by Olivia Jake
He sat back down and took the wine glass that we were now sharing and took a sip.
“Has this happened before? Her soiling herself?”
I shook my head as I sat on the couch facing him. He held out the glass and I took a sip.
“How are her bowel movements?” He asked like a doctor and I had to smile before I answered.
“Not good. She’s all messed up. I don’t know if it’s the chemo or the tumor pressing on things or the fact that she’s taking pain pills that block her up, or that she’s not eating nearly as much as she should. Or all of the above. But she’s so uncomfortable. And she’s so weak. And she’s scared. She doesn’t know what’s happening to her body. She doesn’t know if this is just a phase or if this is what it’s going to be like until she dies.” As I talked the tears started, but I just kept talking and he kept listening. “And I don’t either. I don’t want her to suffer. I don’t want her to be in pain. I don’t want her last days on earth to be spent like this.”
Brad nodded and took a couple deep breaths.
“Stephanie, the cancer your mother has is bad. It’s the worst kind. Of all the cancers I treat, pancreatic cancer is the one that has the highest mortality rate. I can go into detail as to why that is if you like.”
I shook my head no.
“Okay. We’re trying to slow the growth. What I’m trying to do with the treatment is to give her some quality of life before…” he paused and took a sip of wine. “Before I can’t.”
I nodded and sniffled. I wondered if he’d have been this frank with me if he weren’t sitting on my couch. This was the first time he’d ever been so blunt regarding her condition.
“I’ll consult tomorrow with the GI doc who put in her stent and see what we can do to help with her digestive issues.” He pulled his laptop to his thighs and typed something for a few minutes. “Ok, I’ve sent Dr. Lu an email letting him know what’s going on and that I want to discuss your mother’s case in conference tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” I whispered and he nodded.
“I’d like to stay, Steph. I think you need me to stay.”
I didn’t want to need him. I’d never needed anyone before. I’d gotten by on my own just fine. But I did want him. And part of me felt like maybe I did need him. All of this was so new, I had no idea.
“I’m going to take a shower.” I needed to wash it all off of me, literally and figuratively. Even though I wanted him there, I needed a moment to myself. He nodded as I got up. Once the water stared washing over me I finally lost it. The sobbing really started. My shoulders were shaking so badly that I put my hands up against the wall and just shook and sobbed. I was crying so hard that I didn’t hear Brad come in. But unlike the morning, this was not a lustful move. He simply pulled me to him and held me as I shook and sobbed, over and over and over again. I’d never had anyone hold me like that, care for me, support me and I continued to cry at what was happening with Barb as well as at the thought of everything that I had pushed away for so long, and for the fear that I was finally letting someone in.
There was no way to know whether this thing with Brad just came along at the right time or if he and I really were right for each other. Perhaps no one ever knows. Maybe most relationships are born out of circumstance, though meeting Brad wasn’t exactly right place, right time. I didn’t know if it was because I was so exhausted from everything with Barb that I gave in to what was happening, but I was so tired of fighting it. It was so hard for me to admit that I wanted to be loved and cared for, but the more Brad showed me what that could be like, the more I allowed myself to accept it. And for whatever reason, this man who started out being a jerk of a man was the one who was giving me what I never before thought I’d ever need.
For the second night in a row, Brad was waiting for me in bed. After breaking down in the shower and being so vulnerable with him, part of me just wanted to sleep by myself. I wasn’t sure I could give any more. I felt like my emotions were on a retractable chain, each time I’d put myself out there more and more, yet invariably, the chain would recoil. But the longer it was pulled the slower it took to get back inside.
I slid under the covers and turned on my side to face him, still keeping distance between us. “You’ve seen me cry more than anyone ever has. A lot more.”
“Thank you.”
I laughed. “Yeah, it’s quite the gift.”
“Stephanie” he warned.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just never made myself so vulnerable. With anyone.”
He reached over and stroked my lips with his thumb making me smile slightly. “I don’t know what you’re going through. I’ve never seen it from this side, not like this.”
“But your wife…” I said and he stiffened then shook his head.
“She wouldn’t let me take care of her at home.” He chuckled tightly. “Didn’t think I’d be caring enough. She told me I’d become one of the least empathetic people she knew.” He looked down, embarrassed. “So she asked me to leave before treatment started.” He paused and stroked my cheek.
“Maybe I should have pushed harder to stay.” He shrugged. “But I was still so upset that she’d cheated on me that I left.”
We laid there in silence for a bit before I spoke.
“On your side of the equation, there’s protocol to follow. You see the disease and you formulate a plan of attack. Maybe there are a few different options, but there are only so many ways to approach it. Black or white. Very little grey.” I paused, I could tell he wasn’t sure where I was going. “But on this side, there’s no one right way to deal with it. People at work have asked me why I don’t get some help, a nurse. They share stories of how they dealt with their loved ones going through similar things. I’m sure it was right for them. I’m dealing with it the only way that makes sense to me. I can’t imagine anyone else caring for my mother more than I do, or doing it with the love that I can. It’s what’s right for me, for us. For you, maybe leaving was right, maybe it was wrong. But the emotions on this side of things, the decisions that are made at the human level, not the medical decisions, but the love decisions, no one has the answer for those.” I stroked his cheek the way he had touched me. “She asked you to leave, and you did. You both made those choices because that’s what your reality was.”
