Page 21 of Threads That Bind Us
I knew she was going to ask this. Not only because we spend nearly every waking second together, but also because hidden under that question is,how did you keep this from me?
“We’ve kept things low key because I didn’t want to introduce you to anyone before I was sure they meant something serious to me. But it’s serious enough now.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, a sensation that only gets worse when Ana’s eyes soften and she grabs my hand.
“You didn’t have to hide something that made you happy just because of me.”
In any other situation, her words would have me pullingher against me and telling her she’s being uncharacteristically sweet. But the guilt beats down any chance of that. I have to repeatAna livesover and over in my mind to remind myself why I’m doing this. Doesn’t make me feel any less like throwing up.
“I promise, I hadn’t even thought about it before last night. It just wasn’t the right time, and now it is.” At least that is, in some twisted way, true.
Ana reaches for the door handle and turns to me before she opens it.
“A driver is pretty cool, though.”
“Okay Banana, how are we feeling?”
That’s what the radiation oncologist, Dr. Mya, has taken to calling my sister.Banana. I’m pretty sure Ana hates it by the way she cringes every time they say it, but she doesn’t correct them.
“Good. I feel like I’m ready,” she replies, nodding her head against the crinkly paper cover of the exam bed.
She’s got her arm gingerly stretched over her head, and the oncologist presses around the incision, checking the scarring flesh again. They nod and pull their gloves off to type something into the workstation next to them.
“Good to hear. You can get dressed, sweetheart.”
Ana pulls her camisole back down carefully, and I know it hurts more than she’s saying.
“Can she still take painkillers for the incision during radiation?” I ask, my notebook cracked open in my lap once again.
“Yeah, that should be fine, if she needs them.” They lookup from their workstation and raise an eyebrow at Ana. “Are you in pain?”
Ana blushes and shoots me a glare. “Only a little, when I stretch too fast or have to lift my arm,” she says as she drags her cardigan carefully over her shoulder.
“Well, you don’t have any swelling or anything like that, and your stitches dissolved nicely, so I’m not worried about infection. Some residual pain is normal, so take over-the-counter medications if you need to.” They shut down the computer and move to Ana as she sits up. “You’re going to do a great job, Banana. Keep your head up, okay?”
We leave the office and stop by the lab for one last blood draw before we’re finally out the door. It’s only midday, and Kenzie took my shifts for the next two days, so we’re free to do whatever Ana wants.
“What’s on the schedule, Banana?” I ask, wrapping my arm around her shoulder as she zips up her coat. The intense eye roll confirms my suspicions about the nickname.
“I hate that. Bananas are gross,” she says, bumping my hip with hers. She thinks for a few seconds before an evil-looking grin spreads across her face. Pure joy lights her eyes.
I’m terrified.
“I want to meet the boyfriend,” she demands. I navigate us around the parking lot toward the bus stop, staring at her in disbelief.
“What? Why?” I don’t even give her time to respond. “Don’t you want to see a movie? Eat until we puke? Go to the comic book store?” I’m bribing at this point, and she knows it.
“Nope, I want to meet Charlie. That’s his name, right? I wouldn’t know, since you’ve hidden me from him for the last six freaking months.” She’s saying it like a joke, but I heard the slip. She doesn’t think I hid him from her, she thinks I hidherfromhim. I grab on to her shoulders as we hit the bus stop and look right at her.
“Hey, no way, girlfriend,” I shake her, and she giggles, but there’s a little bit of hesitancy in her eyes. Oh, fuck. “You think I hidyoufrom him? He knows all about you, seriously. You’re the coolest kid in D.C., I barely ever shut up about you.”
She smiles a little brighter, her shoulders relax an inch, and the clenching feeling in my gut dissipates a fraction. Truth is, Charlie probably knows more about her than he does about me.
“Okay cool, then you should have no problem introducing us,” she smirks, rocking back on her heels. I glance at my phone and down the street, praying for the bus to show up and give me a few seconds to think.
“He does have a job, Morgana,” I deflect, watching the bus turn the bend of Michigan Avenue and sending a thankful prayer up to whoever is cutting me a break.
“Oh, does he? I wouldn’t know, because I knownothing about him,” she stresses, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Also, it’s Sunday.”
“Attitude,” I reprimand as we tap our phones against the reader and scramble toward the back as the bus jolts forward. “Yes, he has a job. He works for a foundation.” That is, in all technicality, true. “And foundation people work on weekends sometimes.” I’m reaching.