a walking corpse.
They get through page after page, KJ’s narration lulling her into a trance, and they’re at the harrowing standoff in the church when Alice walks into the room.
Her stepmom looks… well she doesn’t look like shit as much as she used to, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the new weird Alice.
The woman’s hands flutter around slightly, as if trying to find something to do. KJ tenses up, and Mac shifts imperceptibly off of her, but they don’t let go of each other’s hands. After a moment of silence, Alice settles on an awkward wave.
“Hello, Karina.”
“Ms. Coyle.” KJ intones. Whenever she comes around, the expressive Kaje she loves to observe disappears, in her place a carefully schooled expression of neutrality.
Her stepmom is hauling a small suitcase. “The thrift store was having a sale and-” wordlessly, she begins to take clothing out to fold, looking away like Mac’s gaze hurts. Which maybe it does. But going from a drunk asshole to someone who is trying to care means having to deal with people who aren’t going to kiss your ass and pat you on the back.
She thinks Alice knows this. Maybe it’s worth giving her a shot to prove that she isn’t as fucked as her father and the drunk coma she’s been told he now permanently inhabits. After all, Alice had actually fucking quit drinking. Talk about a cliché.
“No dresses, right?” Mac asks, injecting the tiniest drop of humor in her question. Alice looks up and blinks. “N-no, no dresses. I wouldn’t dare.” The woman’s lips quirk up slightly, and she seems to relax a little.
KJ gives her a curious look out of the corner of her eye. This is the same girl who swore she’d teach her dad a lesson with her hockey stick the night Mac had showed up with fist marks trailing down her back. Kaje probably hates the Coyle household more than she does.
It’s really only because of her, Tiff, and Erin that she even realized that the way things were at home aren’t exactly ideal. Not that she thought it was great before, but as it turns out shit homes produce shit people. Mac’s not going to be her father, whether she has 100 days, or 100 fucking years left.
Alice carries on in a more comfortable silence before she checks her watch and startles. “My break ends soon… I’ll be back tomorrow?” It’s a real question, one she can actually say no to. Mac ends up shrugging. After Alice leaves, KJ’s stony face relaxes into a frown.
“You know you’re not obligated to give her a second- or really, like, tenth- chance?” The taller girl shuffles down the length of the bed, finally placing her head in Mac’s lap. KJ knows she loves to fiddle with her hair, and the fact that her girlfriend seems to sense what Mac wants makes her throat tighten with affection.
“Yeah, I know,” she scoffs, running her fingers through tight curls. “But she’s not actively being a bitch anymore. It’s something.” KJ grunts but doesn’t get the chance to say anything more, because suddenly Mac’s stomach heaves and she has to thrust her torso over the side of the bed to hurl today’s lunch into a small trashcan.
Most of her days are variations of this. Half sickness, half comfort, half the weird space in between. She tries to make up with her stepmom and gets injected with drugs that make her shit her brains out and lose hair in patches. Duality of man or whatever.
Then there’s the times she’s alone, with nothing to do but let fatigue and whatever else chemo wants to cook up for her wreak havoc while the TV whispers in the background. Where there’s no KJ, no Erin or Tiff, not even Alice. Just nurses, doctors, and the creeping feeling that maybe this is all pointless.
Her body is going to waste, her life already has, and sometimes Mac thinks she’s dragging everyone else in that direction too. Who wants to be friends with a person who’s might not even make it? Who can’t do anything with you? Fuck that, who wants to date someone like that? She feels like a spider that’s accidentally snared a fly, expect instead of wriggling away the fly keeps trying to leap into her jaws. Sometimes she expects to be told that KJ won’t be coming anymore. That she’s identified Mac as the ball and chain she really is. She doesn’t think she’d blame her girlfriend for that.
But Kaje comes in nearly every day, and Erin and Tiff when they can, and Mac gradually has to acknowledge that maybe people give more a shit about her than she thought.
“Of course we give a shit about you!” Erin protests, throwing a skein of yarn at her from her position near the foot of the bed. “What she said,” Tiff grumbles, staring at the knitting needles with enough intensity to melt them to slag as she fiddles around on her chair.
“Aren’t you trying to be like, a senator or something?” Mac picks up the skein and tries to chuck it back, rolling her eyes as it flops to the bed. Stupid atrophied muscles. “Do they have knitting sessions in D.C.?”
Tiff puts down the needles and the yarn abomination attached with a look of disgust. “First of all, you’re right, knitting is stupid.” Erin pouts. “And secondly, real subtle attempt to change the topic.”
The girl gets up and marches over to her bedside. “I could be doing a whole lot more than this! I have big dreams, you know.”
“Tiff-”
Her friend cocks her head. “But here I am, trying to knit you a fucking chemo cap. MacKenzie Coyle,” and here Mac glares at Erin for not even trying to hide her sniggering, “you are an idiot if you think that we’re going to stop coming.”
She opens her mouth, but Tiff clearly isn’t done, because she levels a look at Mac that could scare off a fucking T-Rex. “And if you think that KJ- KJ! Karina Jóźwiak Brandman! - is going to drop you…”
“Alright, Alright! Like a fucking barracuda, this one!” But Mac’s laughing so hard it hurts, for the first time in months. Tiff’s seriousness is starting to crack. “You can’t protect me from her, you know, the literal cancer patient?” She coughs out between chuckles, looking Erin’s way, but Erin’s cackling just as hard.
