Page 48 of Heartstring

“What?”

“Nothing. I just remembered the days when you used to run everywhere because you claimed to beat the bus every time.”

I laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s a helluva lot easier to run to play in the pool than to spend all day moving potted plants and pruning trees.”

He raises his cup in sympathy.

“I’ll see you later, okay? Call my work if you need anything. You know my boss doesn't mind.”

“I will. I packed you a sandwich for your lunch. It’s in the fridge.”

I grab the sandwich and the coffee and head out, shouting, “Thanks, Mom,” on my way.

A coffee spoon may hit the wall behind me, but I can’t be sure.

Dad still looks tired, but at least he seems to be in good spirits today. This week I’ll book a consultation with his doctor to see if there’s anything else we can do.

We’ve been lucky that dad was put on a medical trial for a new treatment. Since the trial ended, I’ve seen his health decline again. We knew it could happen because there’s no cure for him other than a liver transplant, but with his history of addiction when he was younger and his rare blood type, we have little hope of him ever getting on the list, let alone actually having a transplant.

The day goes by fast, and by five o’clock, I’m outside the store waiting for Mik. He’s usually early and grabs a coffee from the café around the corner, but when thirty minutes pass and he doesn’t turn up, I walk over to the bus stop.

I’m sure he’s probably trying to get away from his family. His mom isn’t too bad, but his dad can be quite strict.

When I get home, Dad is napping, so I start preparing dinner. It's nothing special since I'm hopeless in the kitchen, but Dad doesn't mind. He's used to it.

My gut tells me something’s not right with Mik so I call his cell phone. His parents got it for him when he went to college in case he was ever stranded somewhere.

They don't know about our relationship. Mik says he mainly uses the phone to call me when he misses hearing my voice.

There's no answer from his phone so I ponder calling his house number when there’s a knock on the door.

I rush over so my dad doesn’t wake up, opening it before I check who it is.

“Mr. Nilsson.”

“Tyler. May I have a word with you?”

“Sure.” I step aside to let Mik’s dad inside. My stomach feels heavy with dread. What could he possibly be here for? I hadn’t even realized he knows where I live.

Dear god, please don’t let something have happened to Mik. I won’t survive it.

“Is everything okay with Mik?” I ask.

Mr. Nilsson looks around our living room, his head held high and his brows showing his displeasure at the simple furniture and old rug.

Tell me what you’re here for and get the fuck out, I think.

“Tyler, I understand your father is terminally ill.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It must be hard to get the right treatment for him on your salary,” he says. How the fuck he knows what I do beats me because in the years I’ve known Mik, his dad never took an interest in me. If anything, he always looks at me like I’m some kind of reject from society, unworthy of breathing the same air he does.

“We have good insurance. We’re just waiting to get him on the transplant list. That’s something money can’t buy.”Yes, jackass, we don’t need to be rich. We need to be lucky.

“What if I could help you with that?” he asks.

“Help me with what?”