Page 65 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter forty-three

RYLEIGH

Two weeks after I entered the hospital in Charlotte, I return home. The doctors kept me a little longer than anticipated, the infection in my lungs as stubborn as a mule. Kind of like me.

I stare at my phone, scrolling through Grayson’s latest text messages for what must be the millionth time, wondering how long it will be until he gives up.

He’s left me voicemails, too, none of which I have the courage to listen to for fear I might break and call him when nothing has changed.

I’m still sick, and as of two days ago, he headed to college.

He’s already there, starting his new life.

Any chance of seeing him before he left is gone.

I fight the disappointment that wraps around me like an invisible cloak at the thought.

It’s for the best. It’s what I wanted.

Any sort of parting words would’ve only hurt worse. Better to tear off the Band-Aid fast and leave it off .

I startle when Mom turns off the ignition and blink up at our house. I hadn’t realized we were home already.

“Everything all right?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Grayson?” she asks, shooting me a knowing look.

“Yeah.” I sigh, then step out of the car, knowing John and Katie are waiting for our arrival.

It’s the first time I’m not annoyed at the prospect of spending an evening with them.

Things aren’t magically better after our chat in the hospital, but they’re changing.

He spent several days in Charlotte by my mother’s side while Katie stayed with her grandparents, and I found he’s actually pretty funny in a dad-joke sort of way.

The biggest difference now is I’m trying, which makes me more receptive to his efforts.

I don’t feel like an outsider anymore, or someone he wants to replace.

It’s more like we’re a team, and that’s . . . weird in a good way.

Mom follows behind me, smiling when John exits the house and meets us on the sidewalk.

“Hey, honey.” She closes the gap and offers him a quick peck, her cheeks flushing.

Instead of getting annoyed or fake-gagging like I would have a couple of weeks ago, I smile.

“What’s wrong?” Mom says, scrutinizing him closely.

“Uh.” John scratches his head, then glances back at me. “We got a delivery this morning.”

Mom frowns. “Okay, what is it?”

He shuffles on his feet, his mouth a grim line .

“John?”

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just let you see for yourself.” Bending down, he starts to lift the garage door while Mom and I watch with twin expressions of confusion as the door rises, revealing a silver coffin.

Oh shit.

My eyes widen.

With everything that happened, I completely forgot I’d ordered it. But I thought it was supposed to go to the funeral home, not my house.

John’s gaze darts to me and back, warily gauging my mother’s reaction.

Her mouth drops. She’s still as a statue. So still, I’m not sure she’s breathing until finally, she spins around, her gaze thunderous. “Ryleigh Sinclair!”

She takes a step forward, slowly and deliberately, like an animal stalking its prey. “Would you like to explain to me what a casket is doing in our garage?” she shouts.

And then she bursts into tears.

Several hours after I inefficiently explained why I would order my own coffin, I’m still sitting in my bedroom, staring up at the ceiling .

All hell broke loose after my mother saw the casket, and none of my explanations helped. Nothing I said seemed to calm her down. Only John, who succeeded.

Like a coward, I scurried off to my room, letting him do the heavy lifting while I did my best to pretend I wasn’t the cause of her anguish. It’s the first real glimpse I got of what it will be like when I die, and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.

I grab my phone off my nightstand and open Grayson’s text. I need someone to talk to, and not just anyone, but him. I want to call him so badly it hurts. I want to tell him about everything. About the hospital in Charlotte and John and the coffin. But calling him would be selfish.

With a sigh, I set my phone back down.

A knock sounds at the door, sending my heart into a tailspin.

I sit up in bed, bracing myself for facing my mother’s wrath now that that she’s calmed down. “Come in.”

Seconds later, the door creaks open.

My mother hovers in the doorway before stepping inside and making her way over to me. She sinks down onto the edge of the bed, her eyes puffy and swollen, the tip of her nose red.

Guilt snakes through me, knowing I’m the reason for her sadness.

“Hey,” I say, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

She nods, glancing down at her hands, and I hate myself a little for making things harder for her than they already are when it’s the opposite of what I wanted.