These are the gems that get her through her time, that make the hours tick by without her going fucking insane. Maybe it cramps her style to admit it, but she loves her friends, loves her girlfriend, and literally could not fucking ask for a better trio of supporters.
After all, they help Mac forget that her life is dangling from a very expensive thread.
***
This is the fifth fight this month KJ’s having with her parents, and it’s the worst one yet.
“What do you need that money for? Another fucking cocktail party? A second boat?”
“Karina, you need to shut your mouth right damn now!” Dad bellows, face stark red as he slams a fist on the table. The plate of steak in front of him trembles.
If there’s one thing she’s inherited from him though, it’s his refusal to ever back down. “Think of it as another foundation to donate to-” she can feel her face distort in rage as she spits out the next two words, “tax benefits.”
“Have you lost your damn mind? This family is not a charity!” Her mother squawks indignantly, “You don’t even sound like an American!” Her father instantly shoots his wife a glare, because now KJ feels another wave of anger. That was a statement fully designed to set her off.
“Well, what fucking good has that done? You voted for the guy who made treating my girlfriend more expensive! Twice! At this point you might as well owe her!” KJ spits, head shaking as fury courses through her.
Mom rolls her eyes, scowling. “We’ve been over this Karina. We didn’t give you trouble with the lesbianism, but I will not have you sounding like a Bolshevik!”
“Ugh! This is such selfish bullshit!” She shoots up from her chair, making for the stairs.
“Get back here right this instant, young lady!” Her father storms up after her but stops when KJ fixes him with a glare as she steps into her room.
“What’re you going to do, dad? Make Mac more sick?” With that, she slams the door behind her with a resounding thud. She’s twitching, so full of energy she could fucking explode. KJ manages to close her eyes and take a deep breath, trying to channel the wrath out of her. In and out, over and over, until her entire world is just a measured inhale and exhale.
Gradually, her hands manage to still, her head clears, and she opens her eyes. Grabbing the bag she’s hidden under her bed, she unlocks the only window in her room, crawls out of it into the neighboring tree, and shimmies down. Unlike her parents, comfortable in their excess, KJ actually has real obligations beyond impressing everyone on their street.
Her life… her life is falling apart if she’s being honest. But KJ is far better at lying than she used to be, even to herself.
It goes like this: KJ wakes up at six in the morning, and stares at the ceiling of her room for about half an hour. It’s time she always feels guilty about, but it’s the only period outside of the hospital she’s capable of taking a breather. This guilt will eventually force her to start her day.
It goes like this: KJ hasn’t attended a full week of school in months, not even when tenth grade started. Her teachers are probably used to her absence, but she truly could not give more of a shit. School is a distraction, school is seven hours of the day she can’t be productive in. So she skips, and instead bikes her way to the shitty pizza place near the mall. Even with her work papers there are restrictions, but the owners are willing to look the other way only because she begs them for more. Paper delivery simply doesn’t pay enough.
It goes like this: Her coach has stopped calling home about missing practices. Not that she liked anyone on that team anyway, but the sport had at one time been something she was good at. All that’s left of it now is her uniform and her stick. She gets enough of a work-out with all the deliveries she makes anyways. And besides, if she gets called a kike or a dyke (“They rhyme!” Mac had once drily observed) on the field, she’s pretty sure she’ll snap.
It goes like this: She doesn’t make much, but it’s not for her anyway. Every Friday afternoon, KJ visits the Coyle household. Not that she goes in, not that she ever again wants to enter the place that contains so much of Mac’s pain. But this is the most important part of her week. Like clockwork, she walks into the garage to find Alice and Dylan, both with grim looks on their faces. None of them are big fans of each other. What needs to be done, however, supersedes that fact by a wide margin.
Because this, she knows Mac suspects but never tells her outright. That Alice is working three jobs. That Dylan’s taken a position at the same plant as Mr. Coyle. That in those damp September evenings, they pool their earnings along with whatever can be skimmed from Mac’s dad without him getting angry. The bastard barely works anyway, preferring to sleep all day and drink all night. There’s a reason Alice stays with a friend most nights, that Dylan’s taking to sleeping in his car. All to try to help pay for treatment after treatment, as loans and bills stack up endlessly.
This particular week, after they dump their earnings with Alice, she sits on the curb and thinks of trying to score a second job. It’s then that Dylan plops down next to her. There’s an awkward silence for a minute.
“You want a smoke?” KJ almost laughs in his face, because that’s pretty much the only conversation starter that would even work on her from him.
She nods. One can’t hurt her at this point. He passes her a cigarette and his lighter, and she only hesitates for half a second before she lights it and inhales.
As it turns out, it’s fucking disgusting, and she says as much. But despite that nastiness, there’s a relaxing buzz that leads her to take more puffs.
“Listen, I’m… I’m sorry I was such a prick to you.” She almost falls off the curb in shock, but Dylan continues, not looking at her. “You’ve done a shit ton for my sister, more than that” he gestures to the house proper, “miserable sack in there by a long shot.”
