To put off the inevitable, I search the house for my parents. I find them in the sky library. That’s what I named it when I was ten, and it stuck. The way the bookshelves are only broken up by windows revealing the tops of buildings always gives me the sense of sitting above everything. Floating in the sky.

Muted light spills from the lamps, just bright enough to read by. Dad sits in his work clothes. He’s removed his shoes, tie, and jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. When I was younger, I knew this meant I could climb into his lap because he was out of work mode. Tonight, he has some papers in front of him, glasses sitting low on his nose as he reads.

His file is propped on top of my mom’s feet, which rest in his lap as she stretches lengthwise on the couch. She’s wearing one of her silk nightgowns, but she still has a string of pearls around her neck. Her fingers run over the smooth beads as she reads a well-worn novel.

This is classic Mom and Dad. I’m one of the lucky ones with parents who’ve found a way to battle their issues and maintain their love, even after twenty-six years of marriage. Watching them together warms my chest but also brings focus to an empty section inside me.

What is that kind of love like? How do I find something that fits so well?

I’ve dated plenty, all nice girls I should’ve been happy with. But it never felt right. There was always a gap between us, a fake face I wore like a mask. Even before I got sick. Now, it’s worse. I can barely stand myself in the mirror, imagining what other people see.

Sick. Dying.

That’s got to be why I’m hung up on Holly. It’s not that I’m attracted to her really. She’s just the answer to my health issues. Once she heals me, I can be comfortable with myself again.

“Oh! Ben, you scared me!” My mom clutches her chest, smiling and shaking her head at me. “Why are you lurking in the doorway?”

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

“Everything all right?” Dad scans me from feet to forehead. Searching for any indication that I’m not well. At least, more not well than usual.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Guess I’m just putting it off.”

Like synchronized performers, they frown simultaneously. The pity does nothing but make my neck itch. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Honey, do you want me to come sit with you? We can watch a movie together.”

She offers to keep me company all the time, even saying she’ll work later on the mornings I get my treatment done. But, no matter how cold and calculating Victoria Gerhard is in the courtroom, she can’t hide the devastation of watching her only son hook up to a machine in order to continue living the semblance of a healthy life. It’s better for both of us if she keeps her distance.