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Harley remembered January 4th in a hazy fog, like watching a scene through bumpy, broken glass. He remembers pulling his brown coat around him further, his heart thundering in his chest. Realistically, he knew he was walking into something bad. He knew what was on the other side of the oak wood door was something he wished he would never have to deal with. But he had to. Abbie was sitting on the other side of him, tearing the already peeling fabric of the waiting room chair. To any observer she would look like any bored, unbothered college student. But to Harley, he saw the slight tremor in her hand and her biting her lower lip, something she did when she was trying not to cry. Harley wished he could hide her from this, protect her from the demon of truth, but he was powerless. And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? That Harley was failing his only job, that everything he protected when they were young and hiding in closets and behind doors was pointless now.
The door opened and a middle-aged man with greying hair stood in the doorway.
“Abbie Keener?” He said. They walked in and the room was an uncomfortable silence as they all sat down. His office was organized and clean, everything shining, even down to the nameplate on his desk that read
“Dr. James Grant” Harley greeted. The lightning was harsh and bright and Harley hated it. He hated how perfect the room seemed. He hated the fact that his heart was racing.
“What’s the verdict, doctor?” Abbie asked looking up. He gave her a small, sad smile.
They left the room and Abbie was crying. Cancer, he said. The same kind that killed their mother was back for more. Harley didn’t know what to do, he was more lost than he had ever been. More lost than when he was sitting in front of a pile of bills still in his clothes from the funeral and his little sister to take care of sleeping in the next room. More lost than when he lost his first job, and had nothing to pay the bills, nothing to buy food. They walked to their car in silence, the same car that he had since he was 16, given to him by his boss from the car garage. It broke down a lot, and he was constantly fixing it, but he couldn’t seem to get rid of it. Abbie had named her Marge, even put a ‘my name is’ sticker on her dash with the name scrawled in Abbie’s loopy writing.
“I’m scared.” She whispered, forehead against the passenger window.
Harley couldn’t say anything, he didn’t know what to say. He just reached over and grabbed her hand, eyes on the road. He felt her eyes on the side of his face.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
Harley's heart was thundering, a pressure pressed on his chest and behind his eyes and he wanted to scream and scream until his throat was raw and bleeding. He glanced at her, giving a smile.
“Nah, soon you’ll get better.”
=====
Orange bottles flooded the Keener’s life. They were everywhere, an infestation in their apartment. The sound of reminders on both their phones interrupted their movies, their music, their conversations. Abbie used to hate taking pills, and Harley remembered trying every different method to make it easier. Jello, pudding, water, coke. Now she could swallow them dry, these big white pills. Harley was pretty sure he hated the color orange. But if they helped he would build a shrine of them if it meant everything would be okay. A timer went off while they were watching Emperor’s New Groove. Harley reached over and grabbed one of the full bottles on the coffee table, taking out two pills and handing them over. Abbie sighed.
“I hate these,” She said.
“Yeah.” Harley agreed. “But soon you’ll feel better, and then you won’t have to take them again.”
The doctors said that she could pull through. Statistics and Probability filled Harley’s brain. 99% 5-year survival rate if the cancer stays in the breast, travels to lymph nodes 87%, if it travels anywhere else 28% survival. Only 6% have it travel far. Harley held onto that number, that hope. It’s small, he told himself. Abbie’s a fighter .
But numbers, numbers, numbers filled Harley’s head. And instead of the physics-engineering-oil grease stained paper numbers that made him happy, these were twisted and dark and harrowing. Scary as they invaded his dreams at night and his thoughts in the morning. Inescapable.
Maybe that's why he found himself sitting in the hard wooden pew at the back of the Sunday service. The preacher spoke about healing, the blind man- his ability to save those who need it. God’s divine plan . But the songs of hope, the sincerity in the preacher’s voice, his kind eyes...it made Harley believe for just a bit. Their mom was a Christian by name alone. They never went to church, never prayed. The only things that ever hinted at religion in their house was an old dusty book that stayed under their box television and a wooden cross on the wall in their bathroom.
