It was New Year’s Day and the traffic crawled. Chicago didn’t stop. Not for holidays, hangovers, or anything else. Gray sky. Slush everywhere. Semitrucks in formation around her rideshare. Monique stared out the window and tried not to think about Puerto Rico and its warmth, and the man who’d let her go so she could be here.
I love you. And love is patient.
She shook her head, commanding her mind to focus. Chickie first. Everything else could, would, wait.
She’d been to Chickie’s family’s Lincoln Park condo dozens of times. The doorman knew all of the Thriving with Cancer crew by face and name. Jacob was on duty when she arrived. He waved at her through the glass door, letting her into the building.
Her footsteps echoed around the marble entry, and Jacob held the elevator door open for her, twisting a key in the panel for the penthouse.
He told her to have a good day, but his voice was full of sorrow.
The elevator brought her up a dozen stories to the Levinsons’ home. The silent foyer felt cavernous. Monique parked her suitcase next to an antique console table and turned left, down a curved hall to Chickie’s bedroom. She heard low voices and soft laughter before she entered.
Eleanor sat on the bed, her fingers stroking Chickie’s hair. Dr. Tedrow stood at the window overlooking the zoo, earbuds in and mouth moving.
“Hey, y’all,” Monique said softly, entering.
The machines beeped and wheezed faster as Chickie raised her hand ever so slightly in greeting. “Mo…” The word was barely audible as she struggled to pull her oxygen mask off.
Monique crossed the room and sat, taking Chickie’s hand. “I’m here.”
Chickie’s cracked and peeling lips curved into an almost-smile. “You came back early. I’m glad.” The machines that had been breathing for her seemed extra loud today.
Monique put the mask back on Chickie’s face. “I moved my flight up by a few hours. I stayed for the wedding and a lot of the reception, so please don’t haunt me.”
Eleanor and Chickie’s nurse laughed. Chickie made a huffing sound that a few months ago would have been a full-body laugh. “Where’s the hotter Mo?”
“Charlotte, get your mind out of the gutter,” Mrs. Levinson said, entering the room with a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks. She set the tray down and pinched Chickie’s toes in that playful way that moms did with kids too big to tickle. “Monique does not have to tell you all the sordid details of her island fling.”
Chickie was nodding and shaking with constricted laughter. Her mother was too.
“I see where she gets it from,” Monique said, rolling her eyes.
Mrs. Levinson squeezed Monique’s shoulder. “Christopher will be heartbroken, you know, when he finds out you’re off the market.” She winked big and dramatic.
“Y’all need to quit.” Despite everything—the flight, the exhaustion, the grief already pressing against her ribs—Monique laughed. “And for your information, the”—she used air quotes—“hotter Mo is still in Puerto Rico.”
“You’ll see him again?” Chickie asked, working too hard to speak through the mask and noise.
“I don’t know.”
Chickie managed to tighten her grip on Monique’s hand. It was weak but insistent. “Promise me you will.”
“Girl—”
“Promise.”
Her throat tightened. “I promise.”
Chickie hummed. “Good.” Her eyes drifted closed. “And you’ll carry me and sit and read to me?”
“Yeah,” Eleanor said, still rubbing Chickie’s head.
“I love you, guys. Even you, Derek.”
Dr. Tedrow stood near the bed now, poised but affected. “We love you too,” he said, softly.
They sat like that all morning, as the sun moved over the lake outside Chickie’s window. Dr. Tedrow talked with the Levinsons about all the logistical stuff. The machines beeped and wheezed at longer intervals before the nurse turned them off.