The Gift of Time

WARNING: Brief mentions of blood and cuts. Nothing graphic.

“How could you do this? How could you keep this a secret from me, from our family?” Jade’s voice rises in pitch as she stares at me angrily, her eyes red with tears.

My heart feels like it’s on fire, sinking into my ribcage like a stone, burning me all the way through. I clench my teeth, looking down at the shattered bowl on the floor, the ruined cookie batter spilling across the kitchen tile. The batter is new. Usually I don’t make it far into my confession before my sister drops the bowl, or knocks it off the counter, in her shock or rage. But it seems no matter how long I wait to break the news, my favorite mixing bowl takes the brunt of my punishment.

I sigh through my nose as she continues her tirade, dropping down to clean up the mess, cussing to herself — or at me. I’m not sure which — as she pricks her finger on a shard of glass.

I mumble to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose as my eyes slip shut, “Every time. Maybe I should just use a different bowl…”

So I do.

But it happens again. Twice. Just like last time, except my sister cuts her palms on the bigger shards from the ceramic bowl. I grab a towel to wrap around her hand, watching the blood run down, dripping and mixing with the flour on the floor. Staining it red.

I close my eyes, Jade’s voice fading as the rushing winds of time pull me back to the beginning again. Back to answering the door when Jade arrived for our monthly baking party, a tradition we’ve carried from our youth to adulthood. She throws her arms around my neck like she hasn’t seen me in years, even though we just saw each other last week when we went dress shopping for her wedding. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze just as tightly as I had the first time I answered the door, my eyes burning as I hold back tears.

If I cry now, she’ll know something is wrong and she’ll realize what I’ve been doing. How I’ve been manipulating time, rewriting the same moment over and over again, trying to figure out how to do it right. But maybe there is no right way to tell your loved one that you’re dying. That there’s no way to stop it, even when you have the gift of time.

We go to the kitchen and she tells me about her day while I gather the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and brownies. Jade tells me about her day while she washes up at the sink; and I hesitate at the cabinet between my favorite mixing bowl and the others I’ve tried. Exhaustion seeps into my bones as her voice rushes in my ears like my head is underwater. My feet feel glued to the floor and everything is heavy, like I’m being weighed down by a million rocks at once. I’ve been feeling like this for weeks now, but it’s worse after the continued Rewinding. The doctors said eventually I would be too fatigued to function if I kept on this way, but I can’t stop now. I have to try and make it better. I have to figure out a way to tell Jade without it all going wrong.

“June?”

A hand touches my shoulder, bringing me out of it.

“Huh?” I look up, meeting my sister’s concerned gaze.

“Are you okay? You kind of… spaced out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” I force a smile, looking away quickly to reach into the cabinet for my favorite mixing bowl. This is the one we normally use anyway. If it breaks again…

Jade takes it to the counter and I take a deep breath while her back is turned, letting it out slowly. My chest burns again and it feels like every inhale is feeding the flames. This is my last shot. I can feel it.

“Mom called this morning to see if we wanted to have lunch tomorrow. I was hoping we could all go over the floral arrangements for the wedding. Jeremiah and I finally decided on a color scheme.” Jade says as she waits for me to measure the ingredients for the cookies. She taps the wooden spoon in her hand on the counter as she adds, “We agreed on the sunset theme. You know, the one with the pink, orange, and blue?”

“Yeah, I like that one.” I nod, creaming the butter, sugars, eggs, and vanilla.

I know what she’ll say next.

“His mom keeps telling me we should do the rose theme because it’s more traditional.”

She scoffs, tapping the spoon more aggressively. “His mom keeps telling me we should do the rose theme because it’s more traditional.”

“What’d Jeremiah think of that?” I make the effort to keep my voice light and upbeat, though each word is like sand in my mouth. The same conversation, over and over. So many times I’ve lost count.

“He told her nicely that it’s our wedding and our decision.”

“I think she’s just upset still about us not wanting to get married at her church. And it’s not like I want her to be upset, but we want to get married outside. That’s why we picked the venue with the garden.”

“I think she’s just upset still about us—.”

“Not wanting to get married at her church?” I interject, unable to help it. I slide the bowl over so Jade can add the flour, salt, and baking powder.

“Yeah. How’d you know?” She raises her brows at me, dumping half the flour into the mix.

I subtly hold my breath while the dust cloud settles. It only makes the burning worse. “You mentioned it last week.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Jade frowns, folding in the flour carefully. She holds the bowl in the crook of her arm, turning to face me, “Anyway, what’s up with you? You said you wanted to tell me something today.”

“It’s about my appointment last month…”

“I went to see my doctor…”

“Remember how I kept getting tired and dizzy while we were shopping?”

I’ve started the conversation so many times in different ways. Whether I beat around the bush or state the facts bluntly, it never goes well. Tears, shock, anger. A broken bowl. Cut hands. The front door slamming as Jade rushes out. Me, standing alone in the kitchen, trying to clean up the mess I’ve made.

Over and over.

Tears, shock, anger.

A broken bowl.

Cut hands.

The front door slamming.

Standing alone in the kitchen.

The fire keeps growing in my chest.

Over and over.

“June?”

I look up, meeting my sister’s green gaze. It’s like looking into a mirror. I see my reflection, an altered version of myself, looking back at me. The same face shape, with softer lines and greener eyes swirling with worry the longer it takes me to answer. Jade has so many plans. So much future ahead of her. And I’m about to take it all away from her.

“I…”

I can’t.

I can’t do it again.

I close my eyes for a second. The pull of the wind is at my back. I inhale and the flames roar higher. But when I open them again, time has not moved with me. My sister is still watching, waiting for me to say something, grip loosening on the bowl.

“I finally decided which dress I like best. For the wedding.”

“Oh, great!” Jade sighs with relief, a smile blooming on her face. “Which one did you pick? The evening blue with the fluttery sleeves?”

“How’d you know?” I return the smile as she squeals excitedly, even though I hadn’t thought about the dresses since the day we went shopping. I can’t recall the exact one she’s talking about either, but I let myself get roped into her enthusiastic happy dance.

There are no tears. No crying or yelling. No broken bowl. No cut hands. No slamming doors.

We put the cookies in the oven and begin making the brownies together while Jade continues to gush about the dress and how it will “make your eyes pop”. I listen and nod along, smiling softly as I take in every detail of her content expression while she prepares the brownie mix.

The wind presses at my back again.

I know I’m running out of time.

I could go back again and prolong this moment forever, let the rest of my life be one long happy memory.

But as the afternoon begins to wane and we sit at the counter, enjoying cookies and brownies dipped in milk, swinging our legs from the stools and giggling like we’re little girls again, I realize something. The gift of time was never being able to rewrite this moment until it was perfect. It was about living the moment together. Being present.

Taking a breath to steady myself, I close my eyes and try to temper the flames in my chest. I know what I have to do, no matter how much it hurts.

“Jade, there’s something we need to talk about…”