The preacher called for people to come forward if they had something to pray for and he walked down the aisle of pews like a bride at a funeral. The man waiting up front had a sympathetic smile and put his hand on Harley’s back as they talked to each other.
“Hello son, what do you need to pray for?”
“My sister,” he said, staring at the green and blue carpet on the floor. “She...she’s been diagnosed with cancer almost 6 months ago. I was just-I mean I’m not really religious, I just-”
The man held up a hand, letting Harley stop talking. “I get it, you felt pulled toward God within this dark time in your life. God does that, he shows himself when all seems lost. I’m sorry for your sister, child. Let’s pray and put this in God’s hands.” Harley wasn’t sure he believed in God, that he even wanted to be here, but if God was real, and he could help...Harley would try anything. He would get on his feet before Hades, before Persephone to beg them to trade their places. To heal Abbie, to let her live the life she deserves to live. She’s his baby sister...she was never meant to die before him.
======
Harley was in the hospital bathroom, the buzzing of the lights the only noise. A year had passed and Abbie was looking more tired by the day. Harley looked at his own reflection, something he didn’t stop to do much anymore. His bags were big and contrasted his own sickly pale skin. He looked terrible, a pale imitation of who he used to be. This cancer was sucking the life out of him as well as Abbie.
People have said their entire lives that they’re too codependent on each other. But it was something that always was for them, they stuck close to each other and they had each other’s backs. Maybe it formed in the midst of the bruises and glass shattering and yelling of their childhood. Or maybe it was the cooking in a kitchen with a stool because Harley was too short to reach the stove top and the wrapping in blankets during colds and the teaching her basic life lessons that he had only picked up himself a few years prior. Either way Abbie was all he has ever had, and without her… he couldn’t comprehend what he would do.
Harley stared in the mirror and practiced a smile. He immediately lost it, a sense of fear-dread seeping over his mind. The smile looked bitter and cold, like the one his mom’s turned into after his dad left.
“Soon she’ll get better” he whispered to himself. “Soon she’ll get better”. And he made himself believe it.
======
It was a bright day and the sunlight shone through the hospital windows. Peter was passed out on the couch, drool pooling down onto the scratchy orange fabric below. He was here as much as he could be, and Harley was grateful for him. They hadn’t been able to spend much time together, let alone go on a date while this was happening. Harley hadn’t really felt like anything lately. He had been so understanding, though.
Harley moved his red checker forward, able to jump two of Abbie’s.
“Oh come on!” Abbie groaned, and Harley huffed amusedly. “This is no fair. You’re cheating!”
“I’m not cheating” Harley responded with a fond smile
“You’re definitely cheating.”
Mrs. Betty walked in with her clipboard that had a drawing of the scooby-doo gang that she let Abbie draw a while back. Her smile was bright and Abbie perked up beside him. “Mrs. Betty!”
“Hey Abbie. How are you feeling today?”
“Good. It’s been kinda boring though.” She said, with a meaningful glance at Harley.
“Hey. Checkers is good for your mind.”
Abbie rolled her eyes. “Sure.” She then looked around the room a little, slowly dragging her eyes around the room. “Would it kill them to make the hospital rooms more...happy?” She said jokingly, but Harley could hear the bitterness that fell through.
“Yeah, they don’t really add many decorations, do they?” Betty said, walking around and checking the machine beside Abbie.
“It’s so boring in here” Abbie groaned. “It’s depressing me. I don’t want to die in a boring room. Not my style.”
Harley faltered. The words were so casual, so calm that it made him feel sick. Harley saw the nurse falter too, glancing at Abbie before donning a warm smile and putting her hand on Abbie’s shoulder. “Why don’t we do some arts and crafts then? I’ve seen your drawings, I think this place would be honored to have some of Abbie Keener’s pieces hanging up.”
Abbie smiled. “Yeah, sure.”
