chapter twenty-one

Kristina and I sit on an overstuffed, expensive couch. Across from us is the city’s top psychologist. When Mom suggested help, Kristina agreed to go see the doctor, but only if I would come to the first few sessions with her. They agreed on the unusual treatment plan, even the doctor.

It’s weird, but it feels almost good, to be the one asked to help even though I haven’t done much but sit with her. It’s our second session with him and we’re back in his office. It’s huge and smells faintly like strawberry room freshener and male cologne. There’s a gigantic bookcase against one wall filled with books about psychology. I avoid staring at titles that feel close to home. Like the Social Anxiety Workbook.

To the right of the book shelf is a huge dark wooden desk with a laptop and printer sitting on top of it. The designated patient area is separated by an office chair and a love seat and the couch where we are seated. On the glass coffee table beside the couch there’s a box of Kleenex and a clock. As if to say, you can cry, but you’re on a time budget.

The doctor sits in the chair, facing us. One leg is crossed over the other and he’s leaning back, chewing on his pen cap, watching my sister, a notepad in front of him that he occasionally jots things down on.

“So,” the doctor says. He’s been talking to Kristina about the stages of grief. “How are you feeling about Jeremy?” the doctor asks.

Kristina makes a face and studies her fingernails. “I miss him.”

The clock ticks in the silence. I wonder if it’s on purpose that it’s so loud. To keep patients talking.

“Of course you do. But what else?” The doctor jots down a note.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to go through his notebook and read his observations about patients. What would I write about Kristina? She’s slouched over and leans a little bit over her amputated leg, as if trying to cover it. She looks uneasy in her own skin, as if she’s not familiar with her own body. The doctor wouldn’t know it, but it’s a completely different body language than Kristina had months before, when she was unaware of the cancer eating at her bones.

“I’m angry at him, and I don’t know why and it makes me mad.”

“Because he left you?” the doctor asks.

Her expression is almost petulant and she shifts around as if she’s trying to get comfortable. And can’t. “He was the only one who saw me as a whole person and now he’s gone.”

“Why aren’t you a whole person anymore?”

It’s a stupid question. I want to say something, but the doctor must sense it and subtly shakes his head at me.

“Because I’m not. I have one leg.” She points down to her pant leg and her face goes red.

The doctor nods, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence kills me but I don’t break it.

Finally Kristina continues. “I kind of gave up after the operation. I couldn’t talk about it to my friends. All we had in common was sports. And makeup. Boys. Clothes. We never talked about things that really matter. But Jeremy talked about it so matter-of-factly. As if it didn’t change me. He helped me. He accepted me for exactly who I was, leg or not. He wasn’t afraid to look at me. No one else saw me the way he did.”

“What about your sister?” the doctor says, and I want to shake my head at him now. Tell him to leave me out of it. “She’s here. That means something, right?”

She glances at me. “Tess has always been…reserved. She’s harder to talk to.”

My face heats up and she smiles at me, almost apologetically. “But, she’s changed too. I mean, we’re both different, I guess. I know she’s trying.”

“You haven’t changed that much. You’re still kind of self-absorbed,” I add, trying to keep it real.

She makes a face at me, but a faint smile cracks through. I glance at the doctor to make sure joking around is acceptable behavior.

“How did her surgery make you feel?” the doctor asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say automatically. The clock ticks in the background. Timing me. Seeing how long I can go without shouting about how much my life has turned to suckage.

“It’s okay,” the doctor says, but I shake my head, refusing to elaborate. It’s too early. Too hard. I can’t tell Kristina how her cancer affected my life too. Losing out on the Honor Society. Losing my best friend. Being made a fool of in front of a boy she warned me about.

In comparison, my problems are insignificant. “I’m just kind of afraid she’s going to give up. Because Jeremy isn’t around for her.” I don’t look at Kristina but concentrate on the hem of my jeans.

The doctor stares at me for a moment and then jots down a note. I squirm in my seat with the urge to grab it from his hand. Read what he’s saying about me and my amateur evaluations.

The doctor turns his attention back on Kristina. “Are you?” he asks.

“I did.” She runs a hand over her stubbly short hair. She reminds me a little of a Chia Pet. But I don’t tell her that. “After the operation, I decided I wouldn’t use a prosthesis. Like what was the point? Pretending I have a leg when I don’t? Pretending to be normal? I knew no one would want to talk to me or hang out with me, so who cared if I could walk? Or wear pants and two shoes.”

I squirm but force myself to keep quiet.

“But Jeremy kept coming. Like I wasn’t any different. Acting like I was still me. Inside. As if my stump didn’t bother him at all. Didn’t change who I was.”

“You are still you,” I start to say but Kristina shakes her head and I close my mouth.

“You have to say that. You’re my sister. But Jeremy. He didn’t have to keep coming around. He did because he wanted to. He liked me. Me. For me, you know?” She sniffles and wipes under her eyes. “I never had a friend like him before.”

I feel guilty for calling Jeremy a stalker and wish for the millionth time we could have him back so I could tell him.

Kristina continues. “Day after day. His mom was sick, and he was busy catching up on school stuff, but he made time to see me. Every day. And it wasn’t because I was pretty. Or the captain of the volleyball team. He came to me. He cares about me. I mean, he cared.” A tear drops down her cheek, plopping on the fold of her pant leg. “When I couldn’t see the point of carrying on, he told me I could. He made me a stupid bet.” She stops and sniffles and I reach for the Kleenex, pull one from the box, and hand it to her.

“It was beyond awful, the stupid chemo. Getting sick for nothing. Losing my hair. For no reason. I still lost my leg. For nothing.” She blows her nose and breathes in and out, but the doctor and I stay silent.

“I’ll never have children,” she whispers. “I wanted to. Some day.”

Tears stream down her face, but she ignores them. “Jeremy was the best friend I ever had.”

“It was a tragedy,” the doctor says.

“Yeah. It was.” She hesitates, but then keeps talking. “I don’t understand why he’s the one who ended up dying. It should have been me. Lots of people die from bone cancer. Or from complications of the surgery. But I’m still here. I lost my leg, but I didn’t die. I thought I wanted to. I really did. I prayed to die. And then somehow I changed my mind. And because of my selfishness, because I didn’t die, he died instead of me. It should have been me. Not Jeremy. It’s my fault. He was coming to see me.”

Her shoulders shake and her face just crumples and her head drops to her chest as she cries.

I stare at the doctor, angry with him, but he says nothing and makes a note.

“Oh my God, Kristina. It’s not your fault.” I slide over right next to her and put my arms around her and glare at him.

The doctor clears his throat. He glances at his watch.

“We’ll talk more about this our next time. Tess, I’d like you to come back.”

The session is up.

There’s not always time to say everything.