The Last Good Day (Kellic One-Shot)

So I watched The Fault in Our Stars and then this one-shot happened. Sadness. You’ve been warned.

—

In approximately seventeen days, Kellin Quinn will be dead.

That’s how long the doctors are giving him. They tried everything they could think of, desperate to find a miracle, but now they’ve given up. They’ve finally accepted that there will be no miracle, and they’re giving him until the end of the month. It’s Saturday, June 14 today.

Up until that point, I think we were all stupidly optimistic, to a certain extent—me, Kellin, Kellin’s dad, even my own parents. Deep down, we all hoped that if the doctors didn’t give up, they’d make something beautiful happen. They’ve done so many things to Kellin over the years that it seemed like it had to be for something.

But when the doctors run out of ideas, run out of tests and surgeries and procedures…that’s when you know things are going downhill.

I’d been waiting for those words as long as I’d known him—“There’s nothing more we can do”—dreading them, accepting that they’d have to come eventually. And they did. They held off for seven of Kellin’s seventeen years, trying to give him as many of those as possible, but they still came.

Today, Kellin calls me and asks me to come over to his house. Of course I tell him that I will, but when I head downstairs with the keys to my car, my parents stop me.

"I’m afraid you’re not going to see him, Vic," Mom says, standing between me and the front door. We all know who "him" is.

"What? Why not?"

Dad makes his way over to us. “We think this is affecting you too much,” he explains. “You have to take care of yourself, too, you know.”

"I know," I reply. "But I’m probably going to live until I’m at least sixty-something, and Kellin won’t even make it to July unless he’s lucky. I mean, come on. Dad, if Mom was dying, Lord knows you’d be by her side every waking moment. And vice versa."

My parents exchange glances. They know I’m right about that.

"Vic," Mom says. She sounds like she’s about to argue with me, but then she just sighs, looking pained. "Okay."

She doesn’t have to say anything else. I’m out the door in seconds.

It’s raining, and that, of course, makes me remember something about Kellin. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. This time, I remember when we took a trip up to New York City, and it stormed on the drive back home. There were huge bolts of lightning and cracks of thunder that seemed really close by—it was at night, too—but instead of panicking, Kellin took a video of it with his phone and made hilarious commentary the whole time.

Kellin’s dad isn’t surprised to see me. He waves halfheartedly from the front doorway as I hop out of the car and head inside. “Hey, Vic,” he says. “Kellin’s upstairs.”

I kick my shoes off right inside the door. “Okay.”

I make my way up to Kellin’s room, and sure enough, there he is, lying on his bed with his hair falling into his face. “Hi, Vic,” he says softly.

It hurts just to look at him, but I try not to think about that.

"Hi, Kell."

I sit down on the side of his bed, taking his hand. “How’s everything going?”

"Well, besides the terminal illness, I’d say things are going pretty good." He gives me a little smile.

I smile back at him. “Well, that’s good.”