Page 80 of Wish Upon A Star

She waved a hand. “I’m just messing with you. Shit was too tense in here, man.” Her expression sobers. “So, then, I guess the last question I have is should I be worried about you?”

I go back to my food, take my time before I answer. “I don’t know the answer to that one. When it’s good, with her, it’s the most incredible thing I could possibly imagine. Emotionally, physically, everything. She’s smart, she’s musically talented, she’s deep. We can talk for hours, or we can just be quiet together. She’s…she’s the toughest person I’ve ever known, Di. Tied up there with you.”

My sister shakes her head. “I obviously don’t know her, but I have a feeling she’d agree—when you’re faced with something you can’t control, it’s not toughness, really. It’s just…surviving. I got paralyzed. It sucked. I was pissed off at the world for fucking me over, and felt like my life was over and I had nothing, blah blah blah, poor me. Eventually, I realized I could keep wallowing in self-pity, or woman up and deal with it.”

“There is an element of toughness, though, Di. To you, and to her.”

“I think it’s…resiliency. Mental and emotional, and maybe even spiritual, resiliency.” She pauses to eat and drink, then continues. “When people talk about going through things like what I went through, what this Jolene of yours is going through, they’re all like, ‘oh, you’re so strong.’ But really, I’m no stronger than you or anyone else. We just…we don’t have a choice, do we? I didn’t ask to be paralyzed. Jolene didn’t ask to have leukemia. But it happened. It fucking blows. I still have days where I’m angry that I can’t walk. I wake up in the morning and I look at my chair and I resent the hell out the damn thing. I look at my useless legs and I’m like ‘work, damn you!’ And I think about how I used to be able to runsofreaking fast, and I miss it like crazy. But I’m not getting that back, and this is my life, and it’s who I am. And I refuse to let it define me. I’m not a paralytic, I’m just Dinah Britton, artist, athlete, and woman.” She gestures at my bedroom. “This girl? From what you’re telling me, I think she’s very similar. She’s faced with an intensely shitty situation, and she refuses to let it define her.”

“I’d say you’ve got that nailed down pretty well. That’s her, all right.”

“You don’t pick the easy route, do you, Wes?” she asks, laughing.

“I didn’t pick anything. It was…I don’t know. Obviously, I’ve had a choice every step of the way. No one is, like,forcingme to do anything. She’s not needy. If anything, she’s continually given me opportunities to bail, because she knows shit like this,” I wave at the room, “is going to keep happening. And, likely, get worse. But I can’t. I can’t walk away. I can’t and I won’t. I honestly wish, in some way, that I could. I know this is going to be painful. But it’s just not an option.”

Dinah nods, finishing her beer and handing me the empty bottle to put down. “You know, Wes, an hour ago, if you’d asked me if I thought it was possible to meet someone and fall just completely and totally in love with them and be, like, completely committed to them…all in the space of a week or whatever it’s been? I would have said you’re freaking nuts, no way. You need more time to know a person. That’s what I would have told you. But now?” She huffs, shakes her head, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I know you better than I know pretty much anyone, and this is some real shit for you, brother.”

“It is. The realest.”

“You’re not denying the fact that you’re in love with her, I notice.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Have you told her?”

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t. Not yet. It hasn’t been the right time.”

I hear a scuffle from my bedroom, and Jo is standing in the open doorway, squinting one-eyed at me, the flat sheet wrapped around her otherwise naked body. “Wes?”

I stand up and take a step toward her. “Hey, you. Feeling any better?” I gesture at Dinah. “My sister showed up.”

Dinah waves. “Hey. I’d get up to greet you, but…” a laugh, and a gesture at her empty wheelchair. “I can’t. I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

Jolene shakes her head, shuffling sleepily toward me. “No, I woke up on my own.” She goes straight into my arms. “Hi.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Hi. You’re on your feet—that’s something, at least, right?”

She nods against my chest. “Yeah, I’m okay now. Like last time, I’m not a hundred percent, but I’m upright and mobile.” Still blinking against the light, she sniffs the air. “I smell food.”

“I didn’t know about you till I got here,” Dinah says, “Or I’d have brought you some. I can run back out and get some for you.”

I pick her up and sit on the couch with Jolene on my lap, and feed her a fry. “Nah, we can share.”

Jolene huffs a laugh. “I hope you weren’t hungry, Wes, because you’re not getting this back.” She takes my half-finished burger from the coffee table and attacks it.

I laugh and pick at the fries. “Yup, you’re feeling better.”

The sheet slips, revealing some of her chest, and I tug it back into place. Jolene doesn’t seem to notice. Dinah is watching us, openly curious. Jolene polishes off the burger in a few massive bites, eying the six-pack.

“I’m not twenty-one, and alcohol is generally a no-no for someone in my position,” she says, her voice hesitant. “But…I don’t think my risk factor can get any higher, right?

I frown, sighing. “I…shit, Jo, I don’t know.”

Jolene touches my nose. “I guess I could make it easier for you. I’m not asking as someone with terminal leukemia, but as your underage girlfriend—can I have a beer, please?”

I groan. “Jo, if I were to do anything to…to put you at risk, I’d never be able to live with myself.”

“You’re not, Wes. Like I said, there’s no greater risk than what I’m facing.”