“John told me the two of you spoke in the hospital. ”

It takes me a moment to respond, surprised by the direction of the conversation. “Yeah, we did.”

“I thought things felt different.”

“Yeah.” I swallow. “Turns out he’s pretty nice. I think maybe I misjudged him.”

Mom grins at my choice of words, remembering our prior conversation before she sobers. “He told me you overheard the proposal, that you thought we were waiting . . .”

I swallow, feeling slightly sheepish at her stern expression. “I thought you were waiting until after I was gone, that it would be easier without me in the way.”

“You know that’s not true, right?” Mom reaches out and squeezes my hands.

“Ryleigh, you’re my daughter. You’re my number one, always.

Whether you’re here or not, nothing changes that.

My life would never be the same again without you in it.

I’d be . . . lost, damaged beyond repair, and that’s the cold hard truth.

No one, not even John or a new family, could ever mend the hole you’d leave behind. ”

“But you’re so much better off without me,” I say, my voice shaking.

Mom reaches out and cups my face in her hands. “Oh, Ryleigh. What have I ever done to give you that impression?”

“The debt. The constant worrying. Trips to the hospital. All of that would be gone.”

Mom barks out a laugh. “Do you really think life is that simple? Erase one source of stress and another one comes along. Ryleigh, a world without you in it isn’t a place I want to be.

I’d take all the debt in the world just for another day with you, let alone a lifetime.

I’d give my right arm. My job. My life. Anything if it meant saving you.

I do not want you gone. Ever. Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children. Do you hear me?”

I nod, silent.

“So, don’t leave me.”

“Mom . . .” I choke out, my heart swelling inside my chest. “It’s not that easy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mom’s lips tip in a rueful smile. “Now, are you ready to tell me about what happened with the award?”

My stomach turns at the thought, but she should know.

I blink back at her and inhale before filling her in on everything that happened with the award.

How terribly the filming went for the promo videos.

How all the other nominees reacted to the revelation I had cancer.

How the interviewer focused on my illness instead of my success.

How I overheard them talking and finding out I got the award solely because I’m sick.

Missing them call my name. Heading back to the hotel room.

Breaking up with Grayson but glazing over the things we said to each other. All of it.

“For someone who did the breaking up, you seem pretty miserable. I can’t count the number of times you’ve checked your phone, scanning it for new messages. I still don’t get it.”

I sigh, biting my lip as I stare past her at the wall. How do I put into words how I feel about Grayson and why I broke up with him?

“It’s hard to explain,” I say .

“Try.”

I scowl, wanting to tell her no, but then I remember the anguished look on her face before she broke down in front of the coffin in the garage, and I try. “I broke up with him for a lot of reasons.”

“Which are . . .?”

“He’s going to college where he’ll play baseball in the spring.

He has this big, bright future in front of him while I have nothing.

No future. Just cancer. There’s nothing else interesting about me.

Nothing on the horizon. I’m just . . . existing.

It’s like soccer defined me and now that I don’t have it, I’m already gone. ”

For some reason, I don’t tell her about the wish. I can’t bring myself to say it wasn’t real when I know it was.

“Ryleigh.” My mother frowns. “Your life has changed drastically. You were thrown one hell of a roadblock, but you are an amazing person. Maybe you just need some time to find out who you are right now, who you want to be in the future without soccer. That doesn’t happen overnight.”

“But that’s the thing.” I swallow. “I don’t have a future. I’m dying, Mom.”

“It’s not over yet, not if you don’t want it to be. There’s still hope. There’s still the trial, and if that helps, more chemo. You’ve only been fighting for six months. In the grand scheme of things, that’s a blip on the radar, the tiniest of slivers of your life. ”

“But in the meantime, I’m putting you through hell and racking up debt you can never repay. To what end, Mom? You’ll never recover. It’s better if I’m just gone.”

Mom studies me. I can see the emotions flickering in her eyes and creasing her brow, but she works to keep her expression neutral. “Is that why you broke up with Grayson, because you think it’s easier for him with you gone?”