KJ extracts the cigarette from her mouth and grounds it against the pavement. “What made you decide to stop being such a fuckhead?” Dylan’s face distorts in anger, but whatever he’s about to say dies in his throat suddenly, turning into a grunt.
“I never meant… god, I just kept acting like Dad, didn’t I?” He still looks angry, but more at himself. “I hated him- still fucking do- but I just ended up being him.”
Dylan clenches his jaw. “I always thought- scratch that, I didn’t think at all.” His hands fiddle with the lighter seemingly without him noticing. “But I’m thinking now, and I’m thinking I want my sister, the little shit that she is, to stay alive long enough to get the fuck out of here.”
KJ nods slowly. She’d never known Dylan to be introspective- never really knew him at all despite Mac’s admiration, which had dimmed in the years since they’d become close. But the teenager is trying, like Alice, and sure, it took fucking brain cancer to get them to step up. They’re doing it though, and KJ finds it in herself to be grateful.
“But just you know, you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried,” KJ says matter-of-factly, staring at him with a pointed expression, “I’m the Jew bitch dating your sister.” He flinches slightly as she spits words she knows he once thought back at him. Then his mouth upturns slightly.
“Wouldn’t dream of trying.” There’s a measure of grudging respect in his tone, and she leaves with a little more hope than she usually allows herself to feel. But as much as she’d love to jet over to Mac and tell her all about how her brother is like, actually becoming a better person, that’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
Fridays are unique for an additional reason. And that reason is that she shows up at the Tieng household, so that Mrs. Tieng can drive her and Erin to one of the many libraries KJ has mapped out in the greater Cleveland area. She mutters a polite xiè xiè to the woman as they disembark the car, and then the two girls get to work.
“I found a pamphlet of Revolutionary Medicine,” Erin whispers as they comb the shelves. “That’s Che, right?” The other girl nods. Perfect. Some light reading to compliment the journal issues already in hand.
Erin’s political interests had gotten more eclectic as time went on, and while KJ wouldn’t necessarily call herself a “Bolshevik”, her mother’s accusation was closer to the truth when it came to her friend. Not that they didn’t share a good chunk of opinions at this point, but most of her reading is to Mac. Erin can rip through Newton and Foner, Cornforth and Burchett, Parenti and Du Bois, and formulate all sorts of opinions. KJ is stuck chewing her way through whatever medical journals she can find on her one free day.
She was never the biggest fan of reading recreationally. But KJ has adapted to the times, and that’s what this library trips represent. In one hand, books she knows Mac will like. In the other, journals and reference books, because she needs to know what’s happening in that realm of science. Why Mac isn’t getting better. Why her girlfriend is now getting radiation treatment. Why the fucking tumors in her head keep coming back. Why Mac might die because she had the misfortune of being born poor. If something, anything, new had been developed to cure her. And somewhere along the way Erin had looped her into whatever radicalization the girl was undergoing. At least it was something else, a distraction from the counter in her head that's constantly reminding her about Mac’s chances. And really, in dealing with the hydra that was the healthcare system, how can she not start to view the system with contempt?
“Kaje, you there?” Erin’s face takes up her view, and she realizes she’s slumping against a bookshelf in a daze. “I, uh, I’m just a little tired.”
Erin frowns. “You have bags an half an inch thick under your eyes.” KJ just shrugs at that, not really wanting to admit how worn out she suddenly feels. But Erin guides her to one of the reading rooms anyway, dropping their selections on a side table as her friend forces her to sit on a sofa.
“I- You look terrible.” Erin’s eyes widen at her own statement. “Sorry, no, I didn’t…” She sighs, shaking her head. “KJ, you’re ripping yourself apart!”
KJ whips her head around to face her friend. “Compared to what Mac’s dealing with, this is nothing,” She snaps, “Save your fucking worry.” Erin shrinks away slightly but doesn’t back down. “Mac has cancer! But you run yourself ragged, you get barely any sleep, you see her six days a week…” Erin inches closer again, as if testing the water.
“When’s the last time you actually relaxed?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow at KJ, before hastily adding, “That wasn’t at the hospital?”
Outside of the hospital? Well, never really, not since all of this started. Her personal life had been whittled away into nothing because what the hell’s the point of having one if her fucking girlfriend dies? As exhausted as she feels, at least this gives her a purpose, prevents her from drifting around like a rudderless ship in a hurricane.
But she knows how that sounds. Under Erin’s scrutinizing gaze, she just says nothing. And doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know? The other girl wraps her in a hug then, and KJ feels the urge to close her eyes, just give herself a moment of rest.
The medical journals beckon from the corner of her eye. She stifles the urge and extracts herself from Erin, ignoring the look she gets.
When Mac’s not deathly ill, she’ll relax. And if KJ runs herself into the ground making sure her girlfriend is has a better chance? That’s a sacrifice she’s willing to make.
***
It’s late December when Mac starts to suspect that she’s not going to make it out of this alive.
She’s not that much of a dunce. She can see the look on the doctors’ faces. That alone would be enough to clue her in. But the percentage she’d manage to badger out of Tiff’s mom? Yeah, not great odds.
