𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 | 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞

⁰¹ | The diagnosis

ᴍᴀᴇᴠᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ

"𝐁𝐈𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 what they think this is," I tell my dad as I slide into the passenger seat of his rusted red truck.

He opens his mouth like he knows what to say, but closes it a second later. He turns the keys in the engine and grips the steering wheel. He checks the rearview mirrors, slowly reversing out of the crowded downtown LA parking lot. "Did they tell you anything else?"

"They said there's no cure."

"I'm sorry, Maevie," Dad whispers, squeezing my knee and picking up the speed once we hit the main roads.

I turn away from him because I can't let him see the hurt on my face. I stare out the window at the chaos on the approaching Hollywood Boulevard. "What are you apologizing for?"

"It passes down in families. I have it, too," Dad says. "I should've known sooner. I should have gotten you checked out sooner."

"Dad," I interrupt. "Stop with the 'I should have's. It's not like you wanted me to have it."

"I know, I'm just sorry."

Millions of rocks have been poured down my throat. They scrap the sides, leaving them raw and open. I'm holding everything up.

"You want to talk to mom when we get home?"

I shake my head as my lip quivers. "I can't listen to the disappointment in her voice again."

"Baby, you know she's mad at me, not you, right?"

"She's mad at me because I chose to be here with you instead of her."

"You're still telling her you miss her?" he asks because we agreed that eventually, she'd come back around.

"Yes, but she's stubborn. You know that."

"We're all a little stubborn," Dad reminds me.

My parents could hate each other, they could be on opposite sides of a war, and I still feel like they'd both be against me. They always defend each other. For once, I just want them on my side. I look away from his face. In the distance, I can see glares reflecting off the ocean. The air is salty and warm.

"You were a lot happier last year," he observes. "I just want to know what's been going on up there, kid."

The wind whips my hair around uncontrollably. "Summers are just a little harder," I answer. "I feel like I don't really have control over any of my emotions. There's a switch in my brain and it just turns me from happy to mad at random times. I don't mean to lash out and I don't like how I feel, but I guess it's who I am."

Dad nods and rolls the windows up once the air conditioner finally kicks in. "And how are the headaches?"

"I can't feel them anymore," I shrug. "The new meds make me feel numb. I can't decide if I like them or not."

"I just don't want you to keep having those migraines. It's hot here, they'll get worse."

"Yeah, I know."

Our blinker flashes to turn onto our street. It's a small neighborhood on a long road just a few miles from Central Los Angeles. We're close enough to the beach that our block crowds with parked cars and surfers on the weekends. It's nothing grand, but it's enough for dad and me.

"Have you thought about if you want to get back into hockey? That might make things easier."

I shake my head. "It reminds me too much of Jesse. It doesn't feel right to be on any team besides the Ducks. Street puck with Russ is cheaper, anyways."