Read Online Before I Go by Colleen Oakley - Free Book Online Page B

Oreos and a can of whipped cream. It’s Kayleigh’s favorite snack—eating the two together. I’ve watched her carefully squirt the foamy cream onto each cookie and stuff her maw with the entire concoction at least a million times, all while turning my nose up at the processed, sugar-laden, additive-and-chemical-riddled treats.
    “I walk a lot,” I say. I should tell her that I don’t typically eat like this. I don’t want her to think I’m one of those girls who flips her hair and says, “Oh, I’ve just got good genes.” Instead, I add: “And do yoga.”
    Sammy plucks the thought out of my head. “Must be genetic.” She puts the Oreos on a shelf in the pantry and then tugs at her waistband. “ ’Cause I ride my bike every day and can’t seem to drop a pound.”
    I crunch another Cheez-It and pretend to think about this. But I’m really staring at her breasts and thinking how they look like two soft fluffy pillows, her stomach a cloud. I’m suddenly tired. Oh so tired. And I wonder if I can lie on her. Just for a minute.
    “Daisy?” She’s looking at me strangely. “Are you OK?”
    I wish people would stop asking me this. What does OK even mean? It’s not even a real word. It’s unacceptable in Scrabble.
    “I’m just tired,” I say.
    “Oh, you poor thing,” she says. “And I’ve been going on and on. Let me get out of your hair. I got to be up early anyway. I told Carl I’d take his shift tomorrow morning—he has some NRA meeting or something or other. Anyway, he’s taking my Saturday night. Happy to trade with him. College kids are the devil on weekends.”
    I vaguely wonder if I’m supposed to know who Carl is.
    After Sammy leaves, I realize that I forgot to thank her for helping me with the groceries. This oversight makes me unspeakably sad. She was so kind. I wonder if I should go back outside and knock on her door to thank her, but the forty steps between our two houses feels like miles.
    I set the box of Cheez-Its back on the counter. Nearly half of them are now in my stomach, but I’m still ravenous. And then I remember the steaks I bought at the butcher counter. Big, red T-bones with thick white bands of fat. My mouth waters. I can’t remember the last time I ate red meat. I open the fridge and remove the white paper bundle that Sammy had placed on the second shelf and not in the meat drawer.
    With a click click click, the gas burner turns into a flame, and I cover it with a cast-iron skillet. I leave the steaks to sizzle and pop in the hot pan and I go into the living room. I want music and vodka. Not necessarily in that order. Vodka was my go-to drink in undergrad. Vodka Red Bull. Vodka cranberry juice. Vodka and Rainbow Sprite. But tonight I pour the Absolut that we keep for company straight into a highball glass that has an R etched into it. The set of four was a wedding gift from Jack’s aunt.
    I take a mouthful of the clear liquid and cough and sputter as it burns all the way down my throat.
    “Daisy?”
    Jack is standing in the arched doorway between our kitchen and living room. I didn’t hear him come in.
    “Are you making steaks?”
    I nod, my eyes still watering from the vodka.
    His face falls, and all I can think is: he knows. I don’t know how, but he must know what happened to me today. The fiery PET scan. The four months. All the Cheez-Its I just ate. Maybe it’s because our connection is that deep, our bond that strong. And it’s a relief, because until that moment I had given no consideration to how I was going to tell him.
    But I don’t have to think about it anymore because he knows.
    “O-kaaaay.” He furrows his brow. “What’d the doctor say? I’ve been calling you for the past three hours.”
    He doesn’t know.
    I take another sip of my drink. It tingles less this time.
    He stares at me, and I know he is trying to piece together the puzzle he has walked into—why his wife who hasn’t eaten red meat in four years is suddenly sautéing T-bones