It's Like This (6 page)

“Have you seen Kya’s eye?” Matilda asks hopefully, like maybe if Mom’s already seen it then there’s nothing to worry about.

“What do you mean?” Mom asks and I see Matilda’s hope vanish.

“It’s doing this weird reflecting thing. I don’t know.”

Mom’s eyebrows crease. “I haven’t noticed anything. Maybe it was just a reflection from the television. Which, Matilda, I do believe you’re currently banned from for breaking curfew.”

I hold my hand up in Matilda’s defense. “My fault. I begged and pleaded.”

I can tell Mom is going to let it slide, and Matilda looks at me gratefully.

Kya suddenly comes charging back into the room. “God, you guys are boring,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Kya. Language,” Mom warns automatically.

“Mom. Language,” Kya mimics. God, Matilda and I would never have gotten away with that. I think child-rearing on the later side of middle age is a whole lot slacker.

My dad scoops Kya up by the armpits. She’s wiry and kicks wildly, shrieking at him to put her down. Dad brings Kya’s face close to his until they are having a staring contest, with her still suspended in the air.

“Charlotte, honey, I think you should take a look at this,” he says calmly. He places Kya’s feet back on the floor.

Mom tilts Kya’s face up towards her own, and looks at the offending eye intently. Kya stills, seems to finally get that something is going on.

“I’ll go give the nurses’ hotline a call,” Mom says quietly, and heads for the kitchen.

“What?” Kya asks.

No one answers her.

“What?!” she repeats louder, impatiently.

“Nothing!” Matilda says brightly. “Niles and I were just thinking that maaaaybe you’d like to go mini-golfing tonight.” Matilda looks at Dad who nods his confirmation before turning and leaving the room.

“For serious?” asks Kya.

We nod.

“Heck, yeah I would!” she screeches.

* * *

Mom says the nurse won’t say anything definite, but she said to make an appointment with our family doctor first thing in the morning. She pulls out her laptop and types rapidly, researching. Her mouth flattens into a tight, thin line and she claps her computer shut. She says no one is going to worry about anything until we know something for sure. So of course, we all worry—except Kya.

Kya doesn’t question why she’s allowed to go mini-golfing on a school night. She doesn’t get why Dad unhesitatingly makes her a grilled cheese when she complains about the chicken. She is thrilled when she’s allowed to stay up late that night watching movies she doesn’t really understand but is trying to watch anyway because she wants Matilda and me to think she’s smart. And she doesn’t get why Rylan isn’t here. When it’s getting late and she’s getting tired and cranky, she tells me he’s more fun than me anyway, and that I’m stupid for not inviting him over. Matilda glances over at me worriedly, thinking that that, after everything today, will upset me. It doesn’t. It seems pretty trivial in comparison.

“Come on, Kya, this movie is lame,” Matilda says. “If you go to bed now, I’ll do your hair up in a billion little braids for tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Matilda confirms.

“Deal.” Kya solemnly sticks out her hand and Tilla shakes it.

When she comes back down a half hour later, Tilla folds up next to me on the couch.

“Do you think it’s really something?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer, truthfully.

“I looked at the stuff Mom was Googling. There’s like…kid cataracts and stuff.”

“Yeah, but it’s probably nothing serious.”

“Yeah, but it could be.”

Yup. It really could be. I wrap an arm around Matilda’s shoulder and rest my head on hers as she slumps against my arm.

“They’ll figure it out,” I promise.

“They’d better,” she whispers.

After Kya and our parents are asleep, or at least have gone to bed, without anyone bothering to say anything to Matilda about having school in the morning (for once), she and I drive to my place to get some clothes and stuff, because I have a feeling I might want to be home with everyone for at least a couple of days. In the car, she picks the music. We quietly mumble along to the verses and sing along to the choruses: a prime strategy when one has nothing pleasant to talk about.

When we get back to the house we crash in my old bedroom for a little bit, neither one of us wanting to be alone. I don’t know why exactly, but Matilda seems way older than she is. She still sometimes acts like a brat and picks fights with Mom, but sometimes I wonder if it’s because she’s actually pissed or because she thinks that’s what teenagers do. Either way, I’m not sure our parents give her enough credit. It’s weird, but growing up—if I was in a particularly morbid mood—I’d think about what would have happened if our parents died, and for some reason I always just assumed that Matilda would keep Kya and me in line—which realistically, is completely irrational. I mean, I’m three years older. Guess it’s the whole girls have a higher emotional maturity level, or whatever.

