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  I hop in the shower, dress, rake a comb through my hair and drive over to Will’s apartment. Unlike yesterday, he’s surprised to see me on his doorstep. When we get to his room, I say, “I’m coming with you,” without hesitation. The brief flash of hope in his eyes tells me it’s the right thing to do.

  My recent focus on dream chasing is a wonderful diversion. I’m finally doing something that makes me look forward to waking up in the morning, but the reality is that I’m unemployed and won’t be able to pay rent if I don’t find a decent paying job really soon. My credit card bills have reached gargantuan levels, and I’ve opened two more just to keep my head above water. Acting is really the only thing keeping me here, but it shouldn’t be. No matter how much I want it, or what I do to try to achieve it, I could still walk away from Agency Day empty handed. In fact, the odds are that I will, and I could be staring at another dead end.

  “You have your job. You have your own life. You didn’t want to leave it before, when we were together, so why would you want to leave it now?”

  “Will, I don’t work at Silver anymore. I’m going to run out of money soon anyway.”

  “Wow. You finally did it. Good for you,” Will says.

  I shake my head in confusion. “Good for me? You were all about Silver Insurance. You wished you had a good job like I did. Remember?”

  “Being faced with your own mortality has a way of changing things. If you hated it as much as you say you did, it’s not worth it. Life is too short,” he says, fiddling with the edge of one of the boxes on the floor.

  “That’s exactly why I want to be there for you. If I don’t, no matter what happens, I’ll regret it. When you asked me to go with you before, I was scared. I didn’t trust you...”

  “You had every right not to. I was a screw up,” he interrupts. “Just like you have every right not to ever want to speak to me again after what I did. It’s too much to ask. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know that, and you don’t have to ask,” I say, touching his arm.

  “I’m scheduled for four cycles of chemotherapy over twelve weeks. I’ll probably have radiation after that...it could be a while.”

  I consult my mental calendar. At that rate, I’d consider myself lucky not to miss Sarah’s wedding, and without knowing exactly how his treatment would pan out, Agency Day would be out of the question. My heart sinks, but I won’t let it show on my face.

  “I’m in,” I say, because he needs me. He won’t want to admit it, but I know he’s scared and I also know there really isn’t anyone else. If they didn’t need help, his mom wouldn’t have contacted me.

  He leans in for a hug, and his arms feel familiar and foreign at the same time; the way the room from your childhood feels after you move out and haven’t been home for a while. I breathe in his scent as my face nestles into the curve of his neck.

  The old Alexis with no dreams feared change so much, she remained in misery at a job she hated for four long years. The new Alexis—who isn’t afraid to take chances—finally has a dream that makes her heart sing, but decides in one day she’s willing to walk away from it.

  Suddenly, he pulls away and looks me in the eye. “What exactly are you running away from?”

  “What do you mean? Nothing. I just want to help. I still care about you, and there isn’t anything keeping me here.”

  “Lexi, something doesn’t add up,” he says, shaking his head. “You finally quit working at Silver? I never thought I’d see the day. No matter how many times I said you should quit if it was that awful, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t even look at other jobs. And now you’re willing to up and move to a place you were so dead set against before with a man you’re no longer engaged to? And the weight loss. You’re smaller than you were when we first met. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing—you look good—but something’s up. Something about you has changed, and change is not in your vocabulary.”

  He knows me so well, it’s scary. I’m a terrible liar, so when he continues to grill me, I reluctantly mention Chloe Dillon and Agency Day.

  “I mean, it’s no big deal. It’s just that, I took these wonderful classes. Acting is just...” I trail off, clasping my hands to my chest because it’s so hard to put into words how it feels to transcend flat words on paper—to become the words. “...it’s just incredible and intense and fun. I started to feel different, then it was all over. I had a little taste of what it’s like to be passionate about something, then I couldn’t deal with work anymore. I just couldn’t. I wanted something else for myself. Needed something else. When I’m acting, I change. It’s like this rush of energy...but it’s all so hopeless, really. Hollywood...the whole bit. So if you need me, I’m there.”

