“I know it’s a monumental thing to ask of you. It’s way more than I have the right to. But...” She pauses, gestures vaguely at her own body in the bed, at the machines she’s hooked up to, and lets out a small, humorless laugh. “But I’m dying. So I’m asking you anyway, because I need to.”

At her bluntness, the ability to speak finally comes back to me. “But why me? What about your parents? That doesn’t make any sense. Obviously, they’ll raise her.”

She glances down at her arm, drawing my attention to the bruising on the inside of her elbow. They must be sticking a lot of needles through there. Selfishly, I’m glad I haven’t been here to witness it. “They could. But I don’t want them to. I want you to do it.”

“Why?” I ask again, a sharp tinge of desperation on the word. I’m twenty-one. I’m not ready to be a father.

“Because you love her.”

My eyes swing back to May’s perfect face. The blue eyes, the chubby cheeks. Of course I love her, but that doesn’t mean I’d be the best parent for her. I have one more year of college, and then... Well, I don’t know, really. My future has always felt like this entirely vague concept, something I didn’t need to have all figured out ahead of time. I’ve always had this idealistic belief that I’d just somehow end up where I was supposed to.

“And she already loves you,” April continues, making this totally crazy idea begin to sound slightly less crazy with every word. “Yes, I know my parents love her, and I know they’d keep her healthy and safe and provided for.”

“They’d be able to provide for her better than I would,” I say. “They’d know what they’re doing.”

She shakes her head. “Brenden, I know you’re the right choice. She deserves more than just a roof over her head and food to eat. If she grows up to be anything like me, she’s going to need someone who will understand her, who won’t try to force her into some bullshit societal role she doesn’t want. I want my daughter to grow up in a house filled with music and games and laughter. I want her to be healthy, but also to know that sometimes it’s okay to have cookies for dinner.”

I laugh despite how much I want to cry. This can’t be happening. How is it fair that this little girl in my arms is going to grow up without ever really knowing her mother? How is it possible that I’m about to lose my best friend right after I lost my parents?

How am I supposed to survive in this world alone?

“I...”