Leaning down an inch from my face, she touches her forehead to mine. “Baby, please, I c-can’t do this without you. I need you. I love you so much. We n-need more time. I’ll take a leave from school. Maracella will understand why I need to back out of the movie. Just please, please, please stay with me.” Her grip on my hand is unyielding. I’m crying because she’s crying, and our tears blend on my face. “Please, please, please, please…” she whimpers.
I love you too. I think I’ve managed to say that out loud before my hand drops from hers, weighted and with no muscle control. Her cries escort the incoming blackness that consumes me.
TODAY IS THANKSGIVING, AND I’M spending it in Canada…yay. A Get Well foil balloon dances slowly above a row of vases filled with an assortment of flowers. I can barely see above their multitude to enjoy the view from the hospital window. Staring out the window is my only distraction from my ever-present parents. The clinic is only two blocks away, so Dr. Salavichne stops in frequently, to which they never want to miss an opportunity to hang onto every word he says.
“Do they even celebrate Thanksgiving up here?” I ask my mother.
I swear she’s lost about ten pounds since the Halloween episode. She flashes an unlit smile under the dark circles of her eyes but doesn’t answer my question. Although I’m not one to talk, I’m down to 102 pounds. I think about telling her she looks worse than I do, but I don’t. She doesn’t like my jokes anymore.
Regardless of the fact that I haven’t had any more bloody noses and the feeling has returned to my left side doesn’t put the spark back her disposition. A part of me feels the loss of her hope, and it is disturbing. The glimmer from her aura is gone, like her spirit is crushed. I didn’t realize it was the string that tied and held me together. That I actually needed that strength-fed on it. Maybe my nonchalant attitude was a camouflage to cover fear. That my parents’ extreme efforts to find alternative cures silently gave me an underlying hope. It’s my turn to be strong, for them and for myself.
“Mom?” She looks up, but looks through me with empty eyes. “We have a lot to be thankful for, don’t we?” I smile. “Clean bed linens, new friends in this hospital in a foreign country, and no snow to plow from the driveway or down the road!” I pause but get no reaction. “At least we’re not at Grandma’s. Look, no kid’s table!”
Mom stares at me for a second before I see the break in her trance. She walks over, sits on the bed, and strokes my thin hair. “Yes, we do have a lot to be thankful for, but your father likes sitting at that table. The conversation is more his speed.” Chuckling, I curl into her arms, seeking her strength and, in turn, give her some of mine.
THIS IS THE FIRST YEAR we’ve skipped dinner at Grandma’s (on my mom’s side), but she understands our absence. The entire clan video chatted with the help of Aunt Sharone. Based on all the chaos at Grandma’s house, I’m sort of glad we’re missing it. Of course, I feel guilty as soon as I think it. The whole family knows what’s happening now and where I am. After the Halloween episode, word traveled faster than an F5 tornado. Did I say I wasn’t happy about being in Canada? Well, maybe not so much, really.
Dad is picking up Desi from the airport. I’m so excited to see her I think I’m going to split in half. I need Mom’s help to put on some makeup, but she’s no good at it. Damn her and her stupid, generation-skipping, natural beauty. I’ve wiped my face clean of her efforts four times now. Thank God I don’t need that oxygen breathing tube anymore!
“Honey, you could have a hairy wart on your chin and she wouldn’t care,” Mom reassures me. This time she does smile genuinely. It’s a reflection of mine; my good mood is becoming contagious. I’m actually humming my happy mood.
A plump, mid-forties nurse named Juliette comes in and checks my IV bag. She puts two cold fingers on the inside of my wrist and looks at the watch on her other hand. I give her a dopey smile. Glancing at me, one eyebrow raises. “Pulse is a little fast. Excited about our fantastic turducken meal?” she teases.
My eyes widen with delight. “You guys have turducken here?” I’m almost giddy thinking of having some resemblance of Thanksgiving dinner.
“You’re in Canada dear, not Saturn,” she laughs.