For some reason, it doesn’t scare her as much as she’d expected. Even as she grows more emaciated, even as the drugs and the radiation leave her a complete mess, as her hair falls out in clumps and her body runs itself ragged, the idea of death just doesn’t feel real. Adults always complain that teenagers think they’re invincible and fuck her if this isn’t the ultimate proof of that.
Anyways. Mac sees more than those around her let on. She knows, for example, that Kaje is running herself ragged. That she’s on the knife’s edge of being kicked out of the hospital as the price tag wracks up. None of this is fair, in any direction. But that’s life, she supposes, and it’s never fucking bothered being fair before any of this either.
The days drag by, and the consideration begins to feel farcical. Unreal, almost. A funny thought to store in the back of her head. And fate, or God, or whatever dickhead’s pulling the strings still has some surprises for her yet.
Like when Alice comes in on a blustery afternoon. Snow whips past her window, wind howling as it rattles the panes. Too thick to allow visitors, and yet here her stepmother was. Weird.
She hasn’t had much one-on-one time with the woman. Usually, Kaje or her friends are here, naturally limiting their interactions. Alice has caught her alone this time.
The woman approaches Mac as if she’s a rabid animal who’ll bite her hand off or something. Not that inaccurate, she thinks wryly. Being a hard-ass is her nature, cancer or no.
Alice hesitates, glancing between her and the chairs that line the wall. Mac makes the first move, shifting her legs to the side. Her stepmom hurries forwards, looking relieved as she lowers herself on to the bed and casts off her coat. Neither says a word for what feels like an hour.
Finally, Alice cocks her head. “I just came to see how you were doing.” The statement leaves her in a rush and all at once, like air out of a popped balloon.
Mac snorts, only a little derisively. “Still wasting away, but other than that? Peachy-fucking-keen.” Alice flinches before letting out a huff.
“Silly question, I know…” She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “I didn’t want you to be by yourself.”
Statements like this still surprise her. Alice’s been doing plenty of nice shit since the diagnosis, and Mac’s been letting that happen without giving her a hard time. It’s been their informal deal, and it’s not total crap. Like she’d told KJ, why not give her a chance to be a decent person? This newfound arrangement, however, didn’t imply closeness. If anything, things were more awkward than when her stepmom was a dozing lump on the couch.
But hell, it’s worth building something a little more lasting with Alice.
“I could always use the company.” She settles on, a stunning endorsement by her own standards. The risk of an awkward silence looms, so Mac takes preemptive action. “You get any good tapes recently?”
Alice gives her a small smile. “I’m not sure our music tastes are that similar-” Mac snorts, and her stepmom seems to relax slightly at this, “but I heard an awful racket that I knew you’d like.” She produces a tape from her purse and hands it to her.
“No More Tears? Fuck yeah, Alice!” God, it’s been a minute since she’s listened to anything by Ozzy, and she’ll take new music no questions asked. Mac flashes a toothy grin. “Maybe you’ve got a little heavy metal in you, huh?”
Alice giggles. “MacKenzie, I’m neither “heavy” nor “metal” in the slightest.” She pauses in a look of mock consideration, “Not unless Janet Jackson counts?”
Mac sputters, unable to contain her outrage. “That’s- she’s a whole other genre, not even close!” Alice laughs, a short, melodic sound, and it strikes Mac that this is the first time she’s ever heard a genuine one out of her.
“Dad isn’t giving you shit, is he?” Alice’s smile instantly drops into a frown. She expected that, obviously. It’s a mood killer if there ever was one. A necessary one.
“I… I don’t see him much anymore.” Mac nods forcefully. “Good. Fuck that dipshit.” Mr. Coyle didn’t discriminate with his fists. What a fucking prick.
Alice offers a somewhat pained grin. “He’s drunker than I ever was, I think.” Jesus. Despite it all, some part of her is extremely happy she’s not been home. “You stay the hell out of there, you hear me?” Mac sneers in disgust as she says this. She’s probably gonna die of cancer, and he’s still the most miserable Coyle there is. Alice swears to her (and isn’t that funny? A thirty-something year old swearing to a teenager?) that she’s staying out, and the rest of her visit is remarkably pleasant.
The next time she sees Alice, it’s when everything goes to shit.
They’ve switched back to chemo, so she already feels even more like garbage than usual when Doctor Quilkin walks into the room. Tiff’s mom is a fucking hero, in her book. She’s pulled every string, put pressure on every point, done everything possible to keep her here in spite of mounting costs. But the expression on the woman’s face is one she’s never seen before. Lips pursed, face set, and an inscrutable emotion behind her eyes.
Alice and Dylan are supposed to be here for some stupid meeting, but that fact slips to the back of her mind as the woman takes a seat next to Mac’s bed.
“How’re you doing, Mac?”
“Don’t bullshit me.” Is her response. “You came in here all weird, so just spit it out.” Mrs. Quilkin lips quirk into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re a girl who cuts right to the chase. I get it.”
She leans forward, crossing her legs. “Mac, we’ve been monitoring the growth of the tumors in your brain for a while now. And I have yet to lie to you about our progress, because first of all,” she holds out a finger, “you’re definitely savvy enough to detect it, and second of all,” another finger shoots out, “as a doctor, honesty with our patients is the best policy.”
