“Question fifty-one,” I say, dialing up my seat heater to maximum. When it’s cold, I like to roast my entire body through the leather; it’s the only effective way to warm up. “What position would you play in hockey if you couldn’t be goalie?”
Tyler runs a hand along his jaw. “That’s a tough one. I like the idea of preventing goals, but scoring would be fun.”
“You can still score later tonight.”
He laughs at my bad joke, shaking his head. “Fuck, I love you.” Shoulder checking, he switches lanes in advance of the exit coming up. “Question fifty-two: what’s on your travel bucket list?”
This one is easy. I have a Pinterest board full of pictures from Santorini. The rugged cliffs; the azure sea; the beaches filled with lava sand and pebbles; and the cliffsides with white-washed architecture. It’s my secret honeymoon dream destination. If we ever get married, it’s where I’d want to go.
“Greece. Definitely Greece. Santorini has these amazing cave hotels with swim-up pools and it looks super romantic. What’s yours?”
“I’m on board with that. Spain is up there for me, too. Maybe Portugal. We’ll check them all off eventually, but we can start with yours.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling settles in me at hearing that.
In the wake of some of the worst news of my life, I won the boyfriend lottery. He’s been better than I ever expected. We stayed home from school for three days straight without leaving the house other than to attend my appointment. He watched Legally Blonde again with me—twice. Played Scrabble with me. Rubbed my feet. Cooked for me. And we snuggled.
What’s more, when he came with me to my genetic counseling appointment, he was better prepared than I was. It helps that he has a science background; he’d done his homework, and it showed. He listened, asked questions and took notes, and checked in with me repeatedly. It was the perfect balance of being supportive without being overbearing. Without him there, I would’ve been completely overwhelmed.
Moments later, he eases his car up the driveway to my mom’s sprawling white house and shifts it into park. When we get inside, I hand my mother the flowers and wine we brought. She sets them aside, then proceeds to hug me for at least two solid minutes, fighting back tears.
“Sera.”
I fight to breathe as she squeezes me tighter. “Hey, Mom.”
We haven’t seen each other since I told her about my BRCA results on the phone. It crushed me to hear the guilt in her voice. I spoke to her again after my genetic counseling appointment but there’s not a lot to say. Very little can be done at this stage other than plan for the eventualities in the future. I’ve done what I can in that regard, and now all I can do is make peace with it. At least I have a good support system now that I’ve told everybody.
When she finally releases me, I introduce her to Tyler, and she hugs him too. She’s a hugger at the best of times, and she’s extra emotional in light of everything else going on.
“Can we help you with dinner?” I ask.
“No, no.” She waves me off, sniffling. “Go show Tyler around, and I’ll call you when it’s done. Where’s your brother?”
You don’t want to know, Mom.
“On their way. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
I lead Tyler up the winding wooden staircase to the second floor, past the spare bedroom and Chase’s room, all the way to my old bedroom at the end of the hall. Unsurprisingly, it’s painted hot pink and covered in posters, still the epitome of a teenage girl’s room just the way I left it.
He picks up a photo of me in a tutu from when I was five. “Aww. You used to dance?”
“Not well,” I admit. “Chase got all the coordination and athleticism in our family.”
While Tyler is scanning through the other photos scattered along my dresser, an email pops up on my phone, and I glance at the preview. My heart stops. I read and re-read it again, confirming I’m not hallucinating.
“Oh my god.” My voice climbs to a squeak.
“What?” Tyler’s next to me in a flash. “Is everything okay?”
To say he’s become a little overprotective lately is an understatement.
I tilt the phone screen to show him. His brow furrows as he reads the message, and his face erupts into a huge smile.
“Holy fuck. That’s amazing.” He wraps his arms around me, picking me up off the ground. “I’m so proud of you, Ser.”
Chase and Bailey show up not too long after, and we sit down for dinner once my stepfather, Rick, gets home from work. I wasn’t the biggest fan of his in the past, especially when I was a teenager, but he’s stepped it up a lot since my mother got sick and he’s grown on me. Grudgingly.
Ever the hostess, Mom has set up the dining table with a crisp linen tablecloth, candles, and her good china. We dive into her roasted chicken and potatoes as we go around the table catching up and making small talk. Tyler fits right in, and I’m struck by how easy it is to have him here. How easy it is with him in general, really. I never thought it could be like this with someone.
When the conversation dies down enough to give me an opening, I summon my courage.
“I have some news.” Everyone looks at me, and my anxiety spikes. “I won a writing contest, and one of my poems is going to be published in an anthology from Revolve Magazine.”
Beneath the table, Tyler squeezes my knee affectionately. That he’s been so supportive in the good and the bad means everything to me.
Bailey clamps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, Sera. That’s huge. Revolve is really a big deal. I have a few friends who submitted for that contest.”
“I didn’t know you still wrote.” Mom gives me a warm smile. “That’s wonderful, honey. I’m proud of you.”
“That’s awesome,” Chase says, spearing a potato with his work. “Aren’t you glad you got dragged to all my games when we were kids? Really paying off now.”
I stick my tongue out at him. “You would try to take credit for it.”
“I’m just kidding, Sera. It’s fucking cool.”
Our mother gasps. “Language, Chase. We’re at the dinner table.”
I can’t even attempt to hide my laugh. At this point, I’m not sure how she hasn’t given up on his potty mouth. It’s the definition of a lost cause.
“Can we read the poem, Sera?” she asks, returning her attention to me.
I hesitate because the subject matter is still a little too raw, and it feels akin to pulling back the curtain on my brain. “I’ll send it later and you can read it when I’m not around. Does that work?”
Understanding crosses her face. “Of course, sweetheart.”
We linger at the table, talking over dinner and dessert—including two pieces of my mom’s famous homemade raspberry cheesecake for me. Mom hugs me approximately ten more times on our way out the door, fussing over me, then tells me how much she loves Tyler. Hearing it makes me happier than I expected.
Tyler’s arm slides around my waist as our boots crunch over the snow on our way to his car. It’s a crisp, cool evening. Out in the country where we are, the stars blanket the sky, far more visible than in the city back home. We come to stand beside his running car, and he tugs open the door for me.