Cancer

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"Wow," I said without thinking, surprise overwhelming the pang of nostalgia for once. "I never knew you liked the Beatles."

As if me standing on the doorstep of what used to be Brendon Urie's house, with my mother (who, coincidentally, had once been ridiculously anti-Brendon Urie), and being greeted by Ryan Ross (who I assumed was also here to eat rump roast with the woman who had sort of kind of hated us both just a few years ago) was not strange enough, Ryan just had to make it that much stranger: he laughed.

I had probably heard him laugh maybe five or six times in the entire time I had known him. Granted, that wasn't such a long time, but Brendon used to laugh five or six times per millisecond, so, by those standards, Ryan's laughing could be considered a rarity.

"I never said I did," he countered, obviously amused.

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit proud of myself for making him laugh. "Well, you didn't have to. I mean, it's pretty obvious, with the bowl haircut and the flower-print shirt and the dress pants...."

He grinned. "Maybe I just do all my shopping at Goodwill."

This time, I laughed. "Yeah, right. You could probably buy the whole damn store, building and all, if you wanted to. And keep paying all the employees their regular salaries."

Ryan snorted, but something shifted in his dark eyes, and I felt bad for pointing out this sudden, huge difference between us. He muttered something that sounded like, "Sure I could," before he was interrupted by someone shouting his name from inside the house.

Out of nowhere, Spencer Smith--who, I was relieved to note, didn't look much different than how I'd remembered him--popped up behind Ryan, and I watched his expression change from amused to curious to outright shocked. "Oh," he mumbled, suddenly sheepish. "Hey, Kelsey."

I tried to smile, but I forgot how to move my facial muscles right. "Hi, Spencer," I managed.

The four of us just stood there awkwardly--my mother confused and nervous and wary, Spencer embarrassed and uncomfortable, Ryan as impossible to read as ever--until finally Ryan gave a little start and said, "Oh--I guess I should probably let you in now, huh?" He backed out of the doorway (Spencer didn't come to his senses enough to move until Ryan was stepping on him) to allow us entrance, and then I remembered my mother.

"Oh--Mom, this is Ryan and Spencer," I told her, gesturing to each of the boys in turn. Spencer still looked rather dazed, but Ryan smiled at her, and she did her best to smile back. "Ryan, Spencer--this is my Mom."

Normally, Mom would've been talking their ears off--she chattered on endlessly all the time, to any poor soul who would listen--but tonight she was drained and flustered and completely lacking any sort of confidence, so she didn't even really greet them. This seemed to be perfectly fine with Ryan and Spencer, though, and it was certainly fine with me.

Spencer, however, was starting to bother me. When Ryan had answered the door, Ryan had been pleasant and polite and thoroughly unconcerned--but Spencer seemed blatantly shocked by my very presence. Obviously Spencer wasn't expecting me, but had Ryan known I would be here?

Probably not, I thought to myself. He's just better at keeping up appearances than Spencer is.

This made me uneasy, to say the least. I hadn't known that Spencer and Ryan were coming to dinner, and they hadn't known I was coming--that sounded like bad news to me. And what was worse was wondering who else had come that Mrs. Urie hadn't mentioned.

Before I could think about that too much and get panicky, Mrs. Urie bustled into the living room, an ugly floral apron still tied about her ample waist. She greeted us warmly and I introduced her to Mom; she told Mom she was so glad to meet her, and so sorry about Dad (Mom dabbed at her eyes with the same over-used tissue again). As I watched them interacting, cheerful and welcoming to one another, I thought about how much had changed in the last few years. After all, Mom had hated Brendon, and his mother had hated me--and now they were all chatty, brand new best friends.

Because it turned out that Brendon hadn't been wasting his life: he was a hugely successful musician. And yes, he had broken my heart, but the harm was done, the damage over, and I had realized my mistake. There was no one left to blame anymore.

-----

"Well," sighed Mrs. Urie, hurrying into the dining room with the biggest bowl of salad I had ever seen in my life, "I suppose we should go ahead and eat now. If he wants to be slow as Christmas, then he can just miss out on salads."

As she placed the bowl in the center of the long, formal dining room table we were all seated around, she was too irritated to notice my sudden panic, I hoped. He? Who was he? I had been relieved to find out that Spencer and Ryan were the only other people here, but there was another place set at the end of the table, so maybe--

"Mr. Urie won't be joining us, then?" asked Ryan politely.

"No," said Mrs. Urie, taking her seat at the head of the table. "He's running a bit late at work, I'm afraid."

Relief swept over me. So it was just Mr. Urie she was worrying over, then. Not....

No, Kelsey, I told myself sternly. No. Don't even think his name.

Mrs. Urie blessed the food, of course, and then we all made small-talk over salad--and by "we all," I mean mostly Mrs. Urie, Mom and Ryan. Occasionally Spencer or I would add some off-handed comment, but both of us were more thoughtful than usual, solemn.

