My Family Made Me Drink the Champagne That Killed Me

I gave my brother half my liver. Five years later, at his wedding, my whole family raised their glasses and told me to drink the one thing my doctor said would kill me.

Five years after the surgery, I still hadn't gotten better. Mom gave up the eggnog she used to make by hand every Christmas.

Dad boxed up everything in the house that smelled like alcohol. Even the cooking wine got swapped out for broth. Every night my brother Theo warmed milk for me.

He'd crouch by my wheelchair and coax a fistful of pills down my throat. They said it all the time. "Wrennie, you saved Theo's life. From now on, this family is going to save yours.

For as long as it takes." I believed them. That sentence got me through one complication after another. Then Theo got married.

The bride's father raised his champagne and said the sister who'd saved the groom's life had to drain this one. That day every organ in my body was aching.

All I could say was: "I can't drink. Could I have water instead?" My brother's wife teared up on cue. "Is it that you really can't, Wren?

Or do you want everyone here to remember that Theo's life came from you?" The whole table went quiet. Whatever Mom had been holding in finally found a door. "It's one sip.

Are you going to make your brother owe you forever?" "Today is his big day. It isn't a report on your medical condition." Dad's eyes were red too. "Five years.

This whole family has revolved around you. Five years of holding our breath.

Five years of not touching a drink." "We have had enough." "Even if it kills you tonight, don't you dare ruin your brother's day." I looked at their tired faces.

I looked at my brother's uncomfortable silence. And then I got it. Theo had a family of his own now. Mom and Dad deserved a new life too.

And I could finally give them back to themselves. Chapter 1 Small bubbles floated in the glass. The smell went straight up into my eyes. I hadn't smelled it in five years.

From the day I signed my name on the surgical consent form, the doctors repeated it over and over: "No alcohol. Ever." "Not a drop." "Your body can't take it." Mom, Dad, Theo.

They all heard it. They used to remember it better than I did. But now everyone was looking at me. One drink, they said. What's the harm.

So I tipped my head back and drained the glass.

The second it went down, it turned into a redhot knife and cut a line straight through me, from my throat into whatever was left inside. The pain almost folded me in half.

I held it. I pulled my mouth into a smile. "To Theo and Sienna. Grow old together." I turned the empty glass so everyone could see the bottom. My hand was steady.

Nobody saw my other hand digging into the arm of my wheelchair. Applause. Whistles. Somebody said I was a good sport. Somebody said that's a big sister for you.

She knows when to read a room. They meant it. They meant it the same way they'd meant it five years ago, when they said they'd save me for as long as it took. Mom let out a breath.

Dad looked like someone had lifted a stone off his back. Sienna dabbed at her eyes and smiled again. Only Theo kept watching me. His face had gone pale. He asked, low, "Wren.

Are you really okay?" I wanted to say no. I wanted him to wheel me back to my room.

I wanted him to crouch down like he used to, put a hand on my forehead, and ask if it was hurting again.

But Sienna leaned into his shoulder, her voice shaking. "Theo, I'm dizzy." "I think I got too worked up. Can you help me sit down for a minute?" Theo looked at me.

Then at the brandnew wife swaying against him. He was stuck. I'd seen that look on him too many times. This time I wanted to grab his sleeve.

Because that redhot knife was still going down my throat, inch by inch. Chapter 2 Ever since he started dating Sienna, it went the same way.

Our parents would be out, my complications would flare, he'd have somewhere to be, and he'd get stuck. I always smiled and said: "It's fine.

Go." This time was no different. "I'm fine." I gripped the arms of the chair and worked to keep my voice level. "Take her to sit down first." The relief came off him in one long breath. "Wait for me.

I'll be right back." Then he was gone, holding Sienna up. My vision kept going dark in waves. Every laugh in the house came through a thick layer of water. I wanted to call out.

I wanted Mom. She was laughing, pouring coffee for the bride's parents. I wanted Dad. He was taking the drinks for Theo, and there was something on his face I hadn't seen in years.

I wanted Theo. Sienna hadn't taken him off to sit down at all.

He was working the room with a glass, and every guest in the house was wishing the two of them a long and happy life together. Then I understood. There was nobody I could call.

I'd interrupted them long enough. So I set my teeth, took hold of the wheels, and pushed myself toward my room, one shove at a time. The carpet was thick.

Each push moved me about two inches. Twelve yards from the patio to my door. I counted them off. Three people passed me. All three smiled and stepped aside.

Not one of them reached out. The noise of the reception came after me down the hall. So loud. So loud you would never know a Wren Ashby had ever lived in this house.

I don't know how long it took. I made it back. The door shut and the noise cut off clean. Everything went quiet. I took a small bottle out of my drawer.

One of the mini champagnes Theo handed out as favors. I'd kept one. A keepsake. Now it was my last way out. Theo had a new life.

