Page 3 of Threads That Bind Us

"You can have fresh pad see ew tonight. We can grab it on the way," I offer. She rests her chin against her knees.

"Ginny, I think tonight's going to be the last normal night for a while. I kind of want to pretend it’s a regular Tuesday, you know?”

The fact that she used her nickname for me—the one onlysheuses—settles my pulse a little. I can do that. I can do normal. I cansodo normal. I'm not on the edge of panic. I don’t want to scream, to cry, to rage against this threat I know I can’t fight. I'm not terrified.

I'm normal.

"Okay, but I'm having someone deliver ice cream because I ate the last of it before my shift yesterday. Don't yell at me."

Her look of mock shock and chagrin is so classicallyMorgana that I think maybe she's right. We can have one more night of normal.

It's not until late that night, after we've moved the chaises around to make the couch into a giant bed and eaten until we're nearly comatose, that I realized I never asked if she was okay. But maybe neither of us are ready for that answer, anyway.

Chapter 2

Gwen

"And you're the legal guardian of your sister?" the guy from Children’s National’s billing office asks for the third or eleventh time. I take a deep breath.

"No, technically, my mother still maintains parental rights. But Ana is my dependent. She's covered by my insurance policy." It had taken quite a bit of assistance from a pro-bono family attorney to figure out how all of this worked nearly nine years ago.

"Unfortunately, it seems your policy didn’t cover a significant portion of the lumpectomy, and it doesn’t look like it will cover much more of Ana’s radiation therapy.” He clicks his tongue twice. “And to apply for financial assistance, you must be her legal guardian, regardless of the insurance policyholder information. Could your mother possibly join this call?"

I nearly laugh out loud. Sure, once I figure out what continent she's on.

I’m fucking exhausted. Ana’s surgery—the lumpectomy to remove the little clump of pre-cancerous cells in her chest—was almost a week ago, and she was a fucking champ. But when thebill hit my inbox yesterday, I nearly went into shock. Hence, this phone call.

"She hasn’t seen Morgana in over four years. I wouldn’t know how to get her involved in this process,” I say, slipping farther down the wall outside the club employee break room.

I shift my feet to get blood flow to my legs and crack my neck. The guy—David or John or something biblical like that—sighs into the receiver. "Look, I understand you're in a unique situation. I would encourage you to file for termination of parental rights based on abandonment and adopt your sister legally. Until that happens, I don't see how an application can be submitted."

I know I'll regret my next question, but I can't help it. I'm a glutton for situational awareness and punishment.

"Be honest with me here. What am I looking at?"

The line is silent for a moment.

"Costs vary widely, but based on what I’m seeing in her treatment plan and your coverage, you’re looking at between sixty and eighty thousand dollars."

He keeps talking, but I can’t hear anything through the whooshing sound in my ears. Jesus Christ, those are some very large numbers. We havebroke your arm at practiceemergency money, but nothing that could cover what this is likely to cost.

I interrupt Judas and ask if he can email me the information I’m not paying attention to, and he agrees. But I already know I need another plan.

Kenzie, my best friend and fellow overworked waitress, peeks her head out of the breakroom door to check on me, her long dark hair whipping around her face.

“Hey, what’s going on? You look sick.” She slides against the wall and sits on the floor next to me, resting her head on my arm.

My natural inclination is to shrug it off, pretendit’s nothing. Kenzie’s been through too much, and I never want to add to her stress. But the stress is starting to eat me alive.

“Apparently, our health insurance is even shittier than I thought,” I sigh, resting my cheek on top of her head. She groans beneath me.

“Preaching to the choir on that one. I swear last summer would have cost me less if I had no insurance at all,” she says, and my chest squeezes.

“Man, this fucking sucks,” I admit, and she hums in agreement. “They won’t let me apply for financial aid without Isabelle, and honestly Kenz, who the fuck knows where she is now?” We sit in silence for a few moments, Kenzie snuggling closer to my side. “If the financial aid was guaranteed, maybe I'd put some effort into finding her. But for all I know, she's married into oil money again, and then what happens?”

“I wish we could help more,” Kenzie whispers, and I’m already shaking my head.

“You guys do enough, hanging with Ana when I have to be here,” I say, waving over my shoulder toward the kitchen.