He gave me one of his Brad stares for what felt like an eternity before speaking. “You’re a wise woman, Stephanie.”
“That’s debatable.”
He smiled and then inched towards me kissing me tenderly. After all the crying, sex was the last thing on my mind, but the more we kissed, and as his hands slowly caressed my body, I found myself not just responding, but wanting more. I relaxed to his touch and for the first time ever, I let myself be made love to. He was slow and sweet and tender. That night he showed me how much emotion could be shared without words. I’d never believed in making love. I thought it was a corny phrase used by girly girls and romance novels. All I ever knew about were the mechanics of sex. I never let myself attach any feelings, and for good reason. But being with someone I was getting to know, someone I was sharing myself with changed everything.
****
Date #4 this weekend?
My heart skipped a beat seeing his text. I’d barely been at work for an hour and had just left Brad and he was already texting. Apparently all of my issues weren’t pushing him away, much to my surprise.
Does it involve rubber gloves, grout and a toothbrush?
That’s not till we get to at least date #15.
Something to look forward to. J
So is that a yes?
I need to spend some time with Barb putting some things in order, and need to do some shopping for her, what did you have in mind?
A hike or walk on the beach?
The man had cooked me dinner, held me while I cried and made love to me, and now he was suggesting a walk on the beach. I couldn’t help but wonder if all of this was coming out because it had been bottled up for so long, but it di
dn’t matter. He was melting me from my years of being frozen.
I’d taken too long responding as he sent another text.
You can even bring Vincent and Claude.
I grinned from ear to ear.
It’s a date!
We agreed to Saturday afternoon, which gave me a chance to do what I needed to for Barb in the morning.
****
“Everything’s in order, honey, but you should have a copy of all my medical directives, my will. It all goes to you. There’s no one else.”
Barb and I had talked about these things in the past, but it was always in the abstract. Now, there was nothing even remotely abstract. It was all completely concrete and real. Now, when she said “when I’m gone” it wasn’t some far off concept. I feared it would be here far too soon.
Included in the paperwork were spreadsheets of account numbers, usernames and passwords to not just bank accounts but every utility, newspaper subscription, even how often and how much she paid the gardener. Everything was clearly detailed, making me realize that as much as she played the helpless female to men for all those years, the reality was that she was completely in control of her own life, and had been all along. I never thought about it before, and whether or not she was waiting for a man to take care of things didn’t matter. She’d taken care of everything. I hadn’t given her enough credit and from the looks of things, she didn’t either. It wasn’t that she was modest, I just don’t think she ever reflected on how capable she was.
When my dad had left her years earlier, she was devastated. Not because she was heartbroken, far from it. No, she was devastated because she was suddenly an unmarried woman. Alone. At the time, she told me that being married, being a wife, was her identity. In the same way that being married validated her, being unmarried invalidated her. It made her less than in her eyes. She was so convinced that she needed a man to define her, she had affair after affair waiting for one of them to make her whole.
Not that spreadsheets or having one’s affairs in order made a person whole, or filled the emotional void that a relationship could, but there were so many times over the years where she’d talk about needing a man to help make decisions or do this or that. She even once tried to have a pity party because she couldn’t reach something on a high shelf, exclaiming, “if your father were still here, he’d be able to get it for me!” I teased her that height was surely at the top of every newlywed’s list of why they’ve just tied the knot. She didn’t appreciate the joke at the time.
“You’ve taken care of everything, Ma.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Stephy. This is just being organized.”
****
As I left her house, I couldn’t help but once again feel guilty. Guilty that I was leaving her alone and guilty that I was looking forward to being with someone else. But the reality was that after a couple hours of going over paperwork, she was exhausted and needed to sleep.
Brad came over in a t-shirt and shorts looking boyish and casual. I’d only seen him in his work clothes and seeing him like this made him seem even more real, more human, and the idea that we were going on a hike was just so incredibly normal I had to bite my tongue not to say that out loud. We chose a trail that took us way up into the hills and after one decision about taking a trail less travelled, our two and a half mile hike turned into almost seven miles round trip. There were stretches of silence, but whether because of the dogs, the nature, or towards the end, fatigue, it felt comfortable.
I’d thought about his comment that it was a two-way street, so as exhausted, sweaty and dusty as we were, I suggested a shower when we got back.
“I’m not sure.” He said as he furrowed his brow making me worry that I shouldn’t have made the overture. “This isn’t just a ploy to get your grout clean, is it?” He smiled and I hit him. “All right, tell you what. We can shower to rinse off all this dirt, but then I want to relax in a bath with you.” I had no clever comeback, just a sense of warmth and love.