I almost tell her about Rylan, but then I realize to do that I’d have to go into the details of my sex life, and mature or not, she’s still my sister, and I do not have any inclination whatsoever to know the status of her hymen or, maybe, lack thereof, so, assuming she’d feel similarly, and having thoroughly grossed myself out, I leave it alone.

Finally, Matilda drags herself off to bed. I get undressed, and when I do, the condom falls out of my pocket. Shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m no good at this. Hell, I still have all four grandparents: I’ve never lost a single person in my entire life. I’ve never…done anything, felt anything of magnitude. So far my existence has been completely devoid of tragedy. And I guess now I’m paying for the nineteen years of…luck. Or something. Like no one should be happy for that long. But the fact that it’s Kya who will maybe be paying for it —well, that karma’s just fucked.

Rylan hasn’t called. Or texted. Well, he never texts. He thinks texting is lazy and a waste of time. If you want to talk, pick up the phone and dial, is his philosophy.

Fuck. I really hope this—everything, Rylan and Kya and—I just hope it isn’t anything. I just want to sleep. So that it will go away. I’m obviously really good at dealing with shit.

* * *

I sleep in for hours, having already decided not to bother with class today. I don’t actually get up until noon, when my phone starts vibrating from the floor.

It probably makes me an asshole that I’m disappointed that it’s Shona. OK, I’m not disappointed that it’s Shona; I’m just disappointed that it’s not Rylan.

“Let me tell you a fun story,” she starts in as soon as I pick up. “When, say, Person A tells Person B, who, by the way, is their BEST FRIEND, to call them, and then they don’t, Person B gets bitchy and a little concerned.”

“Sorry, Shone.”

“Better be.” She forgives me instantly. “What’s up?”

I tell her what’s going on with Kya.

“Well, now I feel like a selfish bitch. I’m so sorry, Niles.”

“Yeah.” Because what else can she say, right? Of course she says she’s sorry and it’s probably not anything and all that, but…honestly. There’s nothing you can say.

“When do you find out for sure?”

“I think the appointment’s this afternoon. I guess they’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

“Where are they now?”

“You know my mom. Ten bucks says Kya was frogmarched to school right up until the appointment.”

“Well, that’s probably good, right? Keep things normal?”

I sigh, I guess she’s right. “Yeah.”

“How’s Rylan taking it? He loves that kid.”

“…Fine,” I find myself saying. I don’t have the energy to deal with that issue too, not with Shona. I can barely deal with it myself. Whatever
it
actually is.

“Ha. Fine, I bet. Let me tell you, Nigh, it’s all an act. Ten to one says he’s only being fine for your sake. Not that I necessarily want him anywhere near you right now.”

“Yeah, well…”

I tell her I have to go, and she says to call her later when I know what’s going on and I tell her I will.

I shower and putz around the kitchen, make myself some eggs and then clean the kitchen for my parents. I’m halfway through vacuuming the floor when Matilda shows up.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I ask automatically.

“Spare block and then photography, which I have this niggling feeling that I won’t fail if I skip once. Besides…”

She doesn’t have to finish, just shrugs and I get it. I can’t concentrate either.

“Wanna play, like, Checkers or something?” she asks half desperately.

* * *

Mom doesn’t come home for hours. Dad calls and tells us that Kya’s been referred to a specialist and they are all heading there for an urgent consult.

By the time they get home my mom is just barely holding it together. Kya however, seems unfazed, whizzing upstairs, and within seconds we have Pearl Jam blaring down the stairs. Please do not ask me why my seven-year-old sister listens to Pearl Jam, and only Pearl Jam, because it is one of life’s great mysteries, which I have long since given up trying to solve.

“Kya, shut your door!” my mom pleads. For a moment nothing happens, but then thankfully the music is muffled.

Til and I are standing practically at attention.

“Well?” Matilda urges.

“The. Um. The ophthalmologist thinks—is almost certain that it’s—God, I can’t even pronounce it. Retina-blasty something.”