A cold fear seizes Mac then. Because she knows what this fucking conversation is leading to, it’s so obvious what’s going to be said. But her mind refuses to consider it, and so she’s stuck listening to Doctor Quilkin as her heart starts to pound.
The doctor places a warm hand on Mac’s arm. “Yours is a very aggressive permutation. And given the level of treatment you’ve received…” Her eyes flick down, before finding their way back up to her face. “It’s not realistic to say that we’ll be able to get rid of them.”
Mac’s heart is jackhammering at this point, and goddamnit she can see the fucking finish line. But Mrs. Quilkin still pushes her over it anyway, her words making it official. “At this point, your condition is likely terminal.”
And there it is, chiseled into fucking stone.
“Oh.” That’s all that comes to mind. Just, “Oh.” The anxiety of the past minute drains out of her.
She is going to die. No emotion comes to the forefront, just an overwhelming numbness. And as Doctor Quilkin continues the conversation, she finds her answers are just as numb. No, she can’t go home. Hospice was probably too expensive at this point, so staying in the hospital is fine. Yes, Mrs. Quilkin can tell Alice and Dylan and no, she doesn’t want to be there for that conversation. She’ll handle telling her friends, and gee isn’t that a laugh, that she’ll get to tell the woman’s daughter?
There’re assurances that they don’t really know how long her life will last at this point, that they can make it comfortable, that she won’t be alone. It all seems to miss her, because Mac just sits there, just as numb, as Doctor Quilkin goes to tell her family.
It still doesn’t feel real. Except it is. And that part of her, that teenage invincibility that made her think she might get out of this, crumples like wet paper.
She’s numb when Alice rushes into the room to wrap her in the most loving gesture she’s ever received. She’s numb to the fact that Dylan looks angry as fuck, ready to murder something. She barely gets any sleep, and when Mac wakes up it’s like she never even slept at all because she can’t make herself feel anything about the fact that she’s going to die soon.
This only changes later that day, when absent Dylan and Alice, Kaje, Erin, and Tiff show up. Like they always do. Because they care about her, the same her that’s going to die.
She was never any good at hiding her feelings. Anger masks most everything, but who can she be angry at? A God that doesn’t exist? Cancer? So when the trio walk in and see her hollow-eyed stare, it’s pretty fucking clear something is wrong.
Kaje immediately moves to her side in concern, while Tiff and Erin adopt their usual positions near her feet. The numbness feels loud, this buzzing emptiness that means that when her girlfriend asks what’s wrong, she barely hears.
KJ wraps a hand around one of hers, the callouses from years of field hockey and bike riding rubbing softly against her now-scrawny fingers. Despite that, Mac’s always remarked at how smooth her hands felt. And feeling those rough-and-yet-smooth hands, the implication that she will lose these little displays of affection crashes into her. She’s going to die, and holy fuck, knowing that feels horrible.
That’s all it takes. Hot tears build in her eyes and spill over her cheeks. Her friends look shocked, but KJ just looks scared.
“I’m gonna-” she blurts out, the emotional burden of it all flooding through her, “It’s fatal.”
KJ freezes immediately, face slackening. “What?” Tiff exclaims, eyes bulging in shock, but she can’t even answer through her sobs. “Oh my god,” Erin whispers, distraught as the words hit her, “oh my god oh my god ohmygodohmy-”
“No,” KJ lets out a giggle, a panicky, pained thing, “No, no, this isn’t-” A full battle seems to play out on her girlfriend’s face, and Mac can only watch through her own tears as reality crushes her to a pulp.
Tiff starts to cry first of the three, then KJ, then Erin, and they curl around her as they weep. It’s just the four of them, sobbing on a hospital bed for god knows how long, a collective shattering of hope.
Today’s the first day of the end of her life. Start the fucking countdown.
***
KJ doesn’t go to school or work anymore.
There really isn’t a point. Is there a point to anything? To continue to go on with this farce, all the menial bullshit of day-to-day life? Mac is dying, Mac is going to fucking die. The world should stop at this, she thinks, time should freeze. But one second turns to the next, the planet continues to spin, and the rest of the universe does its thing, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her fucking girlfriend is going to die.
She’d spent the past day on the back porch of her house, staring at the sky. Watching the sun explode with color above the horizon, traverse across the sky, then begin its slow climb back down. And then she remembers the hospital, Mac, a shadow of what she once was, a terrible confession over tears.
Not that she could fucking forget how “It’s fatal” had gutted her, ripped her open, and she hasn’t bothered to put the pieces back. But sometimes the realization that Mac could likely count her time left on Earth in months rather than decades creeps up on her, the full implications of death bearing down on her suddenly.
All it does it make her angry, the only other emotion besides despondence she’s capable of feeling now. Pushing herself up from the porch, the rage screams at her, accusations that she didn’t do enough, of laziness, of failing to prevent the worst possible version of the future from happening.
In that barrage, she picks up her disused hockey stick from its year-long rest against the back of her house. Her breathing barely under control, KJ flexes her hands around the wood of the stick. The world seems to go red, and what catches her attention then is a boombox, placed on a table in the backyard proper.
It was a birthday present from her parents, a futile attempt to bridge a relationship irreparably damaged. Left out here in the aftermath of some party or soiree or stupid fucking rich people gatherings. High-quality, sleek, modern. Expensive.