It was time to let Mom and Dad out of the money pit too. I twisted the cap. The smell came up hard, and for the first time it didn't scare me.

When the burn spread through my throat again, I curled into the chair and let the pain stack, layer on layer. At the end of it my whole world went white.

I don't know how long that took either. The pain stopped. When I opened my eyes, all of me was weightless. I was floating up near the ceiling.

I looked down and saw myself in the wheelchair, clear as anything. A face so white it was almost seethrough. Lips cracked and blue.

Loose clothes hanging off her like they'd been draped over a bundle of sticks. The empty mini champagne bottle had rolled up against her foot.

The gold Just Married on the label still caught the light. I looked at her for a long time. Then I laughed. So dying really does make you lighter.

The legs that had trapped me for five years would never hurt again. The body that had dragged everyone down was finally quiet. Not long after, noise came up outside my door.

Family and friends herded Theo and Sienna back inside and crowded the newlyweds' door. "The bride looks stunning!" "Long and happy life!

Babies next!" "Theo, you'd better treat her right!" Laughing, hooting, favor boxes knocking against trays. It filled the whole living room. Someone tugged at Theo to tease him.

Someone pushed another glass into his hand. Footsteps went past my closed door, quick and busy. Not one of them stopped.

Not one of them wondered where the sister in the wheelchair had gone for the back half of the reception.

I sat there in the dark and watched them carry the party into the room next to mine. Late that night the guests cleared out.

Mom and Dad dragged themselves to bed and were asleep almost before they lay down. In the whole house, mine was the only room with no light on.

And mine was the only door nobody opened all night. Chapter 3 I listened to them breathing, steady and even, and finally found a little meaning in my last five years of existing.

Turns out that once I'm gone, they can sleep like this. I stayed in the house all night. Early the next morning Mom got up and started oatmeal in the kitchen.

Dad set out plates and forks. Theo and Sienna sat at the table, one newly married, one newly moved in. Even the sunlight on their shoulders looked like a celebration.

Mom looked around and frowned. "Why isn't Wren up yet?" Dad answered without thinking. "She's usually awake before it gets light." To be exact, I usually hadn't fallen asleep yet.

The pain after the surgery liked to come back at night and drag me out of bed. Mom's patience ran out in one breath. "It's Sienna's first breakfast in this house.

She's hiding in there on purpose. What is she sulking about now?" I wanted to tell her I wasn't sulking. My face had gone stiff and cold. There was nothing left on it to read.

Theo set down his fork and looked toward my door. "Could it be the drink last night? Maybe she isn't feeling well." He startled himself saying it.

He knew better than anyone that I couldn't drink. But Dad paused, then shook his head. "It's been five years. She should be fine by now." "It was one glass.

How bad could it be?" "If something were really wrong she wouldn't have drunk it. She drank it, so it's fine." Mom nodded along. "She takes her pills on schedule.

The doctor said recovery takes time. She can't spend her whole life not touching this, not touching that." No. What the doctor said was: no alcohol, ever. No overexertion.

No emotional stress. They all heard it five years ago. They just heard it so long they forgot it. Theo started to say something else.

Sienna closed her hand around his wrist. "Theo, what she did for you. Your family has been paying it back day and night for five years." "You're married now.

You can't spend the rest of your life tied up in guilt." Theo pressed his lips together. He looked at my door. In the end he didn't get up.

Dad picked up his bowl, out of patience. "Forget it. If she doesn't come out, don't call her." "She doesn't eat much anyway." By unspoken agreement, nobody mentioned me again.

They mentioned me three times that whole breakfast. Once to say I was sulking. Once to say I didn't eat much. Once to say forget it.

And my body, cold all the way through, stayed propped quietly in the wheelchair. After breakfast Mom dried her hands and came back from her room with two cashier's checks.

She set them in the middle of the table and pushed them a little toward Sienna. I floated above the table and looked at those pieces of paper.

Less than five yards from that table to my door.

The money they were about to divide was sitting five yards from my body. "We put a little away years ago." "But first there was Theo.

Hospital, the ICU, getting on the transplant list, the surgery. That took a big chunk." "Then Wren donated. Years of followups, prescriptions, treatment.

Another money pit with no bottom." Mom stopped there, like she was afraid of upsetting Sienna, and hurried to add: "But we got lucky last year.

Your dad found a winning scratchoff in the pocket of an old coat." "After the payout, after withholding, after we cleared the last of the hospital bill, there was two hundred thousand left." She slid one of them across and pressed it into Theo's hand. "A hundred and fifty for you two.

Seed money for your own place." "The other fifty…" Mom's voice dropped. "We should hold on to that for Wren. Her health—" Sienna looked down and said nothing.

She only gave a small tug at Theo's sleeve. Theo acted like he hadn't seen it. "Sure, Mom. I understand." Sienna's eyes came right back up, rimmed red again. She opened her mouth.

