Page 47 of Styx & Stones

“Do you have money?”

That does get his attention. “I thought you had money?”

“What? No. I didn’t bring any money. I mean, I have maybe a hundred dollars in my purse, but I—”

“You’re kidding, right? Who comes to Disneyland without money?”

“You’re the one who dragged me along on this trip.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d pay your own way. I mean shit, Stones, I’ve seen your house. Your parents must be loaded.”

I lean across the table and hiss, “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re playing the rich-kid card?”

A huge grin splits his face and he folds his menu and leans back in his chair. “God, Stones, you’re so damn easy to rile up. Of course I’m shitting you. I’m not gonna invite you to Disney and drag you halfway across the state without bringing enough money to cover it. We got no sense, but we do have a shit ton of cash, little lady.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“But a loveable one, right?”

I shake my head and mutter, “About as loveable as my ass.”

“So, we’re talking pretty fucking loveable, then?”

I blush and hide behind the enormous menu. Thankfully, the waitress comes to take our order, and just to get back at Styx, I pick the most expensive thing, even if all I want are fries and a cherry coke.

When the waitress leaves, I stare out at the ocean. The sun glints off the rolling waves, stinging my eyes. Silence settles over us. As if he can sense my melancholy, Styx grabs my hand and draws it across the table. Electricity sparks up my arm, and I draw my attention away from the sea.

“Do you ever think of just wading out into the ocean?” I ask.

“A little chilly for a swim, isn’t it?”

“No. Not to swim.”

“Ah. You mean ... to end it.”

I bite my lip, ashamed now that the words are out, suspended between us. He brings my hand to his lips and places a soft kiss to the bony flesh. I’ve always been slim, but cancer rapes from within. It sweeps through your body like a tide, leaving nothing left unravaged by the waves.

“All the time,” Styx says quietly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but it’s the ‘what if’ that gets you.”

“The ‘what if?’”

“What if things get better? What if I actually beat this disease? What if I don’t choose to end it and the girl I’ve had a permanent boner for since fifth grade falls in love with me?”

I laugh, despite my melancholia. “Who said anything about love?”

“Who didn’t?”

The waitress returns with our food and I poke at my grilled steak, choosing instead to eat the fries. “Does it ever get any easier?”

“Cancer or love?”

I give him a pointed look. “Cancer, dumbass.”

“I don’t know. You know that saying, ‘God only gives you what you can handle?’”