The Fault in Our Pants: A Parody of “The Fault in Our Stars”

Mom was folding my laundry and watching The View when I got home, because obviously since I had cancer there was no way I could fold my own laundry. I told her that Augustus was going to use Isaac’s Wish to take me to Amsterdam.

“We can’t accept that from Augustus,” Mom said. “It’s too much. He’s a virtual stranger.”

“A virtual stranger with a cock,” I said.

“I’ll ask Dr. Maria,” she said after a moment.

***

Dr. Maria said I couldn’t travel to Amsterdam unless I was accompanied by an adult intimately familiar with my case, which more or less meant either Mom or Dr. Maria herself. Dr. Maria lobbied hard for me to choose her over my mom. She said she was way more fun than my mom, and also told me she’d been on a trip to Spain with my mom and that all my mom wanted to do was stay in the hotel room. I had no reason to believe this claim was actually true. In the end, I chose Mom. Dr. Maria seemed a little pissed about this.

When I told Mom I’d chosen her to come, she was initially hesitant. “But your father,” she said. “He’d miss us. And he can’t come with us because he can’t get time off work.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “You don’t think Dad would enjoy a few days of watching sports nonstop, ordering pizza, and Facebooking women he went to high school with who are now divorced and inviting them over?”

“You do have a point,” Mom said. Finally, she started to get excited, buying guidebooks and planning our itinerary. “This is going to be great!” she said. “I haven’t looked forward to a trip this much since my trip to Spain with Dr. Maria!”

That night, I was tired from sitting on the couch all day and watching TV, so I decided to go lie in bed and watch some TV. But I ended up just sitting there and worrying about the trip, specifically about the fact that I’d basically have to make out with Augustus if we went to Amsterdam. This seemed like an odd thing to be worrying about, since (a) It shouldn’t have even been a question whether I wanted to make out with him, and (b) Everyone knew that if you go on a trip with someone you’re thereby obligated to sleep with them on the trip, never mind making out.

I took some comfort in the fact that Augustus had never actually tried to kiss me. Perhaps he was gay? If he could be my gay boyfriend, this really seemed like the best outcome of all.

I kept going back and forth until at some point I realized I was overanalyzing things and needed an outside opinion. So I texted Kaitlyn. She called immediately.

“I have a boy problem,” I said, and told her all about it, leaving out only Augustus’ name.

“Just out of curiosity, how many legs does this boy have?” Kaitlyn asked.

“Like, 1.4,” I said.

“Augustus Waters,” she said.

“Um, maybe?”

“Well first let me assure you, having hooked up with him several times, he’s definitely not gay.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“Now about your not wanting to make out with him…remember Derek, who I was dating a month ago? He broke up with me because he decided we were fundamentally incompatible, and that if we kept going out we’d only get more hurt later on. He called it preemptive dumping.”

It was obvious that Derek had just gotten sick of her and had made this up. But I ignored this and let her continue.

“Maybe you see something incompatible in you and Augustus, and you’re trying to preempt the preemption,” Kaitlyn said.

Like most female analysis of relationships, this was utter bullshit. But it did make me realize what was actually going on. I wasn’t having a premonition of hurting Augustus, I was having a postmonition. I was subconsciously thinking about the pain Caroline had caused him, and by staying distant from him I was trying to prevent him being hurt again.

That got me thinking how my life’s main contribution to the world was to cause others pain. I saw how much suffering my having cancer caused my parents on a daily basis. Every pain I felt, they felt it even worse. And this would be nothing compared to when I was no longer here. My spiral of panic and distress was interrupted, however, by Mom’s announcing that dinner was ready.

***

Panic and distress are not conducive to hunger, and neither is the taste of vegetarian food. Thus I was barely touching my black bean burger.

“Is everything all right?” asked my Mom.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Pretty exciting that you’re going to Amsterdam,” Dad said. I noticed he had broken the no-phone-at-dinner rule and was surfing Facebook on his iPhone.

“Uh-huh.” I said.

“You’re being very teenagery tonight,” Mom said.

“Duh. I’m sixteen. Am I not supposed to be teenagery?”

“Honey,” Mom said, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m a grenade, Mom. At some point I’m just going to blow up and hurt everybody close to me. Just like I’ve been hurting them all my life. That’s what’s bothering me. Okay?”

“Oh Hazel,” Mom said, a tear dropping down her cheek. Dad was still surfing Facebook.

“I’m going to my room,” I said, and got up to leave.

“Hazel, wait,” Dad said. “Wait one second ‘til I send this message…sending sending sending sending…man, 4G is so slow…annnnnd sent.” He put down his phone and put his arm around me. “Hazel, look, you’re not a grenade,” he said. “That’s just silly. You’re the opposite of a grenade. You’re like the atomic bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima. You ruin a lot of people’s lives. But great benefit comes out of it.”

I immediately felt better. Mom took my hand. “Hazel,” she said, “let me assure you of something: sure, your father and I have given up all of our adult hopes and dreams, and the possibility of a comfortable retirement. But it’s all been worth it to support your sixteen years of sitting at home watching TV.”

I wanted to tell them how much they meant to me, but I was a bit choked up, and all I could manage was to hug them and say, “You’re the best.”

***

While I was no longer freaking out about being a grenade to my parents, I was still a potential grenade to Augustus. I had to minimize the collateral damage. So I texted him.

Hi, so okay, I don’t know if you’ll understand this but I can’t kiss you or anything. Not that you’d necessarily want to, but I can’t.

When I think about you that way, all I imagine is the pain I’ll end up causing you. Maybe that doesn’t make sense.

Anyway, sorry.

He responded a few minutes later.

No worries, I totally understand the not kissing. But we’re still cool with hjs & bjs etc., yes?

I wrote back.

No hjs & bjs etc. either.

He responded:

Bjs with a condom?

I wrote back.

Nope. Can’t.

After a couple minutes, he responded:

I was just kidding, Hazel Grace. Sort of. I understand.

I was thinking of explaining more, but I just said:

Sorry.

My phone buzzed a moment later.

Not as sorry as my penis.