Davis was filled with frenetic energy when he hung up the phone. He’d just talked to his eight-year-old sister. Well, 21-year-old sister, but he struggled with the fact that she’d aged since he last saw her.

“Holy shit, Jenna just called me,” he thought, taking a mental inventory of the conversation.

“J.D. needs a kidney.”

“Jenna invited me to her wedding.”

“It’s been 13 years! It makes sense that Jenna was the one to call me. It sure as shit wasn’t going to be A.J. or J.D.”

“J.D. needs MY kidney.”

“Jenna’s wedding is this weekend.”

“Wow, Jenna is an adult. She’s 21 and getting married?!?”

“What do I need to do to donate a kidney?”

“Wait, am I donating a kidney?”

“I hope I didn’t say I was donating a kidney.”

“Does Jenna want me at the wedding? Or was I invited to get my kidney.”

“Do I care if I’m invited to the wedding so that I will give J.D. a kidney?”

“Does that asshole deserve my kidney?”

“Is J.D. an asshole? I mean, apparently, he’s some kind of firefighter hero.”

“J.D. is my twin brother, and he has not contacted me in 13 years. He’s an asshole.”

Davis decided to see if there was a way to organize his thoughts. He pulled out his idea notebook and flipped to the last page. He grabbed a pen from the counter and went through his process. This much he knew: If I give J.D. my kidney, I need to get the process rolling. I don’t imagine I can roll up to the hospital one day and offer a kidney.

He began writing.

Actions and deadline:

Call hospital about kidney donation (ASAP)

Jenna is 21 now, an adult, and is getting married. That’s crazy. She said she wants me there. She hinted that she wanted to invite me, but this kidney thing makes it more palatable for everyone else. Going to this wedding would be like walking into the lion’s den regardless. If I’m not donating a kidney, this would be suicide.

He continued writing.

Unless I am 100% sure I am donating a kidney, RSVP “I’ll try” to Jenna. (Today)

He tapped the pen on his head looking for No. 3. The more he thought about it, the more he realized boiled down to two things. J.D. needs a kidney and Jenna invited me to her wedding. It was still helpful to write down, even if it was just the two things. Seeing it in print made it easier to process.

He figured he would add more notes throughout the day as his research offered. He Googled being a living kidney donor and wrote down the important stuff. He also looked into getting to Seattle. Trains up there were fairly regular. He also found several hotels with availability around the train station.

His next call was to the hospital to schedule the necessary tests. The scheduler appreciated the urgency and was able to get him in around lunchtime. He was just doing his due diligence, he thought. He was scared to tell the man on the phone that he wasn't convinced he would donate. The stranger’s general appreciation also would have made it awkward.

Davis had a few more hours until his appointment and the anxiety made him forget about breakfast. He figured it was for the best as he recalled many hospital tests usually prefer some sort of fasting.

There was nothing to do, but he needed to find something. Writing was not an option with this weight on his shoulders. With nothing else, he was left to run through his conversation with Jenna on a loop. Talking to Jenna after 13 years was a lot to take in. Pair that with the news about J.D. and a wedding invitation seemed like almost too much to comprehend. He’d actually talked to his sister. And she was getting married! That’s crazy. He’d last seen her as an eight-year-old and now she was about to graduate from college.

Davis wasn’t surprised by the updates on A.J.'s life. He'd looked up his family on Facebook once. He elected not to sign up, so he was limited in what he could see. It was long enough ago that Jenna was not on there. A.J. was looked very happy in what few pictures he had on there. He wasn't proud of the fact, but the happiness bothered him a bit. Their life went on without him. That was a driving force of his avoidance of Facebook. It was one of the more petty and irrational decisions he made.

Jenna had danced delicately around just how happy A.J. was. Rather, she said his husband was an “amazing guy” named Roland and moved on.

She seemed to instinctively understand that there was an extra apprehension when discussing J.D. She treaded lightly with him. It was limited to “became a firefighter out of high school,” “no steady relationship,” and “is pretty happy.” She also offered a cliff’s notes version of the accident.

Davis tried to draw on the latest positive developments in his life. He embellished a little bit when talking about the new friends made in Portland. If you asked Jenna, he was a little closer to Arturo, Paul, Kevin and Andie than he actually was. After all, that group represents one friend's uncle, his landlord and a couple who rented him an Airbnb. He knew it looked bleak on paper and he didn’t want his sister’s sympathy.

