Page 61 of Sweat

He talks and talks, and I try to process everything as it comes. I try to focus more on the words Tommy says rather than the way his mouth moves, and I nod when I’m supposed to and ask questions when it seems appropriate. Active listening, and what not.

What I hear is fucking heartbreaking. It explains why Tommy quit soccer in the first place, and why he still thinks he should. I’ve never loved someone so much I’d give up soccer to be there for them. The concept is difficult for me to understand, but Tommy’s not me. Tommy is warm, thoughtful and compassionate, and his heart is ten times bigger than those muscles that crushed me to the ground so easily.

“So, she’s decided to just give up,” Tommy says, frowning morosely at his fingers while they crumble a piece of baconinto chunks. “Told the doctors she doesn’t want the chemo anymore. I thought she was feeling better because the chemo was working, but it’s because she stopped treatment two weeks ago. Didn’t even tell me til tonight. Ma knew, and she didn’t tell me. They haven’t even told Maverick yet. How do you do that? How do you tell your six-year-old you’re choosing to die and leave them parentless?”

A question I can’t possibly answer, but the way Tommy pauses makes it seem like he expects one.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, wishing I could say more.

“She tried making it sound like she was doing me a favor.” Tommy scoffs down as his bacon crumbs. “Like, I wouldn’t have to do so much now that she’s feeling better, and she could come to my soccer matches, as if I’m ever gonna get actual playing time. It’s bullshit. Sure, she’ll be better for now, but in six months…maybe a year…she’ll be in hospice, and it’ll be too late to do anything. She’ll just be gone. None of us are gonna be better off with her gone. It’s fucking selfish.”

He’s angry, but the tears that slip down his cheeks before he can swipe them away don’t feel like malice. Feels like grief, and maybe that’s what he’s really pissed about. That he has to grieve his sister before he’s ready.

“What do you think?” he asks, like he’s begging me to validate or invalidate him. He trusts me, I guess.

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, man. You’re always telling me not to give up. She’s giving up. Trading the possibility of a long life with her family and her kid for…what? Six good months? Six months of playing Mario Kart with Mav, helping Ma with dinner, and watching me sit on a bench? That’s enough for her apparently, but it’s not enough for us. It’s like she just decided we’re not worth it anymore.”

He blinks at me expectantly, forcing me to speak, but I know that no matter what I say, it’s going to be the wrong thing.

“I always tell you not to give up on yourself,” I say. “You can give up on anyone else whenever you want.”Including me.

“How is letting yourself die not giving up on yourself?”

“Because people don’t chase life, Tommy. They chase happiness. For most people, life is essential to the experience of happiness. For others, sometimes, that’s not the case. Sometimes, life can feel like more of a barrier than a pre-requisite to happiness. Maybe your sister reached her barrier.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as his throat contracts. “How do you know that?”

Looking at the table, I tell him something I never planned on telling anyone who doesn’t already know. “There was a time—a couple times—when I hit that barrier. The first time, I told the doctors I accidentally took too much Tylenol because of muscle pain after a match. They believed me, because I was thirteen, and they bought that a thirteen-year-old would be stupid enough to take a toxic amount of Tylenol because their back hurt. The second time… Well, no one bought that that was an accident.”

Tommy’s face looks like heartbreak, like I just told him I’m dying. “Row—”

“I’m okay. I’m fine. I got past the barrier, and I’m fine now. I didn’t tell you so you’ll worry about me. I told you so you’ll know that I’ve been there. In a way, I get it, and I’m telling you that Erica’s decision has nothing to do with how she feels about you and everything to do with how she feels about her own life. She could love you more than anything in the world and still make the same decision.”

“Okay, but…” Tommy’s voice cracks and he rubs his wrist under his nose. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know.”

He drops his face and cries quietly into his hands, and it breaks my heart thinking I only made things worse for someone I care about more than I thought I could care about anyone.

We head to my car after I pay the bill, and I drive us back to campus where Tommy’s truck is still parked by the intramural field. I pull up beside it, but Tommy doesn’t get out. Doesn’t even click his seatbelt off.

“I can’t go home yet,” he mumbles through his sorrow, staring at the glove box. “I can’t look at Erica right now. I can’t look at Mav, knowing what I know.”

I didn’t think so, but I’ve been waiting for him to say it. “Do you…wanna stay with me tonight?”

His head turns, eyes meeting mine, and I’m glad to see they’re dry at least. “That’s okay?”

No.

Maybe.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

17

Tommy

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