“Hey.” He said, getting Abbie to look at him. “You’re gonna get better. Soon. and then you can decorate the house however you want.”
Abbie’s eyes seemed sad for a fleeting second, before they turned mischievous. “When we get back home I’m painting the kitchen an actual fun color. Not the grey you made us paint it so we would look ‘distinguished’ or whatever.”
Harley huffed a laugh. “Okay, bee. What color are we thinking?”
Abbie put her hand up to her chin, tapping her pointer finger on her lips to seem as if she was thinking. “Neon blue. No! Wait, blue is sad. We’ll do yellow. Neon yellow.”
Harley raised his eyebrows. “You want to paint the kitchen neon yellow. Betty, are you sure you haven’t given her any medication today?” He said, moving a hand up to put his hand on her forehead. She swatted his hand away.
“I’m completely sober! I’m just...inspired. No one’s ever done it before! We could set a trend.”
Harley huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay. okay. You get better and that kitchen will be whatever color you want.”
Abbie smiled, and Harley was happy. It was the same bright smile she had since she was a little kid. He protected that, at least. He protected her sunshine-happiness that Harley had always admired.
“Okay, now is the time for some tests, alright?”
“Okay.” She responded, giving Harley a warm smile. “I’ll see you later. Bring me some burger king or something.”
Harley ruffled her hair and moved to go wake his sleeping boyfriend.
====
It had only been two months later and Harley was sitting in the middle of his apartment kitchen, neon yellow staining his hands like blood after a crime. Pools of yellow ran across the tiled kitchen floor as he sat there in nothing but shades of blue. He rubbed at his throat. He couldn't breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Sobs emitted from his mouth but he could barely even hear it. He felt blurry. Really blurry.
Or maybe it was his sight that was blurry. Tears were pouring and pouring out of his eyes and Harley was vaguely worried that his body would lose all of its water soon.
He needed to clean the paint. He spilled the paint. Only half of the kitchen was done.
“Harley?!” He heard and suddenly there was a figure in front of him. Familiar curly brown hair and kind chocolate eyes. He felt two hands cradle his face. “Oh my- What happened-baby?”
Harley tried to respond but all that came out was another sob. He was pulled into Peter’s chest. “I’m going to call Tony, okay?”
“No!” Harley managed to get out. “No no no-” He repeated. “Don’t call Tony, don’t make it real, please.” He begged Peter, pulling back.
“What? Why? Harley, baby what’s going on?”
Harley breathed in irregularly, and Peter’s hand flew out to try and calm him.
“6 months.” Harley got out, looking to the side. His head screamed at him to stop. The truth was too painful.
“What?” Peter said, sitting down, not caring about ruining his clothes with the paint that now covered him too.
“Abbie wanted to paint the kitchen neon yellow.” He said, chuckling. He couldn’t stop. “She told me that once she comes home she’ll paint it yellow.”
Peter stayed quiet, but confusion was written in his scrunched eyebrows and his slight frown.
“I thought I could do it now, a surprise when she comes home” He threw his hands up in a shrug and splashed them back down in the paint.
“Harley-”
“Soon she’ll get better, right? She can’t leave me. She can’t .” He said, tears streaming down his face, feeling rage creep up on him like a storm.
“They gave me a date . A fucking time limit. Six months to say goodbye-” His voice cracked on the last word.
The arms were around him again, and he could hear Peter start to cry too.
====
Harley sat in the cold hospital room at night, watching as his sister slept soundly on her bed. Paintings, collages, and pictures covered the walls, making the room so much more happy than a few months ago. There were also pink flowers resting in a vase on the table by Abbie’s bed, Pepper having brought them a few days ago when she had some time off of work.
He had shown her the neon yellow kitchen walls which Peter had helped finish. She giggled as Harley told her about Peter accidentally putting the paint brush in the sink, covering newly washed dishes with paint. A sadness, however, pervaded her words. A wistfulness that never seemed to escape their family any more.
Harley didn’t know what to do if...when Abbie did end up… No. He couldn’t think about that.
