HIS DISCARDED WIFE

My husband hadn't visited me in four weeks. I checked my phone again. No missed call. No message. Nothing from Jack. "Are you going to eat that or just stare at it like it insulted your family?" I turned my head too fast. The room tilted, then settled. "Georgina." "Don't sound so shocked. I do visit." She dropped a paper bag on the tray table, grease spots already soaking through the bottom. "Onion rings. Don't ask how I got them past the nurse's station. Actually, ask. It's a good story." "Tell me." "I told her I was your sister and you were having a craving. She said Sisters don't usually look this different." She pointed between us, her dark hair against my washed-out blonde. "So I said, half-sister. Dramatic family history. She let me out of pity." I laughed, and it hurt my ribs, and I didn't care. The IV line pulled when I shifted upright. I checked my phone one more time out of habit. Still nothing. Georgina saw it. She saw everything. "How was round four?" she asked. "Like rounds one, two, and three. Chemo doesn't get creative." "Small mercies." She pulled a chair closer than the nurses liked and studied my face the way she had since we were fourteen. Like she was grading me. "You lost more weight," she said. "Thank you for noticing." "I'm not being nice. I'm being honest. Eat the onion rings." I ate one. It was cold, and it was perfect. "How's the food in here?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the tray beside my bed. Grey mash. A juice box that looked older than me. "Like eating a wet napkin." "They should let me cook for you." "You burned water once." "That was one time. And it was technically the pot's fault." A nurse poked her head in, checked the monitor, didn't even look at the onion rings, and left without a word. Georgina waited until the door clicked shut before she leaned back in. "Jack came by?" she asked, too casual. She already knew the answer. "No." "Did you call him?" "Twice." "And?" I didn't answer. She didn't push. That was the thing about Georgina, she knew exactly how long to let a silence sit before it turned into pity. "He's probably buried in the office," she said. "You know how he gets before quarter reviews." "He used to text me during quarter reviews. Stupid stuff. Pictures of his coffee. Once, a pigeon that looked like his boss." "Romantic." "It was, actually. He'd caption them. 'Meeting rescheduled, see attached.'" Georgina laughed, and for a second it sounded like a year ago, before any of this. "When's the last visit?" she asked. I had to think. That was the part that scared me: that I had to think. "Three weeks. Maybe four." "He'll come around." "You keep saying that." "Because it keeps being true." She reached over and squeezed my hand, and for a second the room felt smaller and warmer. Safe. The way it used to feel when we were sixteen, hiding from her mother in my closet. "Can I tell you something?" I said. "I haven't told anyone." "Always." "I think he's tired of me. Of this." I gestured at the tubes, the bag on the pole, the plastic bracelet with my name spelt wrong. "I think somewhere he's already decided I'm not worth—" "Stop." Her hand tightened on mine. "Don't finish that sentence. Jack loves you. I know Jack loves you." "How do you know?" "Because I know him." A beat, quick, gone before I could hold onto it. "I've known him almost as long as I've known you." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one you're getting tonight. Eat your onion ring and go to sleep." I did both. I don't know how long I slept — long enough for the light outside the window to go from white to orange. Long enough for my mouth to go dry and my neck to ache from the angle of the pillow. "Water," I mumbled, not fully awake. Georgina was there before I finished the word, cup already in hand, straw already bent toward my mouth. She was good at this. Better than the nurses, some nights. "Small sips," she said, the way she always did, like I hadn't been doing this for months. "You didn't go home." "I said I'd stay." "You have a life, Georgina." "You are my life. Don't argue with a woman holding your water." I drank. She set the cup down. I felt myself sinking again, the pull of the medication stronger than the pull to stay awake and keep talking to the one person in this building who still looked at me like I wasn't already gone. "Sleep," she said. "I'm not leaving." I let my eyes close. And I meant to stay that way. I didn't. I opened my eyes halfway. The room came back in pieces. Georgina, sitting up straight now. Her phone lit in her hand. The screen faced me for exactly one second before she turned it. One second was enough. "She still doesn't know a—" Georgina's thumb hit the screen. Black. "Not now," she said. Not to me. She stood, walked to the window, and stayed there too long for someone just stretching her legs. Her fingers tapped once again against the sill. Stopped. Started again. I closed my eyes before she turned around.