Harper
Cleaning out an apartment to pack and move is never an easy task, especially when you’re like a squirrel who stuffs away everything you’ve ever owned and then gets easily sidetracked by all the memorabilia you find like buried treasure.
I don’t have a ton of big stuff, but it’s the many boxes of keepsakes and mementos from childhood I just can’t seem to part with. I’m not a hoarder, but I’m also not the best when it comes to letting go of things. Either physically or emotionally.
Ask any psychologist and they’d probably say it has to do with the grief I experienced after watching my mom lose the farm, deal with the aftermath of her financial woes, and then having to help her to move out of the only home I ever knew.
The loss was bittersweet and devastating. When I think back on that period of time, I wish more than anything I could have helped prevent it from ever happening in the first place. Had I known the deep debt and dire straits my mother was in after my dad died, I would’ve done something to help. I don’t know what, but I would have tried something. Anything. Left no stone unturned.
I would do anything for the ones I love.
It’s the very reason I can’t let my sister go through this cancer treatment alone. I would never forgive myself if she was left with a mountain of debt just from hospital bills and can’t provide for her girls. It’s my job to contribute to the family’s expenses so her children don’t experience the same grief that I did.
But I didn’t realize that moving so far from them would also tear me apart with guilt.
I hadn’t told my sister about the job—or about dating Marek for that matter—until last night when I made it back to Spokane and we sat down on her couch after putting the girls to bed. I felt it was a face-to-face topic of discussion.
“How have you been feeling, Han?” I peer at her under my lashes with that look only sisters can give. The one that saysspill it because I know all your ugly truths and will expose every one of them if I have to. “And don’t give me that syrupy sweet ‘I’m fine’ like you tell the girls. Tell me the fucking truth.”
My sister chuckles softly and bends over at her waist, laying her head on my lap. I pull the blanket from the back of the couch and place it over her pale, skinny legs. Stroking her hair gently, I wait for her to give me the status.
“Honestly, I’m tired, but otherwise I really am feeling better.” She reaches an arm out to the coffee table and raps her fist on it. “Knock on wood. The radiation therapy isn’t as bad as I expected. And, look, I didn’t lose my hair. It’s just thin and brittle.”
She turns her head to look brightly up at me, my hand stilling in her once dark and luscious long hair, now cut short and shaved on the right side where they operated. I lightly trace over the mark left from the incision with the pad of my finger, gingerly tracing over the red and puffy scar.
“Does it hurt anymore?”
Hannah shrugs. “Every once in a while. The pain meds help manage it for the most part, and I’ve tapered that off to once a day. I’ve not had one migraine since the operation.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “That is so awesome, Han. I’m glad it worked.”
“Yeah, me too,” she adds quietly with a reflective pause. “But you do know there’s a good chance the tumor may pop up again at some point.”
Sadly, I do remember that ugly fact about this type of tumor. The doctor told me about the possibility and risk after the operation, but I’ve tried to repress it and avoid thinking about it for obvious reasons. Thankfully, the biopsy pathology results came back benign, which was a welcome relief and exactly what we wanted to hear.
“Maybe, but then again, maybe not. It’s a slim chance, Han, especially if they got the majority of the tumor. It’s nothing either of us should worry about right not. Let’s just focus on the positive and the future. You’re alive and well, and the girls have their mother around.”
Hannah hums as I continue to massage her scalp. “You’re right. Let’s focus on the positive. That means you need to share something good about your life and travels. And this mystery man.”
I sink back into the couch, my hand stalling on her head. “Wait, what? What mystery man are you talking about?”
“Oh please, Harp. I could see it the minute you walked in this house. That stargazer smile of yours, like you’re dancing on Cloud 9. It was the exact same look you had when you fell madly in love with Hunter Collins.”
I sputter. Hunter was my high school boyfriend and the star player on the boys’ basketball team. We lasted all of one semester until the night I caught him making out with Maddie Gonzalez, the head cheerleader, at a party, and that was that. I won’t fight another girl over a guy.
“Why would you assume that’s because of a man? I might have news about my job.”
She adjusts her head again, this time flipping over on my lap so she can stare up at me expectantly. I sweep the fallen strands out of her eyes. In this position, with the dark circles still coloring her haunted eyes, she looks so much like our mother. Our mom was always exhausted and run ragged, but she always made time for both of us.
“I think it might be a combination of both. So put me out of my misery and tell me.” She pokes the end of my nose with her finger.
I gently push her hand away and scoff. But it’s no use. I’m not getting out of this. Like it or not, sooner or later, my relationship with Marek will become public. I want Hannah to hear it from me.
I inhale deeply and let it out. “Well, first off, the reason I’m so happy is because…I got a new job, Han. I’m the new sports sidelines reporter for KOGN in Seattle.”
My sister pops up and wrenches around into a sitting position, then muffles her whoop of joy with her hand.
“Oh, my God! My little sister! You’ve made it to the big leagues, Harp!” She wraps her loving arms around me and sobs into my neck. “I’m so proud of you. Mom and Dad would be too.”