Page 35 of No Place Like You

“And a sugar-packed pastry is the answer?”

“Carbs equal energy.”

We take our first steps out of my apartment building, entering the busy streets while joining the rest of working-class America on just another regular Monday morning. But this Monday morning is different. It isn’t starting with the usual drab commute to my office. It’s starting with Lucy. With her perfectly styled hair and makeup looking subtle yet obvious that she took the time to apply early in the morning. With our day starting alongside each other and plans to end it together.

“I should be back home by about six, depending on what happens at today’s shoot.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” I shove a hand in my pocket, careful not to spill the coffee concoction in my other hand. “Here.” I extend to Lucy a small set of keys. “Just in case you get home before I do.”

She takes it in her hands, now a little cold and wet from condensation, and smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

“You’re good finding your way to work?” I ask.

She holds up her phone and wiggles it in front of me. “I’ve got my handy dandy MTA app.”

“Look at you, blending in with all the locals. I think we can officially revoke your tourist card.”

Her face warms with a delighted blush, and my hand fists at my side when a sudden impulse to pinch her cheek has me lifting my fingers. We stand there a little awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

“Well,” she announces. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” I say, throwing in a little smirk. “I’ll be sure to text you when I’m jumping off the walls.” I lift my cup in her direction, and she touches hers to mine.

“Cheers,” she says softly with the sweetest smile. I watch as she turns and disappears into the sea of people.

“So my next infusion is in a few days, and I was wondering if you’d go with me.”

Janet’s voice filters through the AirPod shoved into my right ear while my busy hands scatter over my desk. The sounds of ringing phones and the usual office chatter linger outside my open office door.

“Of course,” I answer.

“Charles was going to go with me, but he’s been really busy at work. He said he would take the day off, but he’s already taken so much time off, so I told him it’s fine.”

The stapled stacks of papers and the tablet holding various data and quarterly reports sent to me by my team and assistant become a jumble of hieroglyphics, all foreign and blurry. Even the company logo and the large block letters that spell Citadel Financial are no longer sharp and bold while my thoughts simmer over the idea of how sickly my sister’s gotten over the past month.

This fucking sucks. We should be talking about Labor Day plans or the recent price hike for our shared Netflix subscription, notfuckingchemo andfuckingcancer. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves to be healthy and happy.

“Janet, you know you can ask me any time. I’ve gone with you before, and I really don’t mind taking you to every single one.”

The line goes silent, and I think maybe she got disconnected. But then I hear her sigh. “I, uh…I really wish I didn’t need to ask you, Dex.”

“Why?! Janet, I’ve seen you after those fucking treatments. You’re literally going to hell and back with each infusion. I know you prefer to do things on your own, but you have to let me be by your side with this shit.”

“Yeah,” she says meekly. “No, you’re right. I need you and Charles to help me out.”

I nod, though she can’t see me.

“But you don’t need to cuss.”

I scoff. “Whatever,” I say flippantly. “Just…let me know when you have your infusion appointments. Or I’ll hack into your phone and send myself alerts off your calendar or some shit.”

“Gosh, I forget how bratty and mean you get when you don’t get your way.”

“I’m not any brattier than you’re stubborn, big sister.”

She giggles, and it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve heard her laugh. And for a second, just a second, I push away the thought that she’s sick. I just listen to the sound of her laugh and picture her smile. It’s a shitty thing to do, to shove away the reality of her being sick and almost pretend like she isn’t. That she’s at the art gallery on the other side of town, doing her art world things. Because that’s not the reality here.

“How are you feeling today?” I ask, my gaze shifting to the now almost empty Starbucks cup sitting at the edge of my desk.

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