And, every moment since then, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell him my decision.

We spent the day catching up, mainly Marcus talking about his job and me about my classes. Nothing deep. Avoiding the looming storm cloud darkening the room. Then, we cooked together like old times, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

But, now, the food is all gone, and it’s time for me to poke the storm cloud and bring on the rain. He deserves to know.

Pops collects the dishes, balancing them on his arm like a pro. Before working as a mechanic, he waited tables, and apparently, the skills stuck with him.

“Thanks, Dad.” Marcus leans back in his seat, eyes focused on me. “What do you want to tell me, sis?”

The two of them are too perceptive for their own good sometimes.

I breathe in deep to brace myself and then let the truth flow. “I’m still giving my kidney to Ben, which means that I won’t be on the exchange list for you anymore. And I’m sorry. I’m so unbelievably sorry about that. But, when I think about Ben suffering through everything you deal with and having the opportunity to help him … I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

Both of us sit in the quiet for a moment before he responds, “Good.”

“Good?” I sputter over the word.

“Yes. Good. It’s good that you’ve found someone else you care about. It’s good that you can put a stop to that person’s suffering. It’s good that you realize my entire well-being does not rest solely on your shoulders.”

“I-I don’t think that.” This is not at all how I thought he’d react. I expected frustration, maybe the silent treatment. Classics from our childhood when I’d pissed Marcus off.

Instead, I got, “Good.”

“Come on, Holly. You’re more invested in my health than I am. And I’m grateful. I really am. But it’s not your job to cure me.” He holds me with his eyes, but I don’t shy away. “Tell me you understand that.”

I huff. “Maybe it’s not my job, but—”

The doorbell ringing cuts me off.

“My hands are kinda full. Could one of you …” Pops calls out from the kitchen where the water is running loudly.

I don’t know if he really can’t get to the door or if this is his way of de-escalating what was probably going to turn into an argument. Either way, I’m the closest, so I push up from my seat and try to guess who could be coming by this time on a Sunday. Probably one of the single women in the neighborhood. A lot of them like to flirt with Pops and bring him food. One time, I heard a lady whispering that he looked like Idris Elba. He just turns on his Southern charm and keeps them at a distance.

I’m prepared to politely greet a middle-aged woman when I open the door, so the sight of my boyfriend standing on the front porch has my mouth popping open like a dead fish.