Until Forever

Someone else might have missed just how hard the diagnosis hit Yerim. Not you.

Not after all the time you’ve spent around her—not since you noticed how her teeth sink into the corners of her lips when she’s trying to keep that shining smile as bright as ever, or how her shoulders tense and her bottom eyelids quiver and she refuses to blink, hoping that dry eyes will stop the tears from flowing. But even her, your ever-beaming ball of sunshine, can’t hide the shock that overtakes her expression when the doctor gives her a number, nor the despair at the fact that it’s only double digits.

You’re right there with her, standing in stunned silence. Your arm is wrapped around her, offering what little support you can because no lone pair of shoulders should have to bear the weight of knowing that they’re unlikely to live until the season’s end. No singular soul should have to suffer through a reality worse than the most wicked of nightmares.

So you squeeze her shoulder just the slightest bit, just enough to remind her that you’re still here. That you still care, and you’re going nowhere. She looks up at you, gratitude plain as day in those shining eyes even as they glisten on the verge of tears. You pull her close, a sad smile on your lips as you feel the familiar weight of her head on your chest. You do your best to listen diligently to the doctor’s words, but the muffled sound of sniffling drowns out any logical discussion. The doctor nods in understanding when you ask for a few minutes alone, standing and promising to return upon your request before shutting the door behind them.

You all but collapse onto the examination bed, pulling Yerim into your lap as you allow her a moment to breathe and maybe, just maybe begin to process everything. Your lips find the crown of her head, offering what little comfort you can as you wait for her to break the silence. In the solace of your embrace, she manages to muster up the strength to say, “Please tell me this isn’t real.”

Her voice—normally so melodic and full of cheer—is faint, feeble even, every word tinged with desperation. You meet her eyes once more and your heart aches with a desire to fuel the spark of hope that dims more and more with each passing second, but your lips can't seem to form a comforting lie.

A single tear lands upon her cheek and begins its descent downwards, surprising you both … especially as her eyes remain dry. You see her reach up, intent on wiping away the tears that fall unbidden from your ducts, but you catch her hand midway, resting your cheek against the softness of her palm as you hold her hand in yours. Emotion was a topic you refused to shy away from, even early in your relationship when you feared a quiet sadness lurking beneath that beaming expression. Even as you grew to know her better and were lucky enough to be the source of some of those smiles, you remained insistent on sharing your emotions openly with her and made sure to be there for her when Yerim chose to do the same.

And now, facing the reality that the love of your life is nearing the end of hers, you refuse to hide even the slightest bit of what you feel for her. You let the tears flow freely as you whisper, “I wish so badly that I could.”

It takes a few moments and a deep inhale, but eventually you find … well, maybe not the right words. But they're the best you've got right now. “Let's just get through today, okay? Planning sounds like a job for tomorrow. Let me talk to the doctor, see what other information he has for us, and then we can go home. Does that sound alright?”

Yerim shakes her head, eyes wider than ever as she stares up into yours. “Please don't go,” she pleads, words barely a whisper. “I'm okay with hearing what he has to say, but I don't want to be away from you, even for a moment.”

Your breath catches in your throat, muffling the despair welling up in your heart and keeping it from escaping through your mouth. All you can offer is a gentle nod and an even softer squeeze of her hand, hoping they're enough right now. “Okay, I promise. I'll stay,” you say, because it's the truth. “Let's call for the doctor. The sooner we can leave, the sooner we can be alone together.”

Mustering enough of your voice to call out is harder than you'd like to admit, but within a minute, they've returned. To their credit, they're quick and concise with their description of potential treatments, ways to maintain quality of life during this time, and perhaps most importantly of all, they refuse to shy away from the severity of the diagnosis.

Even then, there's a glimmer of hope in their eyes that you can't help but latch onto. Once the conversation comes to a close, you thank them for their candor and consideration, then practically carry Yerim out of the building. The car ride back is a quiet affair, uncharacteristically somber—especially in comparison to the typical joy and excitement she usually has as she tells you everything about everything that's happened throughout the day.

But instead, it's a crushing silence that covers the space between you two until you're back in your shared apartment. Two pairs of shoes hit the floor, and all you can do is watch as your usually bubbly, bouncy ball of a girlfriend limply collapses onto the couch.

“I'm scared.”

Your legs move before your mind, leading you closer until you're kneeled down on the floor in front of her, clasping her hands in yours. “That's okay, baby. That's normal. It's okay for you to be scared,” you tell her, admittedly talking to yourself at the same time. “I'm scared too. The thought of losing you …”

You cut yourself off, refusing to entertain the notion. “But those are problems for another day. Tonight, I want to celebrate what we have. I want to celebrate this incredible thing that is ‘us’. Everything else can come later. Well, maybe not dinner. Did you want me to cook for you? Order delivery? Something else?”

A soft smile appears on that beautiful face of hers, lighting up the room like nothing else in this world can. “Something simple?” she asks. “We could make spaghetti together? And watch a movie or something? I really just want to snuggle on the couch.”

“That sounds perfect, dear. I'll get the water started.” Cooking ‘with’ Yerim usually means her sitting on the counter while you do all the actual cooking, and tonight is no different. But that's not what either of you need right now. There's comfort in the consistency, and though it takes a minute, you're eventually able to slip into a nice, normal conversation about the latest earth-shattering drama that mildly inconvenienced ruined Heejin's life. It's an entirely normal night.

Maybe the last one you'll ever have together.