Nothing had come out yet. But I already knew what she was going to say. I also knew one thing none of them knew. That two hundred thousand had been my money from the start.

Chapter 4 "Theo, I'm not trying to compete with your sister." "But she's your blood.

If something happens down the road, aren't we the ones who take care of her?" "Money in her hands just turns into appointments and prescriptions.

It never ends." "Didn't we agree you'd help me open a Latin ballroom studio? That fifty would cover the deposit on the buildout." The living room went quiet.

Something in me almost laughed. A Latin ballroom studio. So the thing I lost only counts as a dream when somebody else says it out loud.

And the fifty she wanted for that deposit was money I'd spent ten years saving.

In the end it was Dad who pressed the second check into Sienna's hand. "Take it," he said. "You two building a good life matters more than anything." "Theo's come a long way.

He can't be held back anymore." Sienna held both checks and her eyes lit up. I let out a breath too. Good thing I was already dead.

I didn't have to stay awake and watch myself turn into dead weight, one piece at a time. But something in my chest still stung. Late, and useless.

Before the illness pinned me down, I lived like the sun. I loved Latin ballroom. Loved it enough to skip meals all day to get one spin right. My junior year I won the U.S.

National Youth Latin title. I had early admission and a full ride to the dance program at a top conservatory, and a spot at Blackpool the year after that.

The biggest floor in the world. Back then I thought my life was going to be enormous. Lights. Applause. Roads I danced open myself.

Then Theo went into the hospital in liver failure. He'd trailed after me his whole childhood. Candy came to me first. Snacks got shoved into my backpack first.

He told me so many times, chin up: "When I'm big and I've got money, I'm sending you to Blackpool." So when I saw that bright, loud brother of mine in a hospital bed with nothing left on him but skin.

When Mom and Dad went gray in a single night and begged me to save him. "The doctors say the aftereffects won't be bad.

She rests up and she'll be like anybody else." "Wrennie, if you're willing, your parents will take care of you for the rest of your life. Whatever it costs us." How could I say no?

It was Theo. The brother I'd looked after since he was small. My hand shook the whole time I signed that consent form. I signed it anyway.

I cut my own wideopen life in half and handed him a piece. I found out later. Some roads, once you step off them for someone else, never let you back on.

Once she had the money, Sienna remembered something else.

She was pulling Theo toward the door to go look at retail space when she stopped in the middle of the living room. "Mom, Dad, I heard Wren has a gown with gold thread in it." "I know a collector.

That dress would bring in real money right now." "And we're a little short on the buildout." Mom's face went stiff. "Oh.

That one…" "That's the dress Wren wore the day she won nationals. It means a lot to her." Not once did she say the word champion.

She only said what it was worth. "I don't think she'd agree to it." Dad's eyebrows pulled together. "She can't even stand up anymore.

What's the point of keeping it?" "She can't wear it. She can't dance in it.

All it does is keep her stuck back there." Mom still hesitated. "Those first months after the surgery she held that dress and cried every day." "It's the only thing she has left." Dad's voice went cold. "That's exactly why it should go." So once a person can't stand up, even the proof that she used to run isn't allowed to stay.

Chapter 5 "People have to face reality." "Look at the state of this family.

It's time she contributed something." I hadn't taken a breath in hours and I still felt like I was suffocating.

So the last bit of light in my life was, to my father, an old thing taking up space. Mom was quiet for a long time. Then she stood up and walked slowly toward my room.

She knocked. "Wren, time to get up." "Your dad and I want to talk to you about something." Of course I wasn't going to open the door.

The knocking came in bursts, then turned fast and hard. "Wren Ashby, what are you doing in there?" "We asked you to have one drink.

Are you really still going on about it?" "When did you get this difficult?" Mom. I wanted to be easy to have around too. That's why I drank it.

That's why I never said a word about the pain in front of everyone. That's why I came back to my room alone.

That's why I even picked a time to die that wouldn't spoil your celebration. I just couldn't answer her.

Dad came over with heat under his voice. "Wren, I'm saying this one last time. Open the door." "Are you trying to turn this whole house upside down?" Behind the door, nothing.

That door was one thin panel. They argued outside it for six minutes. I was on the other side of it, in the wheelchair, facing them. Then Theo stopped him.

He put his ear against the panel and the color drained out of his face. "Dad. Mom. It's too quiet in there." "Her color was wrong after that drink.

She went in and never came back out." "What if something happened to her?" Dad shook his head on instinct. "No." "It was one glass." "She's throwing a fit." But Mom panicked.

She got close to the door again, her voice unsteady. "Wren?" "Wren, answer me. Just say something." Nothing. Nothing at all. My dad went silent. Theo's voice shook hard. "Dad! Mom!

Stop waiting! What if she's really—" "But—" Theo threw himself at the door without a second of hesitation. One loud bang. The lock gave way. Light poured into the dark room.

They finally saw me