She rolled her eyes. “Shitty apology, Josh.”

He stood there with his arms at his sides, looking as if it were the first time he was in his own body—stiff, agitated, foreign. “You can’t make jokes about your life, Lauren. Not to me.”

“It wasn’t a joke, honey. The odds are—”

“No! Stop.”

“Joshua,” she said, going to him and taking his hands. They felt like dead things, like pieces of wood. “I have a terminal disease. You know this. I know this. The odds are this dog will outlive me. Plus, she’s prettier than I am.”

“Every time you say something that’s supposed to be a joke, it’s . . . it’s like a knife in my chest,” he said.

She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry. I don’t . . . I just don’t want to be like my mother. I have to be able to make a joke.”

“No, Lauren!” He jerked his hands away. “Not about your life! Stop trying to be Princess Butterflies and Rainbows all the time!”

She threw up her hands. “You’re the one who just punched a hole in our wall and didn’t return my calls for seven hours. Should you be lecturing me about how I should handle my own diagnosis? Just because you’re a super-genius doesn’t mean you know how to do this. No one does.”

The conversation was going off course, and Lauren’s throat locked down. Being Princess Butterflies and Rainbows (a new name, and one she kind of liked) . . . that was her thing. She clung to that. It was her defense mechanism.

“Josh, I think we should talk about it if you can . . . if we should . . .” The words were a lot harder to say out loud. “Sit down, honey. Come on. It’s me. Let’s talk.”

They sat. The puppy put her paws on Josh’s knee, and he scooped her up, not smiling.

“Honey,” she said, “if you can’t handle what’s coming, then maybe we should . . .”

He looked at her, alarm in his eyes. “What?”

“Maybe we should separate. If this is going to be too hard for you. I would understand that, because I know how much you love me. And if seeing me die—”

“Don’t say that!” he yelled, and Pebbles jumped off the couch with a reproachful look.

Then Josh clamped his arms over his head and sank onto the couch and just . . . fell apart. Big gulping sobs racked his body. In that moment, Lauren’s heart broke all over again. She pulled his hands away from his face and wrapped herself around him. After a second, he hugged her back so hard she could hardly get a breath in.

“Don’t leave me,” he said against her neck. “Don’t leave me. Don’t die, Lauren. Don’t leave me.”

He just kept saying that over and over.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Being Princess Butterflies and Rainbows did put up a shield—but she was noticing that the shield was from everything. Maybe the terror was kept at bay, but nothing else was let in, either.

For months, she’d been worrying about Josh after her death. She hadn’t worried about him in the here and now, when she could actually do something about it. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said again. “I’ll do better. I won’t make jokes anymore.”

He pulled up, his hair crazy, eyes wet. “No. I . . . I know you need to. And I do, too. Just not all the time. Sometimes I need . . .” His voice broke.

“Sometimes you need to punch a wall.”

He nodded. “Sorry about that.”

“We can get a punching bag for the gym downstairs.”

He looked at the floor. “Lauren, I . . . I don’t usually . . . I call it a red-out. When I lose my shit like that. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I understand, honey. We’re going through a lot.”

He nodded and swallowed.

This would be a process, she realized. There’d be curves and veers and long straight stretches, and that was normal. They got to be scared and furious and happy and grateful, and sometimes they could be all those things at the same time.

She climbed off his lap and handed him a tissue, then blew her own nose. They looked at each other, raw and exhausted. “Is there a way to head that off at the pass?” she asked. “You know. To save our walls?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I have techniques. Visualizations, distractions. Creative destruction.”

“Oh, I like that term. Like you go out and chop down a tree?”

“Yeah. Or hitting a punching bag. Ben had one in his basement for me.”

“Guess what you’re getting for a birthday present?”

“Is it a punching bag?” He smiled, looking older than his years, and her broken heart broke a little more.

“It is! How did you know?” She stood up, pulled him to his feet and hugged him. “I’m starving. I’m going to make us both omelets.”

He looked at her a long minute. “Are we okay? Do you forgive me?”

“Oh, Josh. Yes, honey.”

“Don’t ever mention us separating again. Okay?”

“Okay.” Then Pebbles pushed between them, and they smiled, and Josh picked her up and kissed her head.

* * *

THE CHANGES CREPT in. The diagnosis had been surreal and amorphic at first. But reality was making itself at home, and Josh’s red-out . . . it drove everything home.

There had to be time for grief and anger laced together with all that they did have, and that panoply of emotion made Lauren feel more real. She didn’t always have to be Princess Butterflies and Rainbows, and she didn’t have to be sobbing on the floor. Just because she was terminal didn’t take away from the fact that she was also a regular person.