“This isn’t what Canon signed on for,” I say. “It’s one thing if this happens to your long-time girlfriend or fiancée or wife, but we haven’t been together long. This has to be the last thing he wants to go through after what he saw with his mom.”
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding him this week?”
“I haven’t been avoiding him,” I lie. “We’ve both been busy.”
“Neevah.”
“I need to finish packing.” I slide off the bed and, I hope, out of the conversation.
“Imma let you get away with it for now, young lady, but you need to discuss this with Canon. I already know he doesn’t feel trapped or—”
“T, please.” I grab a dress from the closet and toss it into the suitcase. “Can we talk about something else?”
“You talked to your sister about getting tested?”
Not quite what I had in mind.
“Not yet. Tomorrow.”
“You have to. She may be your sister, but so am I. I can’t lose you.”
I stare at the rows of dresses in my closet, grasping for my composure. I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t end up with me in a puddle Takira has to mop up before Canon comes.
The doorbell rings, and Takira says, “Your love has arrived.”
“Who said I love him?” I walk to the mirror to adjust my floral-patterned headscarf.
“Since when do you have to tell me something for me to know it?” she asks. “And leave that scarf alone. Your hair is fine.”
The cornucopia of meds has eased my nausea and helped with fatigue, though sometimes both return, but it hasn’t stopped the hair loss. Lately, if I’m not wearing one of Dessi’s wigs, I wear a head wrap to hide the gaps which, even with hair as thick as mine, are noticeable now. My stage makeup still camouflages the butterfly-shaped rash that has spread its wings over my nose and cheeks, but there’s no disguising how my face has started to swell. The hollows beneath my cheeks that used to sharpen my bone structure have filled into a puffiness no amount of dieting can reduce. This is one way the powerful steroid I’m taking is wreaking havoc on my physical appearance. I don’t want to think about the invisible toll the drugs may take on my body.
“I look okay?” I ask, meeting Takira’s compassion in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” she assures me as the doorbell rings again. “He’ll think so, too. Now go get him before he busts that door down.”
I kiss her cheek, grab my suitcase, and answer the door. On the front porch, Canon wears the perma-frown he can only shake for so long until the movie wraps. It clears, though, as soon as he sees me.
“You ready?” he asks.
I miss my chance to answer when Takira screams from the back, “Don’t forget the lube!”
Canon and I lock eyes for half a second before we both laugh. It feels like forever since we laughed together. He pulls me into him, and I let myself go limp in his arms.
I let go.
For the space of a few heartbeats, I let go.The sound of his humor vibrates through his chest and reaches all the parts of me hungry for hope, for joy.
And yes, for love.
I haven’t even told him, and I’m not sure I should. If he does somehow feel he can’t walk away from the sick girl, won’t me telling him how I feel, how much I’ve come to love and need him in even just a few months, only make it worse? He’s always said he can read my every emotion. I’m glass, an open window.
For the first time since I’ve known him, I want to pull the shade.