You and Everything After

“Wow,” I say. “That’s…sucky. That’s just sucky.”

It is sucky. My MS is sucky. The crap deck life deals out randomly is motherfucking sucky!

“Oooooooh my god, it is soooooooo sucky!” Rowe says, her lips cracking a smile, and a hard laugh follows. She’s breaking a little, trying to hold on—taking my life raft, my free pass to go ahead and laugh at her situation, and how fucked up it is. And I want to laugh, too. Not at Rowe’s experience, but at my own. I want to laugh at it because it takes away its power, and it feels good. And I’ve never done this.

“Riiiiight?” I say back to her, mimicking her Valley-Girl tone. I start to giggle when I do. It’s that crazy, emotional track-wreck kind of laugh that could veer off into a cry at any moment for both of us. But I won’t let it. I’m driving this train, and tonight, we mock our shitty circumstances.

We give them the finger!

We laugh. We laugh hard. And when my sister walks in, we keep it going. We tell Paige everything, about Rowe’s boyfriend—who is practically in a coma—about her friend who died, and about how shitty it all is. Then, for a small second, my sister catches my gaze, and she looks at me hard. “Tell her,” she’s saying. I nod no. I don’t want to; I may never want to. And tonight, I’m going to give her laughter instead of sympathy. Paige can play the role of serious.

After a few minutes, our laughing starts to fade, and I can tell Rowe feels the sadness of it all sitting on her shoulders again. I feel it too.

She sits next to my sister and shares the same story with Paige that she shared with me, and as Paige always does, she listens—she listens well. And she sympathizes. And she says those positive little things that I know are probably making Rowe cringe.

She means well. But I’m fairly certain Rowe would rather go back to laughing—as insane as it was. It feels better. And I want to go back to laughing too.

Paige’s sympathy is earnest, but it’s also short-lived. Before long, she finds a way to bring the spotlight back where it belongs—on her. She’s moving out; I knew this was coming, and as predicted, I’m excited at the prospect of living without my sister. Surprisingly, though, there’s a small pang deep inside. I love my sister, but I never really thought I’d miss her—until now.

“I’m going to need some help moving,” she says, always slipping right into her natural supervisory role, doling out orders.

“I’m sure Nate will help—” Rowe offers, cutting her speech short when she realizes what she said. There’s a brief awkward silence, but it passes quickly, and Paige thanks her for asking him. Rowe smiles and busies herself in her book bag, I think partly trying to end her conversation with my sister on this high note.

“Cass, perhaps you can help me with my clothes and things?” my sister asks. I’m half-listening, still a little lost in the realization that I will be without Paige soon, so I nod in her direction. “And we’re going to need to shave your head.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you need,” I say.

“Seriously, what’s with you? Did you even hear me?” Paige asks. I feel her weight suddenly next to me on my bed and finally allow myself to bring her face into focus. Rowe is reading her textbook, her ear buds deep in her ears. She listens to her music loudly; I know she’s missing all of this.

“I’m trying out for the soccer team.” Where the fuck did that come from? My urge to suddenly bring my sister into my scheme was instant and overwhelming. Maybe I’m scared to be without her. Maybe I’m scared of trying out. Maybe I’m afraid of failing. I think, maybe, all of those statements hit the mark. And I think the fact that I have a boyfriend is making me act out, too. But I’d rather talk to Paige about soccer than talk to her about Ty. So, that’s what came vomiting out of my mouth.

“You can’t,” she says, just like I knew she would. Her arms are folded in that I’m-older-than-you (by one freaking minute!) way. Her smugness pisses me off. I stand and move into the closet flipping through my clothes, picking out something for dinner tonight. The closet also puts us a few steps farther away from Rowe, and I don’t want her hearing my sister scold me.

“Yes, Paige. I can. I’ve been training…”

“You’ve been…training?” I hate this tone she has. She gets it from our mother. It’s almost self-righteous. I am definitely my father—easy, willing, and competitive. Paige is Mom—creative, but stubborn and always right. Problem is, Paige and Mom both tend to gang up on me. By God’s grace, my parents kept Paige out of the worst of my issues my senior year of high school. Otherwise, she’d probably serve me with nightly lectures—and she sure as hell would have more questions about, and snarky remarks for, Ty.