I clap with glee. “My girlfriend is flying up from New York. She’ll be here any minute! We haven’t had turducken in years.”
One year Grandma was very sick, so we had Thanksgiving at my aunt’s house. She was not domestic in any way and still worked at the law firm she started thirty years ago. It was our first taste of turducken along with bizarre side dishes from the fancy ham store next to her office. Everyone devoured the turducken but left the weird version of the traditional sides mostly abandoned on their plates.
“Something for everyone,” Aunt Sharone boasted. Desi and I had never tasted duck and raved for weeks about it. We’ve always wanted to have it again, but Mom was never down with that. She’s a strong believer in tradition, even though I’ve tried to tell her the real meaning behind Thanksgiving. Turducken is a better symbol for unity, and that’s something to be thankful for.
Nurse Juliette releases my wrist and frowns. “Now, don’t get yourself all worked up. If you get too amped, I’m going to have to shut the party down.” My heart drops to my stomach and she sees my fallen expression. We both know depression is worse than any new symptom to inhibit getting better. This discussion has come up in our Group Therapy sessions, which she helps facilitate. Her son died two springs ago after battling cancer for four years. He would have been twenty-three this year. “Just keep it down, ok?” She pats my cheek, smiles, and hands me a small paper cup that contains my meds. Ugh, I hope these treat me well and I can enjoy my time with Desi.
I missed a treatment because of Halloween and have been here ever since on an aggressive regimen. Dr. Salavichne is worried about the persistent headaches and the mild dizziness I didn’t tell anyone about. Mom was fuming, but by the time the pain meds wore off, she had fizzled to mild roasting irritation. Desi made me blood oath promise not to hold things like that back. I made her promise not to quit school or back out of the movie.
Apparently the headaches were symptomatic of blood and oxygen not getting to my brain because of my cancer cells are fat. I laughed at Dr. Salavichne when he said that but stopped when he was stone-faced serious. He said they couldn’t travel through tiny blood vessels, so with nowhere to go, they popped a mucus membrane, thus the crimson tide from my nose. But it had nothing to do with missing one day of meds. It’s a sign that the cancer is not responding to the treatments.
Dad took it the worst, though. The reality of my sickness hit him like two tons of brick. I think he had been holding out irrational hope for this new treatment just as much as Mom. He hardly comes in my room, and when he does, he averts his eyes. I miss my Daddy.
Today is a new day, though. A special one all about gratitude for the things we have, and a time to cherish.
After some lip balm application to sooth my chapped lips, I smack them together. I don’t want Desi kissing dried up, turkey jerky lips. When I think I can do nothing more to make myself presentable, I turn to the ladies. “How do I look?”
Both Mom and Juliette gush on about how lovely I look. I know they’re just being nice, but I blush and tuck what’s left of my now dull brown hair behind my ear. Good enough, I think as I pull my knit cap on and put the small compact back in my pointless makeup bag.
The door swings open just as I glance up at the clock, wondering where they are. Dad is walking in backward, carrying two big, brown boxes with bags dangling from his wrists, and Desi is right behind him, her hands also full. Dad actually smiles at me. The hollow darkness from the past few weeks has left his eyes. My heart gushes seeing it.
“Hi!” I say excitedly.
Mom gets up to grab a few bags from Dad. “What’s all this?” she titters, oogling to see what’s inside the stuffed plastic sacks.
Desi comes over with a hug and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Hey, baby! Remember that uber-expensiv
e restaurant on 20th and Park?”
I crinkle an eye. “Something with a G…”
Dad, Desi, and Mom start pulling out takeout boxes in an assortment of sizes while she talks. The luxurious scents of a gourmet Thanksgiving dinner fills the room with homely warmth. My heart thrums, and I can feel my eyes sparkling, induced by scent-inspired memories.
“Yeah, well anyway, one of the extras that’s working the movie is a bartender there. When he heard I was going to back out of the movie…” I shoot her a daggered look that she waves off. “Don’t worry, I corrected him. Anywho, I told him that I was coming up here to visit you for the Thanksgiving holiday. He pulled a couple of favors from the kitchen staff, and they whipped this up for us.”
