Chapter 96 L

Chapter 96 L
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR — HE'S A GOOD ONE

The appeal comes back denied Tuesday morning. I read the letter twice standing in the kitchen, like reading it again might change the words.

Grants take months we don't have.

My mom's next infusion is scheduled for that afternoon, urgent this time, the kind the nurses don't bother softening with small talk anymore. Caleb rearranges practice without me asking, shows up at the hospital with two coffees and a bag of sugar-free candies my mom likes, the kind that don't upset her stomach.

We sit together while the infusion runs, machines humming, my mom dozing in and out.

"He's a good one," she murmurs at one point, not fully awake, not fully asleep either. "Better than most. You should hold onto him."

I don't answer, mostly because Caleb's sitting right there and I don't want him to hear me agree out loud, not yet, not with everything else sitting heavy on my chest today.

In the hallway later, coffee gone cold in my hands, I finally say it.

I stare at the vending machine instead of him. "Appeal denied. Grants take months we don't have. I think I have to consider your dad's offer."

His face goes blank for a second. Then something steadier settles into it.

He takes my hand. "Then we do it together. Whatever you decide. I'm not going to let my father win by making you feel alone in this decision."

"It's not really a decision. It's a trap with a bow on it."

He squeezes my hand. "I know. Whatever you decide, it won't change how I feel about you."

There's nothing to say back to that, so I just stand there with him a while, the hallway fluorescents buzzing overhead, the vending machine humming its own tired song, both of us avoiding the actual conversation neither of us wants to have yet.

Chloe calls that night, already having heard some version of the appeal news through Danny, who apparently can't keep anything to himself when he's worried.

"Denied? Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"So what's next for you?"

"I don't know yet. Caleb says we figure it out together. Whatever that means."

"Sounds like something a boy in love would say."

"Chloe."

Her voice softens. "I'm just saying. That's not casual-boyfriend talk. That's the real thing. I'm sorry about the appeal, though. That's not fair, on top of everything else you're already carrying."

"Nothing about any of this has been fair."

A pause stretches on her end. "No. It hasn't. You know I've got your back, whatever you decide. Even if it's the offer. I still think it's a terrible idea, but I'm not going anywhere either way."

"Thank you."

I hang up and sit on my bed a long while, the whole week pressing down harder than usual, my mom asleep down the hall, the hospital bracelet still on her wrist from today's visit sitting in a little pile on her nightstand where she always leaves it until the next one replaces it.

One more buzz comes through before I finally turn off the light.

You okay? Caleb's text reads.

Not really. But getting through it.

That's allowed. Not everything has to be okay right away.

Thanks for today. For the coffee. For not making me carry it alone in that hallway.

Always. That's not changing, whatever happens next.

I set the phone down, exhaustion pulling me under before I can finish deciding what tomorrow's supposed to look like.

Danny's door is cracked when I pass it on my way to bed, same as always lately, like he's started leaving it open on purpose in case I need to talk. I don't tonight. I just pull his blanket up where it's slipped, same as I always do, and go finish out the day in my own room.

My mom's still asleep when I check on her one more time before bed, breathing steady, the pink beanie hanging off the corner of her headboard where she leaves it overnight now that her hair's started growing back thin and uneven. I watch her a moment, the appeal letter still sitting folded in my jacket pocket downstairs, Richard's offer still waiting somewhere out there for an answer neither of us is ready to give yet.

Tomorrow, I think. I'll figure out tomorrow what today refused to solve.

I don't sleep well. I keep replaying the way Richard's offer sounded when he first said it over the phone, smooth and certain, like he already knew I'd eventually run out of other options. I hate that he might be right.

Around midnight, another text lights up my screen.

Can't sleep either, apparently, Caleb writes.

Me neither.

Want to talk it through? Not deciding anything tonight. Just talking.

I sit up against my headboard, phone glowing in the dark room.

Okay.

He calls instead of texting, voice low on the other end like he doesn't want to wake anyone in his own house either.

"Whatever you decide," he says, "I need you to know it's not going to change anything about how I show up. Not for you. Not for your mom. Not for Danny."

"You can't promise that. Not really."

His voice stays steady. "I can promise the part that's actually mine to promise. The rest, we figure out as we go. Same as everything else this year."

"You make it sound simple."

A pause. "It's not simple. I just don't want you facing it like it is, either. I looked into a few more options today. Nothing definite. But I'm not giving up on finding another way just because the first appeal came back denied."

"Thank you for that."

Another pause, longer this time. "Always. Try to get some sleep, Mia. Tomorrow's going to need you rested, whatever you end up deciding."

I hang up eventually, the conversation settling something in my chest that wasn't there before, and finally manage to fall asleep somewhere past one in the morning, the appeal letter and Richard's offer both still waiting, but a little less alone in the waiting than they were an hour ago.

I dream, of all things, about the equipment room, the first day, Caleb sitting shirtless on the bench with that bruise spreading across his ribs. In the dream he doesn't say took you long enough. He just looks at me, tired, and asks if I'm okay, the same question he keeps asking now, months later, except this time I actually believe he means it.

I wake up to sunlight and a text already waiting.

Morning. How'd you sleep after we talked?

Better than I expected.

Good. I meant what I said last night. About the appeal, about figuring it out together. Didn't want that to just be midnight talk that disappears by morning.

It didn't disappear. I still believe it.

Good.

I take my time getting ready for school, replaying the whole conversation from last night, the way his voice had stayed steady even when mine kept cracking. Whatever happens with Richard's offer, at least I'm not walking into that decision completely alone anymore, and that alone feels like something worth holding onto through whatever today decides to throw at me next.