“That’s another part of it, yeah. Did you know his father died last year?”

Mom shakes her head slowly.

“It was pancreatic cancer, and Grayson was the one in the room, holding his hand when he passed. I can’t put him through that again,” I say, my voice cracking over the words.

I cough, willing the lump in the back of my throat to subside. More tears might send me into a coughing fit.

“That’s his choice, Ryleigh.”

“Sometimes people choose the things that will hurt the most.”

“Kind of like you not choosing more treatment?” She smirks.

“That’s different.”

Mom arches a brow. “How?”

“Because I already tried treatment, and I didn’t respond. This isn’t me giving up, it’s me accepting my fate.”

“It’s early yet. Myself and a lot of others would disagree, including Grayson.”

I glance away from her, swallowing hard. “And what if you’re wrong?” I whisper in a voice so small, I’m not sure she hears it. “What if I do this, and I get my hopes up—you get your hopes up, Grayson gets his hopes up—and it doesn’t work? Then what?”

“Then we fight.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Mom silences me with a look.

“We cross that bridge when we come to it. You can’t make decisions out of fear, Ryleigh, and I think that’s what you’re doing.

You were right about soccer and not knowing who you are without it, but that needs to change.

Trust me when I say this won’t be the only season of life you do a little soul searching.

Maybe it’s time to stop living in the past and start living for the future, because you’re so much more than soccer or even a girl who’s sick. ”

The back of my eyes sting with the threat of tears. My chest aches, begging for a release.

The prospect of a future stretches out in my mind’s eye, and it’s beautiful, more than I could ever hope for.

Getting treatment and putting my cancer into remission.

Growing my hair back. College and my first real job.

Grayson and baseball games. Sunday dinners with my mother, John, and Katie.

Walking down the aisle in their wedding.

A new hobby or sport. Watching a thousand more sunrises and sunsets.

Learning to cook and getting my first apartment.

I want all of it, and six months ago, when my future changed for the worse, I never really thought I could have it. But maybe I can. Maybe it’s possible. All I need to do is let go of the past and the me I think I’m supposed to be, and try .

“Now, I’m going to head back downstairs where John and I are making homemade pizza while we pretend that abomination isn’t in our garage. And then we’re going to eat ice cream and play board games. I really hope you’ll join us.”

I offer her a timid smile and wipe my damp eyes. “Pizza and ice cream? Wow.”

Mom grins. “I’m trying to loosen up a little.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Good.” Mom huffs out a breath and draws me in for one last hug, then releases me and fishes an envelope from her pocket. “I almost forgot. This came for you.”

She hands it over, her expression curious before she rises to her feet and leaves the room. I frown, flipping the envelope over to see a return address from Wishing Well, and freeze.

My pulse pounds in my ears, the rush of blood the only thing I can hear as I tear it open.

I don’t know what I expect, but I know what I’m hoping for as I tear into it. But when I unfold the letter and check the signature at the bottom, I see it’s not a letter from Grayson, but from his mother.

I scold myself for hoping. If I really wanted to talk to him, I had every opportunity.

Taking a deep breath I start to read.

Dear Ryleigh,

The staff at Wishing Well has received your wish and decided to grant it. Please accept this check as a way to fund your future treatments as well as help with past debts .

Wishing you all the best,

Victoria De Leon

CEO and cofounder, Wishing Well.

But I’ve already been given a wish?

I frown, remembering what Grayson told me about granting the wish off the record since it was so unorthodox.

He must’ve told her about my mother’s debt, and Victoria must’ve decided to grant a different wish—one I hadn’t thought to ask for because I foolishly thought my time playing soccer was more important than my life.

I give the envelope a little shake and watch as a large blue check flutters to my bed. Picking it up, I flip it over and gasp.

I blink, wondering if I’m imagining the number written in bold ink, but no matter how many times I check, it remains the same.

Victoria De Leon and Wishing Well have given me a check in the amount of $200,000.