That wasn't too much of a lie, was it?
I sat there, the weight of the secret pressing against my ribs like a physical bruise. I wasn't quite able to explain the truth, partly because I wasn't even sure what the truth was. I wanted to tell her more, to pour out the surreal details of the black limo and the man with the icy, magnetic gaze, but the words felt too heavy, too dangerous. There was nothing I could say that would make her feel better. Elisa saw the world in high definition black and white, a clear map of right and wrong, and all I had to offer her were shifting shadows.
I tried to reach into the strangeness of the afternoon and pull out a few recognizable facts. "They're working on a-a trial of sorts, I guess," I said, my voice sounding more certain than I felt. "The specialist drew some blood. They're going to run some genetic screenings to see if I'm a good candidate for the procedure."
As I spoke, the realization hit me: I didn't even have the name of the drug or the medical term for the treatment. So much for my plan to Google the side effects later. I was flying blind into a storm.
"Gosh, I hope that you are!" Elisa said, her face lighting up with a sudden, desperate hope. She never swore her "goshes" and "gees" were a testament to a childhood far more stable than mine.
"So do I."
The significance of it all came crashing down on me suddenly, the one percent chance, the ninety-nine percent certainty of death, the way my body had hummed under Mr. Jason's touch. I struggled to breathe against the mounting weight in my chest. In that moment, I wished more than anything that my Gramma was there. I wished I could climb into her lap like I was a little kid again and have her pet my hair, her hands smelling of flour and lavender, until the world stopped being so terrifying.
But Gramma was gone. It was selfish of me to even want her here, I realized to force her to watch me lose everything she'd worked so hard to give me, to see the cancer hollow out the future she'd dreamt for us.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, and Elisa's face creased with a deeper, more painful concern. I stifled a groan of guilt. She deserved to deal with my illness even less than I did, yet she was the one standing in the wreckage with me.
Elisa glanced toward the apartment door, then back at me, her eyes searching for a way to break the tension. "You up for Hannah's place?"
I recognized the offer for exactly what it was, a lifeline, a distraction from the reality of hospices and blood draws and I seized upon it with both hands.
"What's the plan for tonight?" I asked, forcing a bit of life into my tone.
"They snagged Mikaelson's PlayStation again and have Netflix hooked up to the flat screen," she explained, her voice brightening as she realized I was biting. "Movie marathon. 1980s high school classics. Everyone's supposed to wear leg warmers and frizzy hair, but I think most of us are just going to show up in pajamas and call it a night."
Hannah and Sarah lived just down the hall in a mirror image apartment. They threw these marathons at least once a month, sprawling sessions of popcorn and nostalgia that usually lasted well into the next afternoon.
"What's showing?"
"The staples," Elisa said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Risky Business."
I managed a genuine grin, the first one in what felt like a decade. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm up for that."
"Honestly?" Elisa lowered her voice in mock confidentiality, leaning in closer. "I've only ever actually seen The Breakfast Club."
"Me, too," I admitted, a small laugh escaping me.
"Then finish your dinner, and we can go and party like it's 1985," Elisa said firmly.
I groaned but pulled the foam container toward me, popping the lid with a hollow snap. The steam rose up, carrying the heavy scent of grease and onions.
"Cheesesteak. You like it," Elisa said encouragingly, watching me with a hawk like focus to make sure I actually took a bite. I picked up the plastic fork, looking at the food and then at my best friend, and for a moment, the shadows of the First Bank of Ohio felt a thousand miles away.