All My Lasts

Chapter Three

The rest of the week carried on normally. Callie had chemo Wednesday afternoon, so she missed both Thursday and Friday. Saturday and Sunday were spent lounging around the house, Callie pretty much attached at my hip all weekend as we watched movies.

"Logan?" She murmured Saturday night. We were watching Callie's favorite movie, Coco, in the dark den. Our parents were both at the office, working on a big case.

"Yeah?" I asked, looking down at her. She was under a blanket, curled against my side.

"Can you make me some soup?" She asked, her eyes closed.

"Sure thing runt," I said, ruffling her hair. "What kind do you want?"

"Chicken noodle," she smiled at my joke. Ever since she was little, Callie refused to eat any other kind of soup, so our pantry was always stocked with at least six cans of chicken noodle soup.

"I'll be right back," she grunted in response and lifted her head a bit and allowed me to get up before grabbing a throw pillow and laying it under her head.

I padded into the kitchen and dumped a can of soup into a pot and turned the stove on. From in the den, I could hear Callie singing softly to the song 'Remember Me'. I took a seat on a bar stool at the island in the middle of our kitchen, just listening to her.

Before she had been diagnosed, Callie had been part of choir and had been one of the best singers I knew. But when her schedule was reduced, that meant she had to cut out any electives, including choir. I hadn't heard her sing much since then, so hearing her made me happy.

The soup began to steam, and transferred it into a bowl and grabbed a spoon from drawer before taking it out to Callie.

"Thank you," she sat up, accepting the soup from me and lifting a bite to her mouth. I was just glad to see she had regained an appetite.

"You're welcome," I smiled and sat back down on the couch beside her.

We watched the rest of the movie in silence. Callie finished about 3/4 of her soup before throwing in the towel and setting the bowl on the coffee table and curling back into me. We sat like this for a while, even after the next movie on Netflix began to play.

"Thank you Logan," she whispered all of a sudden, startling me. I had assumed she was asleep.

"For what?" I asked, stroking her hair.

"For being such a good big brother. For taking such good care of me. Most boys your age would rather be out partying right now."

"Cal, there is no place I'd rather be right now."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Callie, are you coming?" I asked, knocking on her bedroom door. It was once again Monday morning, and once again raining. It was like Mother Nature knew how everyone felt on Monday's.

"Give me a minute," she called, and a few moments later, the door swung open, revealing Callie in a heavy Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, woolen leggings and her yellow converse. Her hair was piled on top of her head, a thick headband covering some of the disappearing hair from her head.

"Are you okay?" I asked, noticing how flushed she was.

"Yeah, just flustered," she brushed the question off with a wave of her hand. "Let's go, we're going to be late."

"Okay, did you take your meds?"

"Yes Logan, now let's go!" She snapped, swinging her bag over her shoulder. I was taken aback for a moment before grabbing my keys and following her into our three car garage. I tried to keep my temper in check, remembering what the doctor said about mood swings.