Page 74 of We Can Forever

“No.” I blow out a breath. “It isn’t.”

“But was it worth the risk?”

“One hundred percent,” I say with zero hesitation.

Her phone beeps, and she checks it. “Oh! School needs me back. The drama teacher has to go pick up her sick kid from day care. Looks like I’m filling in as director for the day.”

“Good luck.” I smile. “Thanks for the tea, and for…being here.”

She grabs her purse and stands. “You don’t have to, but maybe think about what I said.”

She steps out into the autumn afternoon, a gust of cool air taking her place. I stay in my seat, staring out the window, her words swirling around in my head.

For years, I’ve been calculating risks. Counting spoons. Measuring my energy. It’s the only way I’ve been able to get this far in the world while living with a chronic disease.

But is it possible that I’ve been too careful? In my attempts to participate in daily life, is it possible that I’ve been missing out on opportunities to truly live?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

MICHAEL

Istare at the papers on my desk, numbers blurring into one another. Sitting up straight, I rub my eyes and try to blink away the exhaustion.

Maybe tonight, I’ll finally be able to sleep, but I doubt it. Since Hannah pretty much kicked me off her porch a week ago, I haven’t been able to rest more than thirty minutes. That moment keeps playing over again and again in my head, with me always trying to figure out how I could have done things differently.

But this isn’t a fire. There’s no perfect protocol. No science that will extinguish the flames and get everyone out alive. Being in my life or not is Hannah’s choice.

And what I want doesn’t matter.

Picking up my phone, I find my notifications still at zero. Those few days she needed to think have turned into seven, still with no word from her.

A knock on the open office door makes me look up. My mom stands in the firehouse hallway, a plate covered with aluminum foil in her hand.

“I brought you dinner,” she says. “Since Katie’s at that sleepover tonight, I figured you might not even think about eating.”

Despite how annoying her random pop-ins are, I have to laugh. She knows me well.

“Guilty as charged.” I put down my phone, and she sets the plate on the table. Her homemade chicken and dumplings—my favorite.

I cock an eyebrow at her. Something is up.

We’ve barely spoken since that argument in my kitchen, with all of our interactions being limited to info about Katie. And my mom isn’t too big to say sorry, but she’s also frugal with her apologies.

“How are you doing?” She takes the chair in front of my desk.

“Good.” I nod…then keep nodding, unsure of what else to add.

She knows about my breakup with Hannah—hell, who doesn’t?—but I’m not about to spill my guts to her just because she asked.

She fiddles with her bracelets. “I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have called you hardheaded or second-guessed your ideas for the station. I sometimes forget that you and your dad really are different people. I know how awful that sounds. It’s just… I see so much of him in you. And, I suppose, seeing the station done up the way Dad wanted it would have given me the last…new memory of him.”

I slump back in my chair, feeling like a complete asshole. Of course the kitchen renovation is one of the last connections she has to my dad. Why wouldn’t it be that way?

And how come I didn’t see this before?

I already know the answer. I was too busy being butthurt to empathize with her.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I sigh. “That makes sense. We can go back to his plans?—”

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