Mom gasps. “Oh, my goodness! It’s a gourmet Thanksgiving dinner with all the fixings!” she says in awe as Dad pulls out a huge, aluminum foil-covered roasting pan, which I can only assume is a turkey.
“And you carried all this on the plane?” I ask incredulously.
She flashes me that wicked, yet oh–so-adorable “Who, me?” smile. “I told the flight crew what and who it was for, and they were more than happy to be a part of my surprise. Plus, one of them recognized me from those vodka commercials.”
Still marveling over all the food, Mom tells Dad to get some plates and stuff from the hospital kitchenette. “I’m going to write a lovely letter to that restaurant and the airline. This is all so amazing! Thank you, Desi!” She gives Desi a hug that could crush a bear.
I sit back, absorbing the spontaneous bursting holiday spirit that has infused my hospital room. Desi has always fit in my life, and now that we are together, she will always have family. With so much love in my heart for her growing by the second, I think I’m going to burst. Tears well up as I watch her and Mom unpack the food.
Desi sits on the edge of my bed. “Baby, don’t cry.” She cups my cheek to wipe a tear away with her thumb.
“They're happy tears,” I confess with a sniffle.
She takes my hand. “Babe, I’d do anything to make each season and each holiday a precious memory as long as God lets me.”
“I love you,” I say, my heart singing.
Desi lights me up with her smile. “I love you too.” Her stomach grumbles, making me laugh. She jumps off the bed, rubbing her hands together. “Ok, let’s eat!”
IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE, AND IT’S become my worst nightmare. Desi and I have had the biggest argument we’ve ever had. While exchanging gifts, she asked me to marry her. I said no.
Throughout the day we are all busy prepping for Christmas lunch/dinner with the entire McKinston family (Mom’s family). Grandpa Mark and Grandma Deloris, Aunt Sharon, and Aunt Aleena live a few hours away, but are anxious to see me. My cousin Jack is back from wherever the military sent him last, along with his family, my other cousin Iris and her kids, and my cousin Kinsley and her family. It’s going to be a full house even without any other Callahans. Dad’s parents passed years before he met Mom, and he has no siblings or other relations. The McKinston family welcomed him as a son, brother, and cousin even before the wedding.
It is a Christmas miracle that I feel 100% better with just a touch of a lingering cough. With my head wrapped up in a gorgeous scarf Desi sent me, Dad and I are tasked with putting the finishing touches on the Blue Spruce we picked up yesterday. He waited until he was absolutely sure I was feeling better, so of course, we had to make a last minute mad dash to the tree lot. It wasn’t the greatest tree, but it was the best-looking one we could find two days before Christmas. My parents weren’t going to do a tree this year, but I begged and they caved. I may have manipulated a little. What? What good is having cancer when you can’t exploit it every now and then?
Desi and Mom are busy in the kitchen when I hear Mom gasp and yips excitedly. She is practically knocking Desi over with a huge hug when Dad and I are drawn in by curiosity.
Mom quickly releases Desi and turns away, but not before I catch her wiping tears from her cheeks. There’s a weird elation zinging between the two of them. It charges the air with more gaiety than the elves singing Christmas carols at the tree lot.
“What’s going on?” I ask with playful suspicion.
Desi delivers her camera-ready smile. “Oh, nothing. I just told Mama Beth about the movie and how much they’re paying me. She’s excited one of her heartthrobs got a cameo role.”
Dad’s brows raise. “Oh, really?” he asks with pseudo offence.
“Yeah, I’d kick you out of bed if George asked me to,” Mom chuckles as she turns to face us, still wiping under her eye.
Dad and I look at each other, and everyone bursts out laughing. She is ridiculous.
THE FLOOD OF FAMILY POURS into the house, drowning it with cheer, screams of children, and raucous hugs all around. I guess Mom lectured them on not bringing down the holiday mood with any talk of the big C. At first things are awkward, but Desi spins and charms the room, dissipating all the uneasy stiffness.