  He’s quiet and I don’t know what else to say. The silence sits between us, questioning and insistent, until Will finally speaks.

  “I’ve never heard you talk about something like that. Well, except gymnastics. Your eyes...they light up.”

  “I’ve never been good at anything before,” I say.

  “There are so many things in life that you only get one shot at. Don’t miss out on it.”

  “You didn’t get your shot. Video Game Design was your dream, long before this became mine,” I say softly.

  “Maybe I didn’t want it bad enough.”

  “But, I have no idea what I’m doing,” I sputter. “You’re sitting right here in front of me, but that...well, I can’t even tell you what it is, what it’s going to be, or why I want it.”

  “Sometimes that’s how it is,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze, “but I don’t want to be the one to prevent you from figuring it out.”

  My options were clear. I could run away and tackle his problems, or stay here and tackle my own.

  Chapter 31

  It takes everything I have to contain my panic over what is rapidly becoming a dire situation. Will is absolutely right. I was trying to run away. I’ve got five different tabs open on my laptop, which is so slow it takes a few minutes to toggle between them, but it doesn’t take a brand new laptop to tell me what I need to know. I’m broker than broke. My credit card balances are going up, and my bank account balance is going down. Frustrated, I slam my laptop shut. If only that could make the problem go away.

  I open it again, navigating to the Chloe Dillon website because I’d rather look at that than my credit card nightmare. I rub my hands across the goose bumps spreading across my fore arms as I watch the runway walking and headshot images zig zag across the screen.

  My phone jingles. I check my messages.

  Bumble Bee. I’m going in.

  I text him back.

  You got this. I’ll talk to you soon.

  Will flew to Ohio, met with his treatment team, and is going in for brain surgery less than a month after being diagnosed. I still can’t believe this is happening. I tried convincing him I would be okay with missing out on Agency Day. I hadn’t even applied yet. I wanted to be with him. I told him I was ready to pack up everything and go, but he wasn’t having any of it. He refused.

  “Listen, when you hit the big time, I get to be the first to know. I want to hear how wonderful your life is turning out, and then I’ll tell you a story about how I got brain cancer and lived to tell about it.”

  I felt terribly guilty. I still do.

  Closing the Chloe Dillon website, I turn my attention to the dreaded job listings. I tailor my resume to fit four different jobs, submit them, then make a list of a few others to follow up on. If all else fails, I’ll have no choice but to go back to retail. My neck is stiff and my legs are tight from hunching over my laptop. I realize how much time has passed when the only remaining light in the room comes from the hazy glow of my laptop screen. Putting it aside, I stand up slowly, flicking on lights and checking my phone. Nothing. It’s probably too soon. The surgery is expected to take anywhere from six to twelve hours.

  It’s too dark to go for a run, so I do my workout at home. Leftover Chinese food for dinner is a r
are treat these days. After an hour of television, I tuck myself into bed with a book, checking my phone again in cased I missed it. Still nothing, and I’m starting to worry.

  In the morning, I check my phone again. The long wait has my stomach in knots, so I call Will’s mom. She picks up after one ring.

  “Hi, it’s Alexis. I was just calling to check on Will.” I pull the phone away from my ear, glance at the screen to see if the call is still connected. “Hello?”

  “Will’s gone,” she says. Her voice is barely a whisper. “There was a complication during surgery, but he came out of it...and then went downhill. His heart stopped. There was nothing they could do.”

  “Oh my god,” I choke out, covering my mouth to muffle a sob I can’t contain. I can still see him wringing that white beanie nervously in his hands, chin set with determination. He was supposed to beat this thing. He can’t be gone.

  “Oh my god,” I say again. “I’m so sorry...oh my god.”

  “You stole him from me,” she says in a steely voice. “He wanted to come home, but you wouldn’t let him...he needed you and you weren’t there...he’s gooone.” She’s wailing now, and I’m sobbing uncontrollably into the phone.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say in a whimper before collapsing to the floor. “I’m so sorry...I loved him so much.”