Ryan, on the other hand, was more talkative than I had ever seen him before. He wasn't exactly vivacious, of course, but he was smiling a lot, and he laughed several times. Usually, Spencer and I were the loud ones, and Ryan was lost in the background; tonight, we had all switched roles.

But what I noticed the most, and what bothered me, was that Ryan was not at all daunted by Mrs. Urie's presence. I could barely meet her eyes and smile, for remembering all the shit she had put Brendon through--all the things I knew she must have said to him about me when I wasn't around, back when I was still part of his life. And, despite his relative silence, Spencer seemed comfortable around her too.

And she had invited them to dinner, after all. Three years ago, Mrs. Urie wouldn't have allowed any of them into her home without accusing them of stealing something before they left. She had treated me slightly better, because I was Brendon's girlfriend rather than one of his "delinquint rocker friends," but she never would have had me over for rump roast, either. Never.

Actually, I was a bit surprised at my mother. After all, she had spent months nagging me about Brendon, about how he was bound to turn around and hurt me--but once he did it and she was right, she held nothing against him. It didn't matter that he had promised me everything and then left me behind in a world that meant nothing without him in it. All that mattered was that she had been right all along.

As I looked over at Ryan laughing at something Mrs. Urie said, at my mother explaining to her how to plant some kind of overly-particular flower in the dry desert soil, it was clear to me that something big had changed. Everything had turned out alright. We could all be friends now.

...Yeah, except for the tiny fact that nothing, nothing at all, had turned out alright for me. I had never felt so damn low in my entire life.

-----

We were halfway through the second course when the conversation was interrupted by the sounds of a door opening and closing somewhere in the kitchen. Everyone paused, a few with forkfuls of food halfway to their mouths, and seemed to perk up and listen: from the other room, there was a heavy sigh, and then even heavier footsteps. I silently prepared myself to put on a happy face to greet Mr. Urie.

"Oh! Honey?" called Mrs. Urie, dabbing daintily at her mouth with the napkin before placing it on the table beside her plate. "We're in here!"

No response. More footsteps--moving in the opposite direction this time.

Looking slightly pained, Mrs. Urie excused herself and hurried into the kitchen. "Honey?" I heard her coo softly. "Come in here with us, we're all having dinner--"

"I'm really not hungry."

The blood froze in my veins. I had swallowed my last bite two minutes ago, but, somehow, I was choking.

Mrs. Urie's voice was quieter, sweeter (if that was even possible), than before when she spoke next. "Well, you must be starving. I made you a big dinner and everything--"

"I'm sorry, Mom. You shouldn't have. I'm not hungry."

At first, I couldn't be sure--his dull, almost irritated monotone had thrown me off a bit. But now, I was absolutely positive: I would have recognized that voice anywhere, under any circumstances, and it was definitely not Mr. Urie's.

"Honey, you haven't eaten anything all day." She was speaking so softly that I wouldn't have heard at all if everyone in the dining room hadn't fallen completely silent. "Come in here and have dinner with us, you'll feel better--"

"I'm fine, Mom."

Mrs. Urie lowered her voice even more, so that all I could hear were vague whispering noises from the other room as she tried desperately to persuade him.

Meanwhile, Ryan stood up with a grim expression. "Excuse me," he said quietly, and then he disappeared into the kitchen.

Across the table, Spencer caught my eye and sighed, shaking his head a little.

Mrs. Urie returned from the kitchen, forcing a smile as she took her seat again. (I could still hear a hushed conversation going on in the kitchen without her, this time with a sharper, more urgent edge to it.) "I'm sorry," she apologized, and the strain behind her polite tone was just so obvious, "Brendon hasn't been very...agreeable, lately. You'll have to excuse his behavior. He's going through a bit of a tough time."

Before I could even think of what to say to that, she turned away, focusing on some far-off point in space as she took a long drink of her caffeine-free tea. Mom tried to smile at her, but Mrs. Urie wasn't paying attention. Spencer and I exchanged sad looks. The mood of the whole dinner had turned abruptly somber.

Just then, Ryan walked back into the dining room, cool as a cucumber, smiling that same stupid smile he'd been wearing all night. Brendon was close on his heels, the opposite of calm and looking like he had never smiled in his life.

It was all wrong. Everything was all wrong. I grasped desperately at the words as if they could somehow save me from this nightmare world I had entered: This is wrong, this is wrong, this is all wrong, it's not supposed to be like this.

Brendon was angrier than I had ever seen him. Fists clenched at his sides, big white teeth digging viciously into big pink lips, he stalked over to the end of the table, where a plate sat waiting for him. He stared purposely at the floor the whole way--so he didn't notice me at all until he sat down at the table, looked up, and saw that, after years apart, I was finally at his side once more, here in Vegas.