Page 202 of 72 Hours of You

I shake my head.

“Okay,” he says, “let’s go.”

I take his hand and lead him to the truck. He opens the driver’s-side door for me and I slide in, watching him go back around to the other side and get in.

“Cold out tonight, huh?” he says, rubbing his hands together and turning the heat up.

I nod.

The pink light fills up the truck, making it hard for me to drive, but he’s here. He’s here.

I pull into the train station and park. The next train out isn’t for another hour.

Shit. I didn’t think about that part.

“What should we do now?” I say. The seconds are going too fast.

Peter turns to me, a smile starting at the corner of his mouth. “I can think of something.”

He leans in and I close my eyes. I inhale, wishing I could breathe every last bit of him in. Pull him into myself and preserve this one moment.

There goes an hour.

We get our tickets as the sun is coming up and slide into two seats in the back.

“Do you mind if I read?” Peter asks.

I shake my head. He can do whatever he wants. He pulls out his phone and opens his Kindle app. Today it’s Here and Now and Then by Mike Chen. Time travel stuff. God, if only.

Peter glances up from his phone. “You okay?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I’m staring at him.

“Okay,” he says, like he doesn’t quite believe me, before turning back to his book. He keeps reading, his eyes on the page, but he reaches over and holds my hand. And it makes me want to fucking cry. But I keep it together, close my eyes, and hold on to him while the train keeps rolling, while the same question echoes over and over in my mind: Is it better or worse to know?

Fuck Huntington’s and fuck the hot dogs. I’m going to give Peter the best last seventy-two hours anyone’s ever had.

Or—I blink back the tears, closing my eyes and pretending to rest—or what’s left of those seventy-two hours.

Fifty-Six

“SO, WHERE TO NOW?” I squint, holding my hand over my eyes, shielding myself from the morning sun. And the clock. I make my face and my voice go normal, upbeat even.

“Oh, suddenly you’re letting me run this show?” Peter raises his eyebrows.

“No. I just mean, I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

The city is already fully awake and moving. Cars honking, people chugging Venti coffees, suits bumping into each other, jockeying to defend their little square of space on this planet.

“Let’s get something to eat and go to the park. Oh! There’s also this really cool bookstore I’ve been wanting to go to.”

“Great,” I say. And then I take his hand, threading our fingers together. I don’t have time for hesitation or bullshit anymore. Peter looks slightly surprised, and I mean, I get it, this is kind of a wild 180 for me, but he also looks happy. And that’s all that matters. We walk down the sidewalk, holding hands, our two little squares of space now one rectangle.

We grab some bagels and coffees and he points out more stoops and architecture, and tells me little facts about the city. And if I try hard enough I can almost convince myself that it’s just another normal day. That we’re two teenagers walking around, talking about nothing. Invincible.

But we’re not.

Is it better or worse to know?