We stare at her blankly.

“Cancer.”

Jesus. I didn’t expect that. Why didn’t I expect that? Everyone gets fucking cancer. Matilda moves close to me, her elbow practically digging into my ribs.

“Where’s Dad?” Matilda asks.

“He’s in the car. He needs a minute.”

Shit shit shit shit shit. I need to fix this. I can’t fix this, I want to fix this, but…I don’t even know what happens now.

“What…what happens next? A…biopsy or something?” I’m trying to rationalize this. Or I’m begging, I can’t even tell.

“In her
eye
?” Matilda hisses.

“No. No…” Mom tells us. “No biopsy. An MRI. But that will take a couple weeks. And it will tell us if it’s spread…”

“No,” I refuse. This is not happening. No fucking way.

“And then what?” we demand.

“It all depends. If it’s spread, chemo. If it stays in one…they’ll most likely—” She cuts herself off with a soft sob.

“They’ll what?”

She’s shaking. Matilda moves to her, hugging her like she probably hasn’t done in years.

“They’ll cut out my baby’s eye.”

Matilda and my mom cling to each other. I stand uselessly nearby, drowning.

* * *

We all stagnate while we wait. I drag myself to class, spend a bit of time with Shona, and then go straight home to my parents’ place afterwards, to spend as much time as I possibly can with Kya. I try to think of every fun thing I can think of and hate myself for not having been around her more since I moved out.

Kya doesn’t get it. Mom has tried to explain it to her, but she can’t bring herself to tell Kya that they might have to…Fuck. How do you tell a kid something like that?

There’s a cancellation and Kya gets her MRI within the week. It confirms the cancer, which is currently contained. It should be cause for a celebration but mostly I just feel like I accidentally ate a pound of lead. They are sending Kya to the children’s hospital in Vancouver for treatment. Mom, thankfully, does mostly freelance editing and so she can take time off work to go with her. She has a university friend she can stay with there, and Dad will go over on his days off.

The night before they leave we have a big family dinner together and Matilda and I bake Kya a cake, and she tells us we’re weird because it’s not her birthday. In the morning we all drive out to the ferry terminal to see them off and my dad stands at the departure bay for a good fifteen minutes, just watching the
Spirit of British Columbia
shrink into the distance.

“Maybe they’ll see some whales. Kya’s always bitching about how she never sees any whales,” Matilda mentions, finally.

“Maybe they will,” my dad agrees.

We get back into the car and head home, a whole, useless Saturday flopping before us.

* * *

Dad sits silently in the living room all afternoon, and we know better than to disturb him. One of his friends from down the street calls him around four, and then Dad leaves, saying he’ll be back late. My dad rarely drinks. Tonight, I expect, he’ll come home hammered. I get that.

Matilda and I go for a run by the water and then grab some ice cream. It’s spring and the cherry blossoms are coming out. It’s ungodly beautiful and we’re plain old sad.

Later, Til’s friend Courtney calls, and I can see Matilda assessing me from the corner of her eye. I don’t blame her for wanting to get the fuck out of this house where she can get some actual sympathy instead of just caring for my broken-down ass all day.

“Look, Court,” I hear her saying from the kitchen, “I can’t tonight. Tomorrow, though? I miss you like crazy and I need some time to just…” She pauses as Courtney speaks, then resumes, “Yeah. Exactly. I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll meet at the mall or something, shop or something? Yeah.” They end the conversation and she comes back into the living room.

“Nigh?” she says after we’ve sat together for another one of those long periods of silence which seem to have been consuming us for the last couple of days.

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re trying to be the stoic older brother and all.”

This catches me off-guard. I’ve been feeling like the shitty older brother who can’t seem to offer even the semblance of comfort to his far more mature and capable younger sister.

“But…look, why don’t you just call Rylan, invite him over, let him take care of you, you know?”

I don’t know how to reply.

“What?” she says. She gets up and walks to the kitchen. She comes back holding the house phone. “Look. Here. Phone. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I looked it up on the internet: kids with eye cancer have, like a ninety percent survival rate, especially if it’s caught early, so, it’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t need to bum around here taking care of me. Why don’t you let him come over and take care of you for a little while. Go on. Dial.”