Abbie shifted in her sheets, and Harley heard her breathe a sigh. “Harley I swear if you don’t leave and get some sleep I’m going to kick your ass.”
“...do you want to come home with me?”
Abbie sat up a bit, confusion written on her face. “What? Harley, I think you need some sleep.”
“No, let’s talk to the doctors. I think it’s more comfortable at home than here.” He persisted, a small smile on his face.
Abbie frowned. “Okay...Harls please talk to me. I know this is hard on you.”
Maybe it was the same sadness in her eyes, the comfort of her voice that reminded him of their mother’s, or the hand that reached out and took hold of his own, but everything in Harley broke. The tears came flooding out, and they painted Harley’s face with every grief that he had kept inside for the past year and a half. Abbie reached out and drew him into a hug, and tried to still Harley’s shaking body.
“I don’t know what to do” Harley whispered, a confession to his sister and to the air in the dark hospital room. And he didn’t, he didn’t know who he was supposed to talk to, to gripe and whine and gossip and protect and listen to when she was gone. Then suddenly guilt invaded his mind and heart and it increased every ache in his body. He tore away from Abbie’s arms, wiping his eyes too harshly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying. You’re the one who should be getting comforted, not me.”
Abbie looked at him, the same mix of pity and understanding that Harley had seen before on their mother, when she was in the same place Abbie was now.
“Harley, this is about you, too. You-” Her voice broke after and tears welled up in her eyes. “You have to live on after me. I won’t be here for you and that terrifies me. You are going through so much, and I wish you didn’t have to.”
It was Harley’s turn to hug his little sister, her frame thin and weak. Harley held onto her tightly, though; Abbie was never one to be babied.
Another confession crossed his brain, and it was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “What am I supposed to do if there’s no you?”
Abbie only held him tighter.
====
Abbie was back in their apartment by the end of the week, as well as many different hospital machinery that helped ease her pain. For some reason, seeing her back in the apartment, laughing at the neon yellow kitchen wall, and sitting on the counter after grabbing a bag of Doritos, Harley let himself believe that she could get better.
But the pills were constant, and Abbie was always attached to a machine. Harley could see the pain that she was in and it killed him. But she was happy back in the apartment, and Harley let the light stream in and the snacks overflow and made everything as normal as possible to keep her bright smile on her face.
Deep down Harley knew that it would never go back to normal. That one day he would wake up and find Abbie asleep, forever, on her bed. And he would have to live beyond that, beyond her. That he would have to survive in her honor, and his mothers.
But that was the future, and for now Harley would look at Abbie, her blonde hair messy as she laughed watching the Grinch on screen, and he would tell himself.
Soon she’ll get better
Soon she’ll get better
Soon she’ll get better
‘Cause she has to.
******
Tiny toes padded into the room as Harley lit candles around five picture frames. He let his eyes roam over every trinket. The “My name is Marge” sticker from his car that eventually died and he had to get rid of, pictures and paintings from years past, a wooden cross from a family home, a security badge from a brave, kind man, and other small things that made up the shelves.
“Pops, who are they?” The kid asked, coming up to grab at his father’s arm. Harley smiled.
“Well, that’s your Aunt Abbie, and your Grandma Molly.” The kid stared at them a while, eyes blinking.
“What ‘bout them?” He said, pointing to the other three frames.
His husband walked in the room, kneeling behind his son and putting a hand on Harley’s back.
“That’s your Grandma and Grandpa and your Great-Uncle Ben.” He said, kissing the boy’s hair.
“Where are they?” He asked, and his blue eyes looked at the people with so much wonder, that it made Harley tear up. Just like Abbie’s.
“They aren’t here. But they are watching over us. Making sure we’re safe. And they would’ve loved you so much.” he replied.
“Do you think I’ll meet them one day?” He asked, turning toward his dads with a big smile on his face.
“One day, maybe. But no time soon, and until then they will be right with you.” Harley replied, pressing a finger on the boy’s heart.