That’s all it takes for KJ to bring the makeshift weapon up over her head, and with a howl of fury she drives it down through the machine’s center. There’s loud crunch as the toe of the stick rips through the front of the boombox, and bits of plastic come spilling out.
It’s still fairly intact, however, and all this serves to do is fuel the instinct to hit it again. And again. And again. Like a robot, it’s all she can do. Lift, swing, smash.
Mac is going to die. Lift. Nothing can change that. Swing. And she’ll have to live in that post-Mac world. Smash.
Reality seems to blur, and she’s unsure of when the boombox is rendered so mangled that there’s nothing left to hit. But that isn’t enough.
“KJ!”
The bird feeder hanging from the shed gets bludgeoned into an unrecognizable shape.
“Holy fuck, Kaje-”
A flowerpot shatters, clumps of dirt exploding outwards as she brings the heel of the stick down on it.
“KJ, STOP!”
With a final, snarling heave, she whirls the stick into one of the stone fountains. A tearing noise rips through the air, and the stick itself finally splinters in two as shards of wood go flying. It’s then that she sees Tiffany in the backyard with her, worry written plain on her face.
“Tiff, what… when did you-”
“I’ve been here for two minutes trying to get your damn attention!” The girl shouts, and what really makes KJ flag is the undercurrent of fear that makes it into her friend’s usual stubbornness. “I…”
Nothing comes to mind. The rage seems to leave her immediately, and all she can do is slump to the grass on her knees.
Tiff sighs, crouches down next to her, and wraps KJ in a bear hug. She doesn’t protest, just lets Tiff squeeze, and sniffles into the other girl’s hair.
“I can’t do this,” she whimpers, “it’s-it’s not fair.”
Tiff pulls back, looking her straight in the eye. “No, it’s not.” Her friend swallows heavily. “But you’re going to have to keep going anyway.”
Objectively, KJ knows this. Her life won’t end at sixteen with her girlfriend’s, not unless she makes it end, and she would be lying if she said the thought never crossed her mind. Part of her knows she’s too fucking angry to keel over anyways. There will be a KJ that comes out the other side of this.
However, she’s going to be left here, and Mac will be gone. And something in her mind just can’t accept that.
Tiff lets go of her briefly, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her midsection. “It really isn’t fair, is it?” She remarks, and KJ shakes her head.
Her friend gives a bitter smile. “Out of all of us, goddamn. Always thought Mac would live forever.” KJ lets out a choked laugh. “Me too. That’s why it had to be cancer, because otherwise she’d have beat the snot out of the grim reaper if he came for her directly.”
Tiff wipes away the tears that have pooled in the corner of her eyes, chuckling. “She’d rip him apart verbally too. That bony bitch wouldn’t have know what hit him.”
They sit, watching the early February sunset. Finally, Tiff stands. “Wanna go see your girlfriend, or you have anything else you need to hulk out on?”
KJ looks down at her hands, scratched and likely covered in tiny splinters. She still feels awful. But it’s a slightly more manageable awful. “Let’s go.”
“Manageably awful, but barely” could be the slogan of her life, as the early months of 1992 drag on. Every minute is a lesson in trying to not to get overwhelmed at the enormity of what’s going to happen. And that’s kind of the worst thing about it. It’s like the guillotine blade got stuck in the wood supports. Any second, it’ll come rushing down. All there is to do is wait.
Mac is given steroids, because apparently the tumors in her head are growing too big. She complains about it sometimes. That there’s a pressure in her head apparently. “Like some dickhead is pushing his thumb against the inside of my skull,” is the way she puts it.
KJ drifts through the remains of her life, on the knife’s edge of a breakdown. Her parents barely interact with her anymore, and she thinks they’re at least decent enough to leave her alone given everything. Almost every second of time is spent in the hospital, just soaking in as much of her girlfriend as possible. Before fate rips her away.
Mac, though, seems to have recaptured some of herself, because even as the drowsiness gets worse, as the dose of painkillers and antiemetics raises to stop the headaches and nausea, the girl begins to takes it in stride. She jokes about will-writing, tells Erin that she’d better learn how to fight (which Erin swears to do with that wide-eyed seriousness), manages to beat Tiff in a game of Tetris on the Gameboy she brings in one day to everyone’s shock and duly rubs it in their faces.
Her girlfriend is trying to enjoy her time left. And KJ tries to do it with her. At the hospital, at least, it’s easy to do. There’s a contagious spirit to dying, it seems.
Outside of that atmosphere, KJ’s time is a nebulous, bizarre cavalcade of misery and desperation.
She starts to pray. The Brandman’s are not a particularly devout family. The major holidays get celebrated in an awkwardly secular way (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Passover, Hannukah, Sukkot, and especially in regards to her bubbe, Yom HaShoah), shabbat was shrugged off, and she can’t even remember the last time she was in a synagogue for anything other than a wedding.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. So to a G-d she only sort of believes in, she begs for help in half-remembered Hebrew.
“Mi Sheberach, Avoteinu: Avraham, Yitzhak…”
Mac doesn’t get better, but she keeps praying anyway. In bed when she can’t stay at the hospital, over a sleeping Mac as the girl leans on her, as she moves aimlessly through the day. It’s a measure of comfort, a brief surrender of control to something far grander than her.