As we soaked together in the tub, my back to his front, he tenderly washed me, though after a while, his hands kneaded my breasts and then moved down between my legs. “I didn’t realize I was dirty there.”
“I’m just a very thorough man. Cleanliness is next to Godliness and all.” He said against my ear before nudging my neck to the side and nuzzling my neck.
“Mmmmm”
“See, I thought you’d like getting clean.” He said in between kissing and biting my neck. With one hand on one breast and the other between my legs he started rubbing exactly how I did and I couldn’t help but moan. “I loved watching you play with yourself, Steph. This is how you like it, isn’t it?”
“Oh, God yes.” I panted. I couldn’t believe how good it felt as I started slowly gyrating my hips. Brad was the first man who made sex about my pleasure, the first man I let do that. Until him, I had so completely separated feelings from sex that I had no idea how much my emotions really were tied to it. I let myself relax into his touch and get lost in the feeling of his hands on me, of his lips on my neck, of the water against my skin. Instead of thinking about it, I simply basked in the sensations until they overwhelmed me. “Oh, Brad, oh God that feels so good, so good.” My legs started trembling and my breathing got shallower and shallower.
“That’s right, baby. It’s so good, so good that I’m going to make you come.” Was all he needed to say to push me over the edge, my body jerking against him as I shook. He didn’t waste much time before lifting me up and setting me down on him, his hands on my hips guiding me back and forth and up and down, controlling the rhythm, building, building until he suddenly pulled out and came all over my back. I was so lost in the moment that I didn’t even realize he didn’t have a condom on. While the water was still warm, it felt like ice cubes I was so quickly shocked back into reality. I started counting in my head trying to figure out where I was in my cycle that Brad must have said my name a couple times before I responded.
“Hey, you ok?”
“You mean except for being freaked out about the fact that we just had unprotected sex?”
“But I pulled out.” The man was a doctor yet he sounded like an ignorant teenager.
I just shook my head and started to get out of the tub, but he pulled me back to him. “Hey, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Worry about getting pregnant? Or a disease?”
“No. Don’t pull away from me. Let’s talk about it.”
“About what? Me screwing up my life by being irresponsible?”
“Stephanie, please.” He turned me to finally look at him. “This isn’t going to work if you run away every single time something happens.” So easy for him to say when he wasn’t the one who would have to live with the repercussions. All I could do was stare at him. He brushed my hair off my forehead tenderly. “What if I did that? How would that make you feel?” That thought never entered my mind, but I knew exactly how I’d feel: hurt, abandoned, and back at square one. Brad wasn’t nearly as insecure as I was. Hell, he wasn’t insecure at all. Regardless, I had no reason to hurt him and it took that simple question to make me realize that I was doing just that each time I fled. I was just about to answer when he threw me for a loop.
“How would you feel about going on the pill?”
My eyes must have bugged out of my head based on his expression. “So, no pill?”
“Uh, it’s just so, so…”
“So much of a commitment?” He asked with a wry smile. Fuck, this man was starting to get to know me, really know me. I bit my lip and nodded. “I told you, Steph, I want to keep moving forward. And I think you do too.”
“You’re not afraid?” I asked, barely a whisper.
“Of what, you going on the pill and then expecting your grout to be cleaned as payback?”
“I’m serious.”
“I know, baby.” He pulled me onto his lap. The water was now lukewarm and we were both turning into prunes. “What do you have to be afraid of?”
If I
only knew.
CHAPTER 16
Brad and I started an odd dance of sorts. Well, the whole thing with him was odd for me, but there was tacit understanding that when we saw each other in his office, he was Dr. Rosenberg and I was simply my mother’s caretaker. We’d assume our roles in public, and then at night, more often than not, he’d end up at my house. I thought he started to seem softer, more personable in clinic or at our appointments, but of course I was biased, my filter was now completely colored.
Though I think for the first time, Brad was seeing this disease from the other side. He saw what happened to the patients and their families after they left his offices. He never said it out loud, but I could see it on his face when I’d come back from my mom’s. He didn’t always know what she went through at home, but he could see the toll it took on me. Sometimes I shared, but most of the time I didn’t. It wasn’t just out of respect for him, though I knew he tried to keep work at work. It was partly out of respect for Barbara. Describing some of what she was going through, explaining the loss of bodily functions, the loss of dignity… going through it was humiliating enough. Repeating it to someone else made it that much worse. But he got a glimpse, perhaps more than a glimpse. The same way that the more time I spent with Barb at her various procedures, treatments and appointments made me understand how and why thick skin was a job requirement for him and all the healthcare workers. Anything less and it would be unbearable. I only got a glimpse into his world for the few months that we’d been going through it. It was easy to see how years and years could easily erase the sensitivity and compassion out of sheer self-preservation. He had explained it at that first horrible dinner, but now I was starting to understand it.