  I hear a thud from the other end, then stare at my phone in disbelief. She’s disconnected the call, and my tears have come to an abrupt stop. I lay on the floor like an abandoned rag doll; unmoving, unblinking, staring at the ceiling, shattered by the sting of hate in her voice and the realization that Will is dead. Hot tendrils of pain curl through my body, dampening my skin with perspiration. Will is gone. I’ll never see him again or hear from him for as long as I live. Will is gone and his mother hates me because I’m a terrible, awful person who stole the last years of his life and let him down when he needed me most.

  If I’d died all those years ago, lying next to my roller skates in my closet like I was supposed to, he never would have met me. He wouldn’t have been shackled to a sad, selfish, toxic person that would later ruin his life. With knees drawn to my chest and arms wrapped around my legs, I roll over on my side. The rough carpet digs into the side of my face, but hours later, I still can’t move. My stomach growls from hunger and my bladder begs me to get up and go to the bathroom, but I’m paralyzed, drifting away as feelings of worthlessness return, rooting their way into my mind.

  The other Alexis is ever so quick to nose her way back in. She beckons to me with her hateful, irresistible smile, reminding me that I’m different; compelling me to give up. You aren’t good enough. You are a bad, worthless person who everybody hates, and you don’t deserve to live. Forget about acting because if Will didn’t have his chance, you don’t deserve to have yours either. Like an obedient child, I listen, allowing myself to be strangled by the perceived trappings of my own life. Guilt worse than anything I’ve ever felt reminds me that I’m not deserving of good things. Missing out on Agency Day is my punishment. One step forward, five steps back, thrusting me back into that dark closet I can’t seem to escape. This time, I don’t think I’m ever coming out.

  Chapter 32

  “Nice to see you’re alive and well. I was beginning to wonder,” Sabrina says to me with more than a slight edge in her voice. She’s my plus one. I’ve finally come out of hiding in honor of Sarah’s wedding.

  “I’ve been in a funk. Trust me, talking to me would have just been a drag. I did you a favor.” One hell of a funk.

  Sarah insisted on a late summer beach wedding in the sand as close to the water as she could get. We don’t get a lot of rain in California, but in July, you don’t have to worry about random drizzles or lingering June gloom to ruin the one day that has to be perfect. If anything, it’s a tad warm. I make sure the skirt of my dress is fully underneath my thighs so they won’t sweat against the plastic seats.

  We face the ocean, seated in precisely aligned rows of elegant white chiavari chairs. Not even the smell of salt and seaweed wafting in from the ocean’s edge can mask the pungent aroma of sprawling white calla lilies fastened to the last chair in every row on both sides of the flower petal dotted center aisle. As if choreographed, satin swaths of turquoise and silver ribbon trailing from each arrangement take flight on gentle gusts of wind. Two enormous, pastel hued flower bouquets sprout from ornate silver vases atop white, roman style pedestals on either side of the officiate.

  Since we’re literally on the beach in the sand, Sarah thought it would be fun and a lot easier to walk if the bride, groom and all the guests went shoeless, so she put “shoes optional” on her invitations and it appears that almost everyone exercised that option. This was my excuse to spring for a pedicure. I even paid extra for a design. I wiggle my Pop Sugar Pink toes in the warm sand as they begin the candle-lighting ceremony. I also had to buy a dress because I had exactly one very dated, too large dress to choose from. I popped right over to Forever 21, my new favorite store, and bought a mint green, strapless flirty number two sizes smaller than I’m used to fitting into.

  It feels odd being dressed up, carefully groomed and in such a festive atmosphere after hibernating for so long. After Will died, I disappeared back down the rabbit hole of depression and it didn’t matter who called; I wasn’t coming out. I couldn’t face anyone. The sorrow and guilt were too overwhelming. It was like swimming in mud. My limbs were heavy, my movements restricted, and thick, grainy sand filled my mouth. I’d given up. There was nothing to say.

  Sabrina Calling.