Her reading habits go berserk, pulling in whatever Erin throws at her. A volume of the collected works of Lenin one day, a dime store paperback starring Godzilla the next, a history of the Boxer Rebellion the day after that. Anything, fiction or nonfiction, to get her mind off of the horrid weight of the present. It’s a futile task to lose herself in a book though, because real world always comes back to bite.
Her dreams start to get weirder too. Most of them are of Mac, but in some the sky is purple, or there’s a horrible screeching coming from something in the air, or there’s blood on her clothes that she really needs to get off.
One night, she drifts off in her bed, angry and tired and all the usual mix of bullshit. And she dreams of this:
There’s a man, sitting in her desk chair. Dark-skinned, sandals and socks, greying wild hair, and an oversized t-shirt.
He smiles, but there’s danger in that gesture. The smile of someone who knows far too much.
“Kid, I’ve gotta be honest. I don’t do these return trips usually.” Behind him, a bald woman in white stands stiff. KJ can’t move, can’t speak, can only watch as he steeples his fingers and regards her with a cool gaze. “But I liked your girlfriend. She was- well, is, for now- a fighter, but she also knew when the jig was up.”
The woman cringes. “Grand Father, this is-” He holds up a hand. “Prioress is a bit of a stickler, even for us.”
Grand Father leans forward. “You should take a hint from your redheaded paramour, Romeo.” He smirks. “Despite the absolute mess you guys made,” he wags a finger, “I like you rascals! Keeping tabs on you girls will be a neat little side-project.”
There’s a beeping, and the woman- Prioress? – holds out her forearm, where something is blinking red. “Grand Father, the war beckons.” The man rolls his eyes. “Back to the grind. But like I said, your girl’s got the right idea. Take it easy, killer.”
Then the world goes violet, and she’s shooting up, sweat covering her face, and the only thing she remembers is a patronizing voice and its message: “Your time is your time.”
The days pass by, and then it’s Mac 16th birthday.
KJ walks into the hospital room, wrapped gift in hand, and is suddenly struck by how small Mac seems. She’s lost most of her fat, a shadow of the figure she once had. The dark rings under her eyes only add to the wan look. She’s still wearing the knitted red-and-black cap Erin had knitted, even as a layer of ginger stubble has belatedly made a return. No point in anymore chemo, was there?
Dylan’s there already, and he’s… crying? He looks up to see her, then pats his sister’s hand, whispering something before heading for the door. He nods at her as he passes, tear-stained face clenched in determination, and then Mac notices her.
Despite the skeletal look, a switch seems to flip when Mac sees her. Light floods into those green eyes, and KJ can feel herself fall in love all over again.
“Hey sexy,” Mac rasps, laughing as KJ rolls her eyes. She walks over, swooping in for a kiss before shuffling into the bed next to her. “Hiya, cutey.”
Mac scoffs, but she’s blushing. “I don’t know if ‘skin-and-bones’ fits the definition of cute, but I’m pretty sure my ass is showing in this hospital gown.” She waggles what’s left of her eyebrows. “I could stand up and give you a twirl.”
KJ barks out a laugh, and then goes in for another kiss. She refuses to disengage, and it turns into something desperate, something hungry.
Eventually Mac pulls away, even redder in the face than before. “Wow, uh, I guess someone fucking likes me.” She doesn’t respond for a moment. Because every kiss, every embrace, every gesture could be the last. She’s determined to make it all count.
“Just a little,” she finally teases, pushing the wrapped box into the other girl’s lap. “Happy Birthday,” KJ grins, saying it in that singsong tone that drives her girlfriend crazy. Mac bites her tongue to keep from smiling before poking at the present.
“You better not have splurged on me.” KJ just shrugs, leaning her head over on Mac’s. The box is small, covered in plaid wrapping paper. Once Mac finishes scratching the last of the covering off, plopping the stick-on bow to KJ’s shoulder (“Aw, do I count as a present?” “Only if I get to unwrap you at some point.” “Scandalous, Ms. Coyle!”), she takes the top off as KJ looks on expectedly.
Inside, there are three things. The first two, Mac picks up with a reverent look on her face. “How the fuck did you get in here with these?” She scrutinizes the pack of Dunhill cigarettes, then turns her shocked gaze to the cheap lighter.
That’s when Tiff and Erin burst in, Doctor Quilkin following them with a wheelchair. “Christ, I cannot believe we had to wait for you two to make out!” Tiff exclaims before Erin elbows her.
Mac looks at the new arrivals, eyes just as wide. Erin smiles. “Tiff’s mom is going to take us to the parking lot so you can smoke!” Behind her, the woman looks slightly guilty. “I don’t even want to look at how many rules I’m about to break.” She sighs. “Time for a field trip.”
They load Mac into the wheelchair, and she laughs the whole time, dry and husky and music to KJ’s ears.
Six floors and a maze of parking garages later, the group stands overlooking Stony Stream. Mac pulls out a cigarette. “The quality ones too- Christ Kaje, do you know how much I fucking love you?”
