With Things We Can't Have

CHAPTER THREE

I'M HERE FOR YOU.
(edited)
12/19/24

I made a conscious effort to spend as much of my free time as possible with Kendall; we had a wonderfully restorative couple of days together.

During those days, we explored the area, driving around with the car windows down and the melodies of old music swirling around us like a comforting blanket. We indulged in delicious meals from our favorite diners, rummaged through snacks at home, and whiled away the hours just lounging together in the living room, comfortable in each other's company.

We filled our time with carefree laughter and meaningful yet lighthearted conversations, doing whatever felt right in the moment, all until she had to head to work. Although there loomed an unspoken heaviness in the air—the weight of what her brother had shared with me—I sensed that Kendall wasn't quite ready to dive into that conversation. I didn't want to push her. I wanted to be the kind of friend who would let her open up when she felt truly prepared to do so. There was no need for me to become the catalyst of uncomfortable conversations; it wouldn't be fair to her.

The next day, however, Kendall would be leaving town to visit her grandmother. I guessed the purpose of that trip was to update her grandmother about her father's situation. Thus, I found myself stepping into the role of my mother's assistant until she returned.

To my surprise, I spent the day helping her organize a fundraiser at the local elementary school. It was a wholesome and thoughtful endeavor that brought a sense of community spirit and joy to everyone involved. We set up colorful booths and organized fun games for the kids; I worked on assembling food stands alongside my sister, who seemed to approach the task with a lackluster energy, only doing the bare minimum.

"A little to the left!" my mother shouted, her voice carrying over the laughter and chatter of children. I could hear my sister suppressing a chuckle behind me, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

I adjusted the brightly colored snow cone machine slightly to the left and turned to gauge my mother's reaction. "Is this fine?" I asked, hoping she would approve. She nodded, satisfied, and returned to arranging the various desserts artfully displayed on a long table.

With a sigh, I took a seat beside my sister on the sturdiest bench, leaning back into its warmth. Breaking the silence, I asked, my voice calm yet laced with concern, "How long has everyone known Kenneth had cancer?"

My sister, shifting closer to me, offered a small, knowing smile. "Six months."

Her words struck me like a blow, and I felt my hands tremble at the realization of what she was saying. "And no one thought to say anything to me?" I sputtered, my breath hitching as I recalled all the times Kendall had put on a brave face, pretending everything was fine while enduring what must have been the most challenging days of her life.

"We waited for Kendall... I figured she would say something when she was ready," my sister said, her tone sympathetic yet firm.

"Clearly, she didn't... Victor had to break the news." A tear slipped down my cheek, its warmth contrasting sharply with the chill of my shock.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts, but Kendall was so overwhelmed by everything happening that it was just too much for her to talk about," my sister comforted, reaching out her hand to hold mine, offering a soothing presence.

"I'm grateful Victor stepped in; it must have been tough for her," I murmured, feeling the weight of emotions swell within me.

"Poor Kenneth. He's such an incredible person. Why do the worst things happen to the best people?" I couldn't hold back the tears any longer; they flowed freely down my cheeks as my sister squeezed my hand a bit tighter, offering her strength.