Yardley

Ten Years Ago

I can’t stop staring at Griffin. And I can’t fully process the news he shared with me this morning. The image of him slowly removing the knit Sooner’s stocking cap he’s worn every day since I met him six months ago is burned into my mind.

My funny, witty best friend has brain cancer.

And not only that, but it’s spreading.

His smooth head is covered in jagged scars from previous surgeries, and the chemo causes his hair to fall out in clumps so he keeps it shaved. I told him I barely noticed, and it was true, looking at Griff, I only see him for who he is on the inside. Funny, sweet, charismatic.

We’re seated across from one another at one of the most romantic restaurants in town, and it happens to be Valentine’s Day—Nevada’s nineteenth birthday.

But we’re not here because we’re on a date.

We’re here because Griffin said he needed to ask me something—a favor.

And for the first time since I’ve known him, he was actually serious. He said it was a huge favor. Something he couldn’t just ask over the phone or while we were hanging out in my basement watching movies.

This was the only decent restaurant in town with an open table, so we ended up here, amongst kissing couples with love in their eyes, all of them probably daydreaming about their futures together, while Griffin sits here not even knowing if tomorrow is promised.

Our server drops off two waters and Griff’s hand shakes when he takes his glass. It’s like he went from lively and exuberant to pale and weak over the course of several weeks and I hardly noticed.

He was always laughing and smiling, same old annoying Griff, cracking jokes at my expense and being the pesky brother I never had while simultaneously pretending he wasn’t madly in love with me—a fact we addressed early on and haven’t had to deal with since.

“I’m having an operation next week,” he says. “This one’s a little different. A little riskier.”

My heart races and I toy with the delicate diamond necklace Nev gave me, nearly breaking the gold chain. My stomach tightens. He’s going to tell me something awful, I just know it.

“There’s a fifty percent chance the surgery could be a success,” he says. “And there’s a fifty percent chance there could be complications.”

“Complications. What kind of complications?” I lean closer, watching the flickering candle paint warm colors across his pale complexion.

“There’s a chance I could wind up comatose,” he says, “or in a vegetative state.”

I draw in a sharp breath, my mouth dry. Sitting across from Griff, there’s a very good chance that a short time from now, he might not even be here. He won’t be around for me to call. He won’t be sending me annoying text messages at six in the morning just because. He won’t be laughing at my terrible jokes or making fun of my shoes just to mess with me.

It’s like someone has ripped out my insides.

I’m hollow, gutted.

And I can only imagine how Griffin feels.

“My parents have made it clear that if that happens, they have no intentions of pulling the plug,” he says with a sigh. “They’re, uh, a bit extreme in their beliefs. Their religion literally stands against any kind of modern medicine or treatments. When they found out I’d been going in for chemo and radiation and scans, they about lost it.”

“So they just believe that if you’re sick and about to die, you should die? And not try to get help?” I ask.

He nods. “Basically.”

“That’s so fucked up, Griff.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “So this is where you come in.”

“Yes, tell me what I can do to help you,” I say, reaching across the table and placing my palm over the top of his hand. “I’ll do anything.”

He’s quiet for a moment, maybe piecing words together or getting up the courage to ask what he’s about to ask. Griff’s always been so independent, never asking anyone for a damn thing. I imagine this is difficult for him.

A moment later, his eyes flick onto mine. “I need you to marry me.”

Sitting back in the booth, I question if he literally just asked me to marry him or if I imagined it.

“What?” I half chuckle.

“I need you to marry me,” he says. Griff isn’t smiling or laughing. There’s no mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I need to have someone who can legally make sure things happen the way I want them to happen, should I become incapacitated.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a vegetable,” he says. “If the surgery fails and I’m hooked up to a machine, I want you to be the one to pull the plug.”

This is heavy. I’m sunk.

“Griff …” my eyes burn. “I don’t know if I can.”

“I don’t have anyone else,” he says. “You’re my best friend. You’re the only one I trust, the only option I have.”

My mind goes to Nevada, trying to figure out a way I’d even explain this to him, trying to guess whether or not he’d give us his blessing. Last fall, Griff kissed me at homecoming and it took me forever to calm him down. When he was home for Christmas break, he was shooting daggers Griff’s way every chance he got, telling me he didn’t trust him.

If I tell him I need to marry Griffin, he’s not going to believe me.

Then again, Nevada has a good heart. Maybe if he’ll just give me a chance to explain, he’ll understand?

“What?” Griff asks. “What are you thinking right now? Tell me.”

“I’m just thinking about Nev …”

He smirks, head cocked as he stares at me with unrequited love in his eyes like he always does. “Of course.”

“This isn’t just about you and me,” I say. “This will affect him too.”

“And I respect that,” Griffin says. “If you want me to talk to him—”

“—no,” I cut him off. Bad idea. Very bad. “I’ll talk to him.”

First thing tomorrow …

… after I’ve had a night to really think about this.

“I promise you, Yardley,” Griffin says, “this is strictly a business arrangement. I even got you this to prove it.”

Digging into his jeans pocket, he retrieves a chintzy gold ring with the words “best friends forever” engraved on the band.

I take it from him, smiling, eyes watering. It’s too much. All of this at once is overwhelming, and I’m not sure what to say.

“I’ve already asked my Grandma, Greta, if she’d be our witness,” he says. “We could skip school one day next week, run down to the courthouse, and get it done. It’s ninety dollars for the license, five minutes in front of a judge, and we’re out of there.”

“I’d have to tell my parents.”

“Of course,” he says. “But tell them after. Easier to beg for forgiveness than ask permission. That’s always been my motto.”

“As evidenced by the time you tried to shove your tongue down my throat. Twice.”

He laughs. “Anyway, if I pull through, I promise you can divorce my ass and carry on with your life like it never happened.”

Sliding the dainty gold band onto my finger, I trace the engraving with the pad of my thumb.

How can I say no?

Nev and I have our whole lives ahead of us. We’re healthy. We get to live. Griffin doesn’t have that luxury. There’s a fifty percent chance he won’t wake up from his surgery next week.

“I can go over everything with you tomorrow,” he says. “I have a list. Everything is covered in detail, right down to the color of my headstone should I die.”

“Can we not talk about this anymore?”

“Why?” Half his mouth draws up, he’s incredulous. “Not talking about it isn’t going to make it go away. I’d rather talk about it now so we can get some kind of plan going. Surgery’s going to be here before we know it. Eleven days, actually.”

My heart drops.

Eleven days from now, I might watch my best friend being wheeled into the OR and by the time they’re done, I might never see his smile or hear his voice again.

“Can I give you an answer tomorrow?” I ask when our food arrives. I’m not hungry anymore and I can hardly taste the lemon pepper chicken placed before me, but I need this distraction.

“Of course,” Griff says. “I only want you to do this if you feel comfortable with it. I won’t force you or guilt you. It has to be your decision. I’m simply one friend … asking another friend for a favor.”

By the time we leave, Griff looks exhausted and when he stands, he almost loses his balance. Hooking my arm around him and draping his around me, I escort him out the front door, leading him across an icy February parking lot toward my car.

This is all happening so fast.

And it feels like something I need to do. For him. For my best friend.

Nevada will understand. He has to.