KJ gives a sappy grin, grabbing the lighter and touching it to the tip of the cig. “Hey, we helped!” Tiff argues to her side, Erin nodding emphatically. Mac rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and I love you losers too.”
Then Mac takes a puff, and KJ can see how her body relaxes as the redhead inhales. “And they say these things’ll kill you.” Mac snarks, and KJ grabs her other hand, letting herself smile at the dark humor. “I guess you could screw up your lungs all you want,” Erin adds reticently, and everyone giggles at that.
“Oh, and there’s a something else in there.” KJ nudges her.
Mac reaches into the box, now on her lap, and pulls out a cassette tape. “Is this- did you make me a mixtape?”
She nods, but she doesn’t have time to elaborate because Dr. Quilkin comes running to tell them they really need to leave if they don’t want to get caught, and Mac cackles as they hurriedly wheel her back to the building.
Once they’re in the room, after the laughing and the hiding of cigarettes and Erin and Tiff’s birthday wishes, it’s just the two of them again, curled up next to each other.
“So, what songs did you put on it?”
KJ shakes her head. “Obviously that’s a surprise.” She’d been very careful in what she selected, a solid mix of those she knew Mac enjoyed and those she felt would be meaningful to their relationship.
The tape gets pressed into that shitty yellow Walkman, and she watches as Mac puts on headphones, clicking play.
Her girlfriend sits for a moment, head cocked in consideration as she listens.
“Is this Queen?”
“Just Freddie.”
She resumes her silence, the only noise in the room the faint sound of piano that escapes her headphones. KJ watches as Mac blinks, once, twice, and on the third, her eyes are watery.
“Kaje…”
“I just want you to know that. That-” and damn it, she’s tearing up as well, “that no matter what, I-” she takes a watery breath, “I love you, even if we don’t have much time left.”
Mac clenches her lips, a tic indicating she’s really trying not to cry. “Fucking sap,” she bites out hypocritically, and KJ can only nod. Suddenly, the other girl turns to her, clutching her arm. “Dance with me.”
KJ sniffles a little as the words hit her. “Mac, you can barely stand!”
“So hold me up.” Mac looks at her, a glint of mischief in her teary-eyed gaze. “I’ve never gotten to dance with a girl. Call it a last request.”
KJ takes a shaky breath before standing up, situating her arm under her girlfriend’s as she hoists her up. Mac’s legs are far skinnier than they used to be, shuddering and unsteady like a baby dear’s.
“Yeah, yeah,” Mac grumbles when she says as much. The silence that follows is a serene one. Neither of them knows how to dance, the awkward sashaying of her bat mitzvah excluded. But here, things just click together. Mac threads her arms around her neck, and she places hers on the girl’s waist, ready to support if needed.
They rock back and forth, taking few steps, and KJ can just barely hear Freddie Mercury’s muffled voice. It’s magical either way. Just two girls dancing, smiling at each other with sad, loving eyes.
Love me like there’s no tomorrow…
KJ looks down at Mac, looks down on the girl she fell head over heels for, and wishes this moment could last forever.
Eventually, though, her girlfriend can’t stand any longer. She helps Mac back into bed, and they talk softly as they go through the mix tape (“Only you would put Roger Waters after Laura Brannigan.” “Well, you’re still listening, so what does that say about you?”).
The cassette finally reaches its end, but by then the exhaustion of the day is plain on Mac’s face. They lay next to each other in the hospital bed, Mac fingering a stray curl that’s come undone from her ponytail.
“When I bite it,” Mac murmurs, “go live your fucking life.”
KJ opens her mouth to protest, but even as sleepy as her girlfriend must feel, she’s clearly pushing through. “You helped make my life not shit. I have good memories to reflect on now. If I hadn’t met you, I’d just be a miserable sack.”
The redhead’s eyes droop closed. “Remember me, but don’t let me ruin your future. Make me proud.” She chuckles. “Not like you could fuckin’ forget me anyways.”
KJ shakes her head slightly, taking the words to heart. “Not even if I wanted to.”
“Love you, Kaje.” Mac’s already half-asleep, and as KJ lets her eyes close, she mumbles a “Love you too” back as she takes comfort in the how the other girl leans into her. Sleep, for once in a very long time, comes easy.
***
Mac will never wake up.
Not death, not quite yet, but an oblivion from which there will be no return. When the dawn breaks, KJ will desperately try to arouse her to no avail. By the time the nurses rush in to respond, she’s already sobbing on the unconscious girl’s lap. Alice will rush in not thirty minutes later with Dylan, but there’s nothing to be done. Tiff and Erin arrive in time to hear the confirmation. This is the epilogue, rapidly approaching the end.
On July 16th, 1992 Mac will pass away, and the girl seated vigilant at her bedside, who’d made sure her girlfriend’s unwaking sleep was as comfortable as possible, will try to internalize the final conversation they had. To forge forward with her life, to not wallow, to grieve but still live. And it will take time and support, sleepless nights full of anger and despair and crying with Erin and Tiff and blasting that mixtape as loud as it will go. But she will get there, the memory of her first love never far behind.
That is then. For now, KJ drifts into sleep with Mac at her side, hands intertwined, and dreams of sunrises and warmth, red hair and freckles, and a smile that shines through time.