Chapter2

It was always like this.

The moment I noticed something was off, the moment I asked a question, someone would tell me it was my illness talking. That I was getting paranoid again.

Because five years ago, I'd been handed a diagnosis. A rare neurological disorder. No cure. It could kill me at any time.

The doctor who diagnosed me was Tyler.

He was a neurologist. He'd also grown up three houses down from Ethan and me, the third kid in every game of street hockey we ever played.

He told me the condition was so rare that maybe ten doctors in the country could even recognize it on a scan.

I'd wanted a second opinion. Of course I had.

Ethan had pulled me into his arms. "Nor, do you really want to spend the time you have left sitting in waiting rooms?"

Tyler had said, "Anyone else is just going to tell you the scans look normal. You'll lose months. Months you might not have."

So for five years, every follow-up was at Tyler's practice.

He said the only medication that helped was still in clinical trials, and he could get me samples. "Keep it off your insurance," he'd told me. "Trust me. You don't want this on your record."

Every month, Ethan brought the pills home.

I didn't think I'd live to see another winter.

And when you think you're dying, what's the point of holding on to anything? You might as well give it to the people you love.

Every day I lived on the edge of dying. I wasn't sick, but I spent so long believing I was that the anxiety became real. The panic attacks were real.

The pills weren't. They came in an orange bottle with no pharmacy label, and I'd swallowed every single one.

"Here." Ethan was unpacking takeout containers now. "Meds first, then dinner. I got all your favorites."

Pad see ew. Green curry. Papaya salad. All from the Thai place on Clark, and every dish buried in cilantro.

I'd hated cilantro since I was seven. He'd watched me pick it out of every meal for twenty years.

I glanced up at the camera blinking in the corner of the ceiling, and I understood. He'd done it on purpose.

Whatever I did next would end up in that group chat.

Something inside me finally snapped.

I knocked the pills off the table. I swept the takeout onto the floor.

Ethan stared at me, stunned.

"Ethan," I said, and my voice cracked on his name. "We're done."

I was a person. I was not their entertainment.

If this was a game, I was out.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Ethan looked at me like I'd started speaking another language.

"Is this about the ring? Seriously, Nor? You're still hung up on the ring?"

It wasn't about the ring.

I'd gotten used to losing things a long time ago.

In grade school, Maddie took credit for everything I did. If I won the essay contest, Maddie told everyone she'd helped me write it. If I made the honor roll, it was because she'd quizzed me the night before.

In high school, every time I reached for Ethan's hand, Maddie would appear out of nowhere and drag him off somewhere. Every single time.

And Ethan would just laugh and ruffle my hair. "Relax, Nor. We're just messing around."

I was tired of being the one they messed around with.

I didn't say anything. I just looked at him, and kept looking, until he started to squirm.

"Okay, if you cared that much, you should've said something. I'll buy you another one. You didn't have to play it cool in front of Maddie."

He grabbed his keys off the counter.

"Look, I'll give you some space. Wait out whatever episode this is. But don't forget the wedding's in three days, Nora. Don't do something you'll regret."

He gave me one last warning look and walked out.

I stood there in the wreckage of dinner, and I started to laugh.

Quietly at first. Then louder, until my throat hurt and my eyes were streaming.

By the time the sun came up, I was calm again.

I knelt down and picked up every pill off the floor, one by one. I dropped them into a Ziploc bag along with the bottle and sealed it shut.

After that, it was like someone else was moving my hands.

Ethan always kept a hair tie on his wrist for me, so I'd have one at dinner. The one I'd saved was frayed and stretched out, and I'd kept it like it was something precious.

I threw it in the trash.

At the very back of my nightstand drawer, I kept a strip of photo-booth pictures from senior prom. The two of us making faces, then the two of us kissing.

I tore it in half without thinking twice.

It took me two hours to pack.

Two hours to pack up twenty years.

I'd known Ethan Cole since I was seven. He lived two houses down from my mom's place in Evanston. When we were ten, he proposed to me in his treehouse with a cherry Ring Pop, and I said yes with my mouth full.

We'd been officially together for eight years. Unofficially, it felt like forever.

I was dragging my suitcase out the door when my phone rang.

"Hi, is this Nora Bennett? This is Claire from Whitmore Bridal. I'm just calling to confirm the alterations on your gown?"

I didn't follow. "What alterations?"