Revived

Audrey’s mom shakes her head and leaves the room, which only makes us laugh harder. I feel a little bad, but I don’t calm down; instead I clutch my side and keep rolling.

Because sometimes, laughter is what you need.

Audrey and I spend the morning watching talk shows and painting our toenails turquoise. After lunch, despite my general aversion to direct sunlight, she drags me to the pool in her neighborhood. It’s late September yet unseasonably warm enough for us to lie in the sun. My fair skin is slathered in SPF 50 sunblock, and Audrey’s is utterly exposed to the elements.

“I might as well die tan,” she says lazily, an arm draped over her eyes.

“Don’t say things like that,” I reply without looking at her.

“Why not?” she asks. “I speak the truth.”

“I hate the truth,” I mutter. “And besides, you never know—someone could cure cancer tomorrow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daisy,” Audrey says. She removes her arm from her eyes and looks over at me, squinting at first. When her eyes adjust to the brightness, her gaze sharpens. “Look at me.”

I do.

“I’m not afraid, Daisy.”

You should be, I think but don’t say. In my experience, dying isn’t all that great.

“That’s good,” I reply, because I have no idea what else to say.

“No, seriously, it is good. I mean, it’s not good that I have cancer. When I first found out, I felt so cheated. I was convinced there was some way to fight it.”

“You can,” I say with borrowed confidence. “You should still be thinking that way.”

“That’s the thing, Daisy: No, I shouldn’t,” Audrey says. “At some point, you have to realize that death is coming and be grateful for what you’ve had instead of pissed that it’s going away.”

“But you’re barely eighteen,” I protest. “That’s pretty young to give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Audrey says. “I’m accepting my fate.”

“That’s weak,” I mutter under my breath. I’m angry at Audrey, and I’m angry at myself for feeling this way. I wonder what I’m trying to accomplish by arguing with her. Do I want her to be as upset about her cancer as I am?

I wish I could rewind a few hours and laugh with her again. Instead, I’m mute, and Audrey looks away from me and flops her arm back over her eyes.

“Actually, I think that letting go is pretty strong, Daisy,” she says. “Everyone has to go sometime. Maybe this is my time.”

I shake my head at her, annoyed at her calmness. Then I wonder, What if it was me? Mason told me he had problems bringing me back last time; if I was in Audrey’s flip-flops, would I be this Zen?

Doubtful.

“How long are we staying?” I ask, changing the subject. “I’m getting burned.”

“You’re clock-watching,” Audrey teases, putting me more at ease after the tense conversation. “You know Matt will be home from school soon.”

I simultaneously roll my eyes and shake my head at my friend, but inside I know that she’s right.

And maybe about more than just Matt.

seventeen

Matt must have rushed out of school after the 2:50 bell, because he walks in the house at 3:07. Of course he doesn’t look hurried; he’s laid back, as usual.

“Hi!” I say—perhaps a touch too enthusiastically—when he comes into the living room, where Audrey and I are zoned out on an afternoon talk show. I try to control myself, but I’m sure the look on my face is pure sap. Before he arrived, I was in a vegetative state; now, as he strides across the room, I’m buzzing.

“Hey,” Matt says, smiling at me. “Hey, Aud,” he says to his sister with a slight wave. He drops his book bag on the floor and falls into the squishy chair. He scrunches up his dark eyebrows as he looks at the TV. Teens are confronting their parents about the adults’ bad habits, like smoking, doing drugs, and dating twenty-year-olds.

“What are you watching?” Matt asks.

“Quality TV,” Audrey murmurs. “Watch for five minutes and you won’t be able to look away.”

Mrs. McKean comes into the room wearing one of those mom sweat suits that works for the gym or the grocery store. She’s rubbing her hands together like she just put on lotion; I can smell its lemony scent.

“Audrey, did you forget about your appointment?” she asks.

“Huh?” Audrey says, struggling but finally pulling her eyes away from the on-screen train wreck to look at her mom.

“You have a checkup at four, and we need to leave at three thirty to get there on time,” Mrs. McKean says. She glances at the time on the DVR before looking at me. “Daisy, we can drop you off on the way if you’d like.”

“I’ll take her,” Matt says, his eyes still on the TV. I hold my breath.

“Great, thanks, Mattie,” his mom says. “Audrey, please go get dressed.”

Audrey looks down at her outfit. At three in the afternoon, she’s in pajamas; that’s what she elected to put on after we went to the pool.

“Fine,” she says. “But I feel great. I don’t know why we have to go today.”

“You know Dr. Albright always wants to see you after a trip to the ER,” her mom says.

Audrey rolls her eyes and stands. “I’ll call you later,” she says to me before leaving the room. Mrs. McKean follows her out. Matt stands up and turns off the TV.

“Wanna go?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, a little bummed that he wants to get rid of me so quickly.

I’m in my head the whole ride to my house, so much so that it feels like we’re pulling into the driveway only seconds after we left. I put my hand on the door handle and am opening my mouth to say goodbye when Matt surprises me.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh… yes?” I sort of say/ask.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” I say, recovering. “Of course you can come in.” My gloominess immediately fades: Maybe he wants to hang out at my house for a change.

We park and Matt grabs my weekend bag out of the backseat. We walk up to the front porch, and I unlock the door and swing it open. The house is stale after being uninhabited for a few days. Right away, I move across the entryway and open the windows in the dining room. Matt sets my bag just inside the front door.

“When are your parents coming back?” he asks, looking around at the living, dining, and sitting rooms, all visible from where he’s standing.

“Not until after ten,” I say. “Maybe later.”

I watch him scan the main level and try to see it as he might. The living room’s five-piece furniture grouping looks as if it’s brand-new even though it’s probably eleven years old. There’s a brown leather couch, love seat, and chair set, and matching glass coffee and side tables. Everything is positioned over a muted patterned rug. There’s a TV armoire on one wall, and an ornate mirror over the fireplace. The walls are covered in floral paper that was probably trendy when it was glued on and is now either cute or hideous, depending on your stance on vintage wallpaper.

The small sitting room contains nothing but three walls of books and two oversized toile wingback chairs with footstools in front and a side table between them. The only visible wall is painted forest green, while the bookshelves are a deep brown, making the whole room too dark for reading.

The dining room is furnished with an antique set: an eight-person table that I’m guessing has never seated