Meredith looks over her shoulder and must see what I see because she looks back at me and says, “It’s sad you’ll never be able to drink alcohol. Like … it’s a coming of age tradition to steal alcohol from your parents and get so drunk you can’t even see the toilet so you throw up in the bathtub instead.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Sounds to me like I’m not missing out on much. That’s one rule I’m okay to follow.”
Alcohol is hard on your kidneys; therefore, I’m not supposed to drink any. I’m sure many transplant recipients do, but I think they’re dumb. I’m not doing anything to potentially compromise this precious gift I’ve been given. I want to know I’ve done everything I can to keep this kidney as healthy as I possibly can. I won’t have guilt weighing on my shoulders, wondering if I’d followed certain rules if it would’ve lasted longer.
Meredith bites her lip. “I’ve been curious, but I haven’t wanted to ask …”
I raise a brow. “That’s not like you—you love asking the most uncomfortable questions ever.” I laugh and bump her shoulder with mine.
She shields her eyes from the sun and shrugs. “It’s just … I mean … I don’t want to … ugh, I might as well ...” she stammers. “Can you have kids?”
I grind my teeth together. I should’ve known this question would come eventually from someone. I guess maybe I didn’t expect it to be so soon, or Meredith of all people.
“I can. That’s why a lot of younger women with kidney disease advocate to get a transplant, but … pregnancy is hard on your kidneys, and I only have one that isn’t even mine, and that makes me hesitate to think about having biological children. Do I want to risk going on dialysis again just to have a child that’s my blood? I don’t think so. I think I’d rather adopt and be healthy and there for my child.”
“Whoa … that’s deep. I never even thought about it like that.”
I pick up sand and watch it sift through my fingers like so many other things I haven’t been able to hold on to.
When I was little I dreamed of having my own family, two or three kids of my own that had my blonde hair and maybe my freckles.
But that dream has drifted away like so many others.
Maybe it’s selfish of me but keeping my donor kidney healthy and lasting as long as possible is far more important to me than having biological children.
Brushing the sand off my hands, I look out at the ocean. “I’ve thought about it a lot,” I admit. “I’ve had to.”
“You’re the strongest, most brave person I know, Willa. I aspire to be more like you,” Meredith admits. It’s one of the sincerest things she’s ever said to me.
“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t feel strong, nor brave enough, to deserve her praise.
Most days, I feel like I’m just skating by, going through the motions and doing what I have to do.
“What are you going to do for your birthday?” she asks, changing the subject.
“I haven’t even thought about it,” I admit.
“We should do something big.” I open my mouth to rebut that idea, but she continues on before I can say anything. “After all, this is a very big birthday for you. Not only is it your eighteenth, but you got a kidney, that’s a big freaking deal.”
She’s right, it is, but I don’t find myself in the mood to celebrate. Maybe I’m still butthurt over my disastrous attempt to meet T.J.’s parents, a
nd instead encountered his brother? Cousin? Who knows, it’s not like I hung around to find out, but the fact that he’s the guy I saw outside Cool Beans is more than a little ironic for my tastes. It’s like the fates are mocking me. I finally meet a guy who makes me feel more than just a general feeling of fondness, and he’s potentially related to my kidney donor.
I don’t know why I’m bothered by it. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. It shouldn’t matter, and yet it does.
“What do you propose we do then?” I ask her. I have no ideas, I might as well hear what she has to say.
She taps her lip in thought. “We could go to the mall—eat at the Cheesecake Factory, you love that place—maybe get our nails done.”
“Maybe …” I hedge, it’s not a bad idea, but it doesn’t excite me either. “What about bowling?” I suggest. The irony is not lost on me that I was bowling when I first collapsed and found out at I had CKD.
“Bowling?” Meredith wrinkles her nose. “Why?”
“That sounds like fun to me,” Harlow pipes in. I can always count on my sister to have my back.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, thinking it over. “It’d keep my mind off things. It might be good for Spencer too.”
We’ve been texting some, but I haven’t seen him since before T.J. died. He sounds different now, even through text, almost older like he’s experienced too much. I know that all too well.