You and Everything After

“I know, me too,” Rowe says. “Hey, it’s getting hard to hear with the crowd, so I’ll call you later. Ty wanted me to let you know that he’s leaving right after the game, and he’ll call you from the airport.”

“Thanks, and sounds good,” I say. “Call you later.” I end the call and hold my phone to my chest, lying flat on my back, eyes closed again. They just need rest. I’ll just rest until six, until I need to go to the airport.

Ty is coming to visit, flying here from Arizona since it’s such a short flight. My parents are letting him stay in our guest room. I asked, expecting a battle, but my dad surprised me, saying it wouldn’t be a problem at all. My mom didn’t protest. I might be in the Twilight Zone. I don’t care. I’ll stay here in fantasyland if it stays like this.

I put the cold compress back over my face, pushing down on my eyes. I don’t know if this works, or even helps, but I read it on one of the MS blogs. I’ll try anything. Rest…yes. I just need rest.

“Cass, your phone alarm has been going off, for like, forty minutes!”

Why is Paige in my room? I must have slept harder than I thought, longer—deeper. Everything hurts. The cold compress on my head feels lukewarm, not at all relaxing. I slide the gel pack from my face, my arms tired, tingling from being folded over my head for so long.

“I need to pick Ty up. He’s coming in at seven. I need to get ready,” I say, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes.

“It’s six-thirty. You’re going to be late,” Paige says, turning my phone alarm off and tossing it on my bed next to me.

“Shit!” I stand quickly, the blood rushing from my head. Woozy. I’m woozy. I sit at the edge of my mattress and focus on my flip-flops—where they sit on the floor. They’re…cloudy. Everything’s cloudy.

“No, no, no, no, no!” I squeeze them shut. Deep breath. When I open, everything will look fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.

Fuzzy. Everything I look at through my right eye is fuzzy. That’s okay. It’s better. I think it’s getting better. Clearing up.

“Cass,” Paige says, her voice cautious. She knows. My sister knows. “Cass, are you having a flare-up?”

“I’m fine,” I say, standing quickly and moving to my closet. I miss my target, my steps suddenly off-balance, and my right rib crashes into the corner of my dresser. “Damn it!”

“Cass, you’re not fine. And you’re not driving. I’m getting Mom,” she says, moving to my door.

“No, I’m fine. Paige, look at me,” I beg. She stops short of the door and turns to face me. I close my right eye and she looks normal. I close my left eye and she looks like she’s standing in the rain.

I’m not fine. My lip quivers. I’m not fine, and now I’m starting to cry.

“Goddamn it! I hate my body!” I scream, stroking my arm along the top of my dresser, knocking over some pictures and knickknacks.

“I’m getting Mom,” Paige says, her hand around my arm. “I. Have. To.”

I look at her, in her eyes. She doesn’t want to do this to betray me. She has to. I know she does. I have to see my doctor. This isn’t normal. I’ve been through this before. I nod, a slight movement, but enough that Paige gets the answer she needs.

“I’ll tell Mom, and then I’ll go pick up Ty,” she says, and I move to the floor. Being lower, it helps. I have my bearings, and I crawl back to bed and lie down. And I cry. I hate crying. I hate my body.

None of this is fair.

Ty

I know the second I see Paige that something isn’t right.

“She’s having a flare-up,” Paige explains as we wait for the elevator to come to take us to our level in the garage. “She’s probably been having it for a while. Did she tell you?”

Her tone is accusatory, and my gut instinct is to say something back to her in the exact same tone. But I don’t. Because no—Cass hasn’t said anything to me. If she’s been feeling things, she’s been keeping it to herself. And it hurts a little that she didn’t tell me. I shake my head no and move into the elevator as it opens.

“Mom is getting her in with her neurologist. Hopefully tomorrow.”

I nod again.

“She’s been pushing herself,” Paige says.

That one was directed to me. She’s making this my fault. That’s not happening.

“She’s also been stressed,” I say back, keeping my eyes forward. That one was for her.