After a while, Davis realized he was smiling thinking about the conversation. He did have a nice life and he knew it. That's something he's glad his family would know. He didn’t need to cynically assess their dynamics to be happy.

Kathryn was as close of a friend as he’d had. They were still new friends. There was enough that they did not know about each other that he didn’t feel guilty about keeping his past a secret. They were having fun and had kept much of their interactions "surface level."

As for his other "friends," they weren't transactional in nature. Their relationships were transcending the circumstances of their origins.

Arturo seemed to like his presence in the diner. They’d engaged well outside the normal diner owner and customer dynamic. Paul was the same way, protective of his tenant in a way that went past the business setup. They had genuine, substantive conversations. The rent is coming on the first of the month even if they don’t watch a soccer game together—which they’d done.

Kevin and Andie were even less invested in the relationship as they knew he had an apartment less than a mile away. They did not let him leave their guesthouse without promising to come back for dinner. They also insisted he text with any questions. He took them up on the offer a couple of times and even reached out for some recipes.

There was one caveat to these relationships in that they did not know about his past. The know "Davis." He's a nice, laid-back guy that is conscientious to a fault and has interesting ideas and opinions. He knew that was who he was, or is, really. He was comfortable with this dynamic. His past would only make them question everything they thought they knew about him.

Then, it hit him: What if he doesn't donate a kidney? That is a reflection of who he is now. He may not tell them, but that is a pretty shitty thing regardless of the circumstances. If he doesn't go through with it, is this another secret?

If he was honest, would these friends or acquaintances be able to reconcile that with who they think he is? Does this make what happened when he was 13 years old more relevant?

Davis ran to the bathroom and threw up. Three heaves and he was confident he'd expelled all yesterday’s food from his body. He turned from the toilet, sitting on the floor leaning against the bathtub. He allowed the cool porcelain of the tub to cool the sweaty base of his neck as he leaned his head back.

“If I do not do this, am I better than the person people thought I was,” he said out loud. He closed his eyes and pondered the answer. “Am I the nice guy that these people like? Or does this seem consistent with someone who killed his friend when he was 13? Has he really changed?"

He let the words scroll through his head on repeat for an hour. He stretched some stationary muscles every so often or readjusted his position. Yet, he remained seated on his bathroom floor. The midday light eventually reached the bathroom through the open door. He knew he had to leave soon.

He splashed cold water on his face and composed himself in the mirror. He took a couple of deep breaths and stared into his eyes in the mirror. He then ordered a car from his phone and got dressed with the seven minutes he had.

At the hospital, Davis went through the motions, numb to the outside world. He could not tell you exactly what had been tested or what preparation advice was offered. He did what he was told, held gauze over a puncture site or took off his shirt. There was a general appreciation from each staff member he encountered. They had a reverence for this noble donation. There were different last names between he and his brother, so the act appeared that much more heroic.

He smiled and nodded where appropriate and accepted the paperwork he was given. Before he knew it, he was outside waiting for a ride home. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Then, a reminder chimed in the back of his head that someone had told him not to smoke anymore ahead of the procedure. He looked down at the paperwork he held and, there it was, he couldn't smoke or drink alcohol between now and then.

Davis found a trash can and discarded the half pack of cigarettes and thumbed through the stack of paper. He saw the surgery was set for 8 a.m. on Sunday morning in Seattle. He could check in the night before or before 6 a.m. that day. He’d have to make sure not to eat or drink anything after midnight.

The reality hit him that he may really be going through with this. He accepted the realization like news of his impending execution. He was a million miles away from the entrance to the hospital. He was only stirred awake at the impatient honk of the car he’d requested. He made an apologetic hand gesture and slid into the back seat. As the car pulled away, he pulled out his phone.

“I’ll try,” he texted.

As he lowered his hand to his side and turned to look out of the window, there was a vibration. He checked his watch to see the notification.

“Thank you thank you thank you 🙏🙏,” was Jenna’s response.

Davis dropped his arm to his side and slumped down further in his seat. He leaned his head back to steel his nerves. After a deep breath, his body slackened and he turned his head to look out the window.

"No turning back," he thought. He should feel good about this, but he felt anything but. He'd done things he didn't want to do before. In fact, he lived eight years with very little agency in juvenile detention. He had hoped he was past that.

He pulled out his phone and looked at his sister's text message again. It helped a little, but not much. He dropped his arm once again. He watched the city scroll by desperately hoping for something to grab his attention.

He was left disappointed.