Page 113 of Until the Last Star Fades

I don’t know how to make your red velvet cake.

What will birthdays be like? Mother’s Day?

Who will watch cheesy Christmas movies with me?

Share donuts, walk shelter dogs?

I’ll miss the smile in your voice

when you realize it’s me on the phone.

Will I forget your scent?

How you can wear a sweatshirt and still look chic?

What happens to your stories, the ones I don’t know?

Will they be lost—forever?

Who will walk me down the aisle on my wedding day?

If I have kids, they’ll never meet you, learn from you, love you.

How will I make you proud?

When time runs out…

How do I do this?

Alone…

…without you.

Female voices floated in and out, but they were garbled like an underwater conversation as the thrashing of Riley’s heartbeat pounded through her ears. Words formed on her tongue but weren’t spoken.

Or were they?

Did I say something?

She felt pressure…her hand…a squeeze? Maggie’s touch reawakened her senses. Riley turned to her mom, her pretty face and head scarf blurry in a wash of pink, blue, and green. When did I start crying? The drone in her ears began to shift, and a few fragments spoken by the doctor ricocheted around her mind.

…“unresectable bile duct cancer”…

…“liver transplant”…

…“national wait list”…

A warm chuckle invaded the words, pulling Riley back to the surface. Mom?

“Yes, do it.” Maggie’s voice was firm, assertive—the quiver from earlier gone. “Add me to the list. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

“A liver transplant?” Riley wiped her eyes, streaking her hand with teary mascara smudges.

Offering a box of tissues to Riley, Dr. McLoughlin’s gaze hopped to Maggie. “Well, you’ll have to be evaluated by a transplant hospital to see if you’re healthy enough for surgery. They’d run a series of tests, both physical and psychological, and then a committee discusses the findings and makes a decision. If it’s a yes, you’d be added to the wait list, but I have to tell you, Maggie, there’s no guarantee you’ll receive a liver. The list is…extremely long.” She typed something into her computer and scrolled the screen. “Right now, there are over thirteen thousand people waiting around the country. Most of them…” The oncologist took a deep breath. “Won’t live long enough to receive a transplant.”

“I’m not most patients.” Maggie held Riley’s hand, refusing to let go.

“We have to try.” Riley sniffed behind a tissue.