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Marcus grimaces but keeps quiet when I shush him.
Dr. Williams makes sure to face both of us as she explains, “An exchange program, also called a paired donation, is when two or more people with kidney failure have willing, medically able, living donors who are incompatible”—she gestures at me—“with their loved one”—she points to Marcus—“but are compatible with another in need. If a pairing match is found, that means you would be donating to a stranger, Holly, with the understanding that their family member or friend would be donating a kidney to Marcus. With your brother’s rare blood type, I can’t guarantee we will find one of these situations, but it doesn’t hurt to enter into the program. If you think you would be comfortable with that situation?”
I choke out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding? Sign me up!”
“Holly, don’t—”
I turn to my brother, pinning him with a glare and giving his chest a firm poke. “If you think for one second that I’m not doing this, you’re in for a rude awakening, bro. You’d better get ready because I’m finding you a kidney if it’s the last thing I do.”
Silence fills the room before Marcus sighs in defeat. He knows when I’m armed and ready for battle.
Turning to the doctor, he gives her a shrug. “If it’s what she wants, then I’m on board.”
Dr. Williams nods and writes herself a note. “Okay. I’ll put your information into the system.”
“Good.”
We might have gotten some bad news today, but there’s still hope. And I’m going to cling to it like a rabid raccoon.
Marcus ruffles my hair as we exit the office. “I still can’t believe this is how you wanted to spend today.”
I shrug. “You’re the one who made me wait.”
He shakes his head like I’m the weird one and tosses me the car keys. “Now that the depressing portion of the festivities are over, let’s go get you some birthday cake.”
1
BEN
Three Years Later
These waiting rooms always smell the same. Not bad exactly, but distinctly sterile. If this smell were a person, it’d be that guy who ironed his dress shirts before he hung them up and then again right before he wore it, and then he would glare at your wrinkled T-shirt, as if you’d somehow offended him.
It’s giving me a headache.
But I push past it because today is a good day. Today, I meet her. My donor.
My kidneys are shit. My fault. I can’t curse at my parents or a stranger for this situation. Maybe the universe, but I’m not a fan of yelling into the void. Nope, I screwed my body up all on my own.
Still, all my family members and friends got tested to see if they could help me out. Maybe give me one of theirs. No luck there. Every time they called with a negative, I would try to convince myself that it didn’t matter, but then I’d have to hook up to the machine again.
Each treatment with the needles in my arm, sucking my blood out to be cleaned and then piping it back in, pushed me closer to crazy town. The only thing that kept me going was the hope that my wait on the organ donor list wouldn’t be longer than the life left in my body.
Today’s the big day.
My parents are late, but I don’t care this time. Without them here, I can people-watch. Maybe catch a glimpse of my donor before the official meeting.
I only know her name and her brother’s, who needs a kidney just as bad as I do. My doctor said a name is all he could give me without their permission, and some people don’t even get that.
Holly and Marcus Foster. My superheroes. I half-expect her to burst in here, sporting a Wonder Woman getup. Getting a kidney from Gal Gadot would be a bonus.
That’s just wishful thinking though. I’ve got my eye out for a man and a woman more my parents’ age or older. Kidney failure isn’t something people as young as me normally deal with. I’m an outlier.
Yay me.
My glasses slide down my nose as I bend over the book in my lap. I should’ve brought one of my textbooks, but studying political science isn’t as interesting as reading a novel. Normally, I can get lost in a good story, but today, I can’t get through a paragraph without glancing at the door.
Finally, it opens, and in walk a middle-aged man and woman.