  Jamie Calling.

  My call history was missed call after missed call and that’s one thing about having friends; you can’t just fall off the face of the Earth whenever you want to without somebody wondering what’s happened to you.

  I sent a text politely requesting that they back off.

  Will didn’t make it.

  They let me be for a little while, then the calls and concerned messages started again.

  Are you okay?

  Yes.

  Did you submit your application for Agency Day? The deadline is tomorrow.

  No.

  I didn’t realize it was humanly possible to sleep that much, but I guess that’s what depression does. The thing is, I have no diagnosis to confirm clinical depression. I never was diagnosed. All I know is that my mind spirals into the deepest, darkest pit you can imagine and I can’t escape. The worse it gets, the weaker I feel for not being able to get over it. I imagine I could have gone on forever that way.

  One night, I drank an entire bottle of potent Pinot Noir by myself and woke up with a raging headache the next morning. I shuffled to the bathroom looking for aspirin but it wasn’t there. I commenced to tearing my apartment apart looking for it when it probably would have been faster to run out and buy another bottle. I keep a shoebox on the top shelf of my closet full of sentimental things I like to keep close but never look at. Somehow, the aspirin bottle ended up there, next to it. I reached for it and managed to knock over a billion other things I’d shoved out of sight. When I reached down for the aspirin, clutching my head in agony, I noticed a little black, velvet box sitting on the floor, partially obscured by shoes. I opened it.

  My face crumpled and I dissolved into tears when I saw my silver solitaire engagement ring nestled inside. He picked it out himself, and he felt so bad when I discovered the black speckles in the stone. He insisted that someday, when he was making a ton of money designing video games, he’d buy me a much larger, perfect diamond. Whatever I wanted. I held it up to the light, examining the blemishes, and I realized they aren’t flaws at all. They make my ring unique and special, unlike any other. I’d taken it off exactly thirty days after Will left. The tan line on that finger was long gone, but my memories of him and what he meant to me will be forever stamped on my heart. Even in the face of brain cancer, he had hope, and he wouldn’t have wanted me to give up like this. Hope. We’re nothing without it. The ring wouldn’t fit any o
ther fingers, so I slipped it onto a silver chain and wore it around my neck.

  Eventually, the fog began to lift, giving way to regret. I regretted letting Agency Day slip through my fingers with every fiber of my being. I complain that I can’t get anywhere in life, but even when hope taps me on the shoulder and dares me to turn around, I’m too spineless to do it. I had to admit to myself that I’m my own worst enemy, and this shook me to the core.

  Red notification circles popped up everywhere when I turned on my phone. I listened to three voicemails from Sabrina, each one testier than the last. “Oh, by the way, not that you care one way or the other, since you can’t even be bothered to reply to a text, but I submitted the application for you online. Good thing you sent me one of your headshots. They’re notifying everyone by mail.”

  My slumped shoulders bolted upright. She must be talking about Agency Day. I ran to my kitchen and dumped out the tray on the counter overflowing with a few weeks’ worth of mail that I’d dutifully pulled from my mailbox but hadn’t bothered to look at. I searched frantically through the credit card offers and past due bills until I found it. A plain white envelope with the Chloe Dillon Modeling and Talent logo above the return address. I opened it slowly and shut my eyes tight before unfolding the letter inside. “Congratulations, you have been invited to attend Chloe Dillon’s first ever Agency Day competition and networking event.” I whooped out loud and crumpled it to my chest.

  The hollow sound of applause muted by crashing waves swells from behind. We shift in our seats, turning, anxious to catch sight of the bride to be. My heart swells with happiness, watching Sarah’s uncle walk her down the aisle towards her new life. She’s almost too bright to see at first, between the blinding white satin of her dress and prisms of light merrily dancing on her Swarovski crystal encrusted bodice. She wasn’t sure if she could pull off a strapless dress because of her ample bosom, but if you are willing to spend $7,000 on a dress, I think you should be able to have whatever you want. With the right bra and custom alterations, she did just that.