Chapter 2
When I got there, they were having a family dinner. Dad, Mom, my brother James Carter, and Emily.
They were laughing and chatting away. Emily was animatedly talking about the job she'd just landed.
James was bragging that his son had gotten a gold star in preschool today. Mom was smiling so hard her eyes had gone to slits.
Warm. Peaceful. Happy.
And me? I was standing outside the door.
Like a peeping outsider. Like someone who didn't belong. My hand hung in the air, and for a second, I didn't even know if I should push the door open.
But right then, James looked up and saw me.
But then James looked up and saw me. He froze for a second, then frowned. "Helen, why are you just standing at the door?"
His voice was openly impatient, like my showing up had ruined the timing.
The other three at the table all turned to look at me. The smiles on their faces stiffened. The air went silent in an instant.
Mom stood up and forced out a thin smile.
"Helen, what a surprise. Why didn't you say you were coming back?"
Not, "You're home." But, "Why did you suddenly come back?"
This had never really been my home.
Dad cleared his throat.
"James had the day off, so I told everyone to come back for dinner."
"Aren't you supposed to be at the hospital? Why are you back at this hour?"
His tone sounded more like an interrogation. As if I'd barged into a place I had no business entering.
Emily kept her head down, stirring rice around in her bowl without saying a word. But there was a faint little curl at the corner of her mouth.
I knew that smile too well. I'd seen it countless times growing up.
Triumph. Showing off. Mockery aimed right at me.
See? They didn't even invite you to dinner.
See? You don't matter at all.
See? There's no place for you in this family.
I looked at the scene in front of me. It should have looked warm, but all it did was sting my eyes.
It felt like something was lodged in my chest. So tight I could barely breathe.
All of a sudden, I remembered being little, coming back from Grandma's place, pushing open the door and seeing this exact kind of scene.
Twenty years had passed, and nothing had changed.
I was still the extra one.
Still the child no one had been waiting for.
"Helen, have you eaten? Want to sit down and have a bite?"
Mom had finally remembered to ask. Her tone was perfunctory.
"No thanks."
I heard how calm my own voice sounded. So calm it was scary.
"I was just passing by, so I came in to see you all."
"Oh."
Mom answered, then turned back around and kept eating.
No one looked at me again. No one asked how I'd been. No one cared why I'd suddenly come back.
I stood there and watched them go right back to laughing and chatting. As if I were invisible. As if my existence made no difference either way.
The feeling inside me kept rising, stronger and stronger.
Then, without really thinking, I opened my mouth.
"I have leukemia."
The second the words left my mouth, even I froze.
What I'd meant to say was, "Emily has leukemia." What I'd meant to say was, "The match results are back." What I'd meant to say was, "A family donor is needed."
But for some reason, what came out instead was, "I have leukemia."
In that instant, I suddenly wanted to know.
If I were the one who was sick, if I were the one who needed saving, what would they do?
Would they be willing to give up everything for me?