Page 81 of Becoming Us
My lips twitched. “No parachute.”
She rolled her eyes before linking her arm through mine and tugging me forward. “The things I have to put up with. I swear, your crazy ass is going to be the end of me. At least bring me donuts when you get back.”
I smiled. I knew better than to think she wasn’t worried about me—but at least she let me pretend I was fine. And if that wasn’t a best friend, I didn’t know what was.
Back at our house, everything was tense. As soon as I arrived, my mom took off for a three-day retreat, and Ilana locked herself in her room. Since Dad had stopped working, he didn’t have much to do—so whenever we weren’t at appointments, he used the time to walk me through how everything was set up. How the holdings were structured. How to manage the accounts, track the investments, and figure out which calls I could make on my own and which ones needed to go through the lawyers.
But this time, something was off. He kept sighing, over and over again. And underneath it, he seemed…distracted.Detached. He’d been like that ever since we got back from treatment.
“Do you want to take a break?” I asked after the fifth sigh.
His hand was curled into a fist, fingers pressed tight to his lips. His complexion looked a little off. “Yeah, maybe.” He sounded tired too.
“I could make you something to eat, if you want.”
He shook his head before I could even finish the sentence, then sat up straighter in his chair. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his lips—unexpected, but real.
I chuckled lightly. “What?”
“You know what would be great?”
“Yeah?”
He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to grin. The look he gave me was almost mischievous. “Do you have weed?”
My laugh echoed through the room. “What did you just ask me?”
“You heard me.” He was laughing too.
“Aren’t parents supposed to keep their kidsoffdrugs? Not request them?”
“If the parent’s going through chemo, the rules bend.”
That sobered me up. “Yeah… I probably have some in my room.”
“Bring it over. Let’s take advantage of your mom being gone.” He waved me off.
I walked down the hall, a heavy feeling settling in my stomach. It wasn’t a strange request—but I hadn’t realized he was feeling sick enough to ask for it.
An hour later, that weight had lifted, replaced by a warm haze as we lay barefoot on the rug in his office, laughing our asses off over whatever he’d just said.
“I swear, every time I got up on that stage, it was like I forgot everything I knew.” He wiped at his eyes, still shakingwith laughter. Unlike me, he was great at playing guitar—but apparently terrible at performing.
“Every time?”
“Every fucking time. I got kicked out of more bands than I could count.” He held out his hand, and I handed him the joint. He took a long drag, the tip glowing bright red before turning back to dull gray.
“Is that why you stopped?”
“No. Some things just aren’t your thing. I love music. I love that you play.” He paused, glancing over at me. “But it wasn’t for me. I don’t regret it. That’s not one of the big five.” He took another drag.
“Big five what?”
“Regrets.”
He held the joint out to me, and I took a slow inhale.
“When you’re growing up, you fuck up. It’s inevitable. So you end up with regrets. Small ones that make you cringe. Medium ones that keep you up at night. But the big ones? Those are the ones that shape you. They carve you out of hurt, anger, and your own dumb decisions. Thankfully, we don’t get too many—but when we do, they change everything. And sometimes…” He trailed off, exhaling. “Sometimes it would be fucking amazing if you hadn’t done the thing, you know?”
