Page 75 of The Last Kiss

“You wouldn’t even have to think thoughts like that if Darren wasn’t such a dickweed.”

Liv snorts a laugh. “But you see my point.”

“What are you suggesting I do? Call Henri and ask if he has time to see me just one last time?”

A stretch of silence elongates between us, pulling thoughts into my head that I want to block but can’t. Dr Francis’ words mainly.

“What do you want to do, Jules?” Liv’s voice filters in and mixes with concepts such as end-of-life care and dangerously low oxygen.

A tight weave of panic plaits around my chest but I push against it, fighting. I’ve got to keep fighting. Dr Francis was only giving me his side of the coin. I’ve still got that small sliver of a chance that I might get lucky.

That’s my end of the rainbow I’ve got to hold on for. So, what do I do while I wait?

I meet my sister’s eyes. “I want to live, because I really don’t think I have. How sad is that? I’ve been so scared since the virus hit and all this started that I’ve forgotten how.”

“Julianna!” Liv blasts and I rock back. “You haven’t been living since Mum and Dad blamed you for the fact I started shoplifting and doing drugs. You weren’t to blame, I was.”

“It’s irrelevant now.”

“How can you even say that? Your life is almost up, and you haven’t lived it, all because of me.”

“Utter codswallop.” We meet one another’s eyes and then burst out in laughs. My laugh is so deep it might bring on my need for end-of-life care. My belly aches as I try to calm myself down.

“I’m going to find Henri.”

“You mean call him and ask if he can visit?”

I shake my head. “No. That’s not living. I don’t know how many weeks I have left, but I’m going to make every one of them count.”

Like rain drowning out the sun, Liv’s laughter morphs into tears. “I can’t believe this. You seem so fine.”

I reach for her hand. “I know it looks that way. It’s exhausting keeping this up though, because truth is I’m not. I’m tired, Liv, so damn tired. Every breath… it doesn’t give me what I need. I can feel it. There’s this empty hunger in the place of where vitality should be.”

“I don’t think I can do this, Jules, don’t think I can watch this, live through losing you.”

I hold myself together, my hand that isn’t holding hers wrapping around my middle. “I’ll just slip away eventually. I think that’s how it works.”

Who knew talking about dying could be so pragmatic?

“Henri?”

“I’m going to find where he lives.”

“And then?”

“Then I’m going to go there.”

“And then?”

“Then,” I pause. “Actually, I have no damn idea.” A giggle builds in my stupid, useless chest. “I think I finally understand this living malarkey. I can almost imagine the kiss of the French sun on my skin, can taste its warmth. I have no idea if he wants to see me, sure I could ring and ask, but that doesn’t sound much like an adventure to me.”

“But wait,” her face falls, “you can’t travel, Jules. You’ll need insurance, medical cover, God knows, I’ll have to research—”

Holding up my hand, I cut her off. “Insurance? Olivia, I’m trying to live, not die of boredom while you create me a risk assessment.”

She gives me the look, the, you’d better not let me regret this look. Then she sighs and shakes her head. “I’ll get my laptop.”

“What for?” Please, God, not a spreadsheet.