Carved in Her Bones

Rhian

Joey is still busy packing..or rather, stuffing all his belongings into the suitcase Mom brought for him. He's barely speaking to me. When he does, it's at me, not to me, and certainly not with me. If I didn't take it personally, his expertly vulgar choice of words would actually be kind of funny.

"I met your new roomie," I say loudly, just to make sure he doesn't pretend not to hear me.

He marches over to the table to grab his electronics, shooting Mom a look of pure hatred, like she's personally ruined his life.

Joey had been inviting women ..sorry, the appropriate term would be women..to his private hospital room for sex and other... carnal activities. My mom, being my mother, put an end to it immediately, despite Joey's 20-minute monologue on the importance of orgasms in cancer recovery.

"It keeps the cancer away from my balls," he had declared.

That had sent my father into a fit of laughter hoots, snorts, and all the wrong reactions which only encouraged Joey. Mom had laughed too, though you could tell she didn't want to. Joey had that effect on people.

"Does he look cool?" he finally asks, directing the question at me.

I silently thank God..he's speaking to me directly.

I shrug. "He looks sickly. But... okay."

That catches his attention. Joey has known me longer than I have consciously known myself. He knows when I'm holding something back.

"But okay?" He smirks. "You think he's good-looking, don't you?"

I roll my eyes as we walk to his new room. I find myself hoping the sickly-but-okay-looking boy will get along with Joey.

When we step inside, he's nowhere to be found. The only proof that I hadn't imagined him is the open MacBook and iPad on the desk next to his bed.

It smells manly in here. And rich, too...the way wealthy people's places always smell.

Mom busies herself unpacking Joey's suitcase, neatly hanging his clothes in the wardrobe he'll be sharing with the handsome, sickly stranger. Joey doesn't look sickly yet, but I know he will, once the chemo starts.

Mom hates having nothing to do, especially in hospitals. I think it keeps her mind off the possibility of Joey dying. She never talks about a future without him in it. I like that. But I also know I have to be somewhat ready for it. Not entirely ready...no one ever is..but bracing myself, storing away good memories, obsessively trying to create more.

Dad and I head down to the cafeteria, giving Mom some time alone with Joey. They've always had an effortless relationship...no work, no compromise, just an unshakable understanding. Joey made her a mother, and I think that's why they have the kind of bond I envy. A shared history, a connection that doesn't need words.

I have that with Dad.

He pulls me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, like he somehow knows what I need in this moment.

That's when I see him..the sickly-but-okay-looking boy.

He walks past us, next to a woman who looks like she stepped off the pages of Vogue. Long, shining blonde hair. Lips painted red. Tall, slender. She's beautiful in a way that makes other people feel less beautiful.

His hand rests on the small of her back.

She looks at him the way my friend Niall looks at his girlfriend, Marina.

And it's then that I finally allow myself to really look at him.

Tall...taller than Joey, even. Dark brown hair, thick and slightly unruly, falling into his eyes. He needs a haircut. His eyes icy blue, bordering on gray in the right light, I imagine. He's thin, but in a way that hints at something beneath the surface. He looks like the kind of man you see on TV...cinematic, striking.

I wonder what his hair feels like.

I want to touch it.

They walk past us, and Dad and I continue toward the cafeteria.

It makes sense, I think. That the supermodel is his girlfriend.

They belong together, in a way that feels inevitable.

Because with anyone else, that kind of beauty would seem out of place.

With them, it fits.