Audrey and I look at each other for a beat before we both burst out laughing. The name isn’t that funny, but it’s one of those times when the other person’s giggles make yours multiply. I think I’m still delirious from seeing Matt this morning after last night, and Audrey’s silly in general. Five minutes later, we both have tears streaming down our faces. After trying to talk to us but getting nowhere, Audrey’s mom shakes her head and leaves the room, which only makes us laugh harder. I feel a little bad, but I don’t calm down; instead I clutch my side and keep rolling.
Because sometimes, laughter is what you need.
Audrey and I spend the morning watching talk shows and painting our toenails turquoise. After lunch, despite my general aversion to direct sunlight, she drags me to the pool in her neighborhood. It’s late September yet unseasonably warm enough for us to lie in the sun. My fair skin is slathered in SPF 50 sunblock, and Audrey’s is utterly exposed to the elements.
“I might as well die tan,” she says lazily, an arm draped over her eyes.
“Don’t say things like that,” I reply without looking at her.
“Why not?” she asks. “I speak the truth.”
“I hate the truth,” I mutter. “And besides, you never know—someone could cure cancer tomorrow.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Daisy,” Audrey says. She removes her arm from her eyes and looks over at me, squinting at first. When her eyes adjust to the brightness, her gaze sharpens. “Look at me.”
I do.
“I’m not afraid, Daisy.”
You should be, I think but don’t say. In my experience, dying isn’t all that great.
“That’s good,” I reply, because I have no idea what else to say.
“No, seriously, it is good. I mean, it’s not good that I have cancer. When I first found out, I felt so cheated. I was convinced there was some way to fight it.”
“You can,” I say with borrowed confidence. “You should still be thinking that way.”
“That’s the thing, Daisy: No, I shouldn’t,” Audrey says. “At some point, you have to realize that death is coming and be grateful for what you’ve had instead of pissed that it’s going away.”
“But you’re barely eighteen,” I protest. “That’s pretty young to give up.”
“I’m not giving up,” Audrey says. “I’m accepting my fate.”
“That’s weak,” I mutter under my breath. I’m angry at Audrey, and I’m angry at myself for feeling this way. I wonder what I’m trying to accomplish by arguing with her. Do I want her to be as upset about her cancer as I am?
I wish I could rewind a few hours and laugh with her again. Instead, I’m mute, and Audrey looks away from me and flops her arm back over her eyes.
“Actually, I think that letting go is pretty strong, Daisy,” she says. “Everyone has to go sometime. Maybe this is my time.”
I shake my head at her, annoyed at her calmness. Then I wonder, What if it was me? Mason told me he had problems bringing me back last time; if I was in Audrey’s flip-flops, would I be this Zen?
Doubtful.
“How long are we staying?” I ask, changing the subject. “I’m getting burned.”
“You’re clock-watching,” Audrey teases, putting me more at ease after the tense conversation. “You know Matt will be home from school soon.”
>I look up and admire his face at close range. In the low light, his dark eyes are black, but there’s nothing sinister about them. Our fingers are still intertwined, but our chests are no longer touching. I’m glad about that because my heart is racing. He breathes out and I breathe in.
“I should go to bed,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I whisper back.
Neither of us moves.
“I don’t really want to.”
“Me, either.”