After a massive dinner (mine—a miniature version with no gravy and very little taste), a few Christmas carols, and gift exchanging, everyone prepares for their long journey home. It’s wet eyes with teary goodbyes and extended hugs from all. I meet each look the same way: with a smile. “It’s ok,” I tell them. Really, I don’t know what else I can say. They know it as well as I do, but no one mentions the possibility of my absence next Christmas.
When the final car pulls from the driveway, we find our way to the living room and relax in front of the fire with mugs of hot cider. A food coma is about to kick in when Mom starts sifting through the piles of gifts under the well-decorated tree (applause for Dad and me). Our tradition is to open one gift Christmas Eve, which Mom has always been in charge of selecting. She hands one each to Dad and Desi and places one on her lap. I look at her with sad cat eyes.
Her eyebrows lift. “Don’t look at me with that tone of face, young lady. You said no gifts.”
I grimace because did say that but seriously, not one flippin’ gift? Sighing, I concede, “Well, I really don’t need anything, and I have everything I could ever want.” I squeeze Desi’s hand, giving her a side glance to go with my smile. Gifts or no gifts, I am happy. She is the greatest and only present I could ask for.
Mom opens hers to find a beautiful watch that Dad and I picked out while Internet shopping before we got back home from Canada. Dad reveals a new color HD eReader with Wi-Fi from Desi. The gift on Desi’s knees bounces with excitement as she opens it. She pulls out the fluffy, plush scarf and hat I made. I was so bored in Canada that Mom taught me how to knit to keep my mind occupied. I think she did it for her own good as well. It’s a simple gift, one I think is dumb to give the love of my life. My face flashes with heated shame as I see some of the dropped stitches.
“I’m sorry, it’s a stupid gift. There are better ones under the tree, I swear!” I stammer out, trying to take the box from her. She yanks it from my hands and runs to the mirror to try them on. There is a twinkle in her eye, and the red scarf and hat look adorable on her even though the hat is misshapen. Anything looks good on my Desi.
“Ooooohh! I love them!” she squeals. The giddiness as she runs back to give me a tight hug squeezes my heart. I know she means it, her endless smile shows it. Taking my face, her fern-green eyes shine with glowing gold flecks, she looks directly into my eyes and kisses me. “I love you, Regina Amylene Callahan.” She takes a knee. “Marry me.”
It takes a second for her words to penetrate. I pull back, stunned, as she pulls out a ring box from behind her that my mother has covertly placed in her hand. Desi opens the little dark blue box and it takes me a few blinks to see past the gleam inside. The ring catches a firelight sparkle, making it glisten and shine brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. Cushioned between soft velvet pillows sits a simple white gold bezel-set, cushion-cut diamond with a smaller baguette diamonds surrounding it. It’s my dad’s mother’s ring. I’ve seen it in the family pictures that line our stairwell.
> A million thoughts race through my head. No one is more shocked than I when the word “No” mists from my lips. I’ve vocalized my fear through the one word before I have time to process everything. The word lingers, leaving my mouth tasting of bitter sours.
Desi falls back on her haunches, and her arms drop to her sides.
Grabbing her hands, I implore her, “Babe, you know how much I love you, but we should wait to see how this treatment turns out.” I don’t understand my reaction, but the words fly from my mouth like escaped pigeons.
There is a sheet of tears glossing her eyes. Pools well up on her lower lids and her lip quivers. “But Mama Beth said you’re getting better.”
I tick my head back and forth slowly. “I feel better; it doesn’t mean I’m getting better.”
Mom is shaking as Dad leads her out of the living room. “Come on, honey, let’s give the kids a chance to talk,” he says in a low, gentle voice. Before he leaves, he shoots me a look that I’ve never seen from him. The scowl drips of animosity towards my aborted happiness.
My attention jerks back to Desi when she shoots to her feet. “Why do you have to be like this? Why can’t you just go with the moment? You’re so unsure about your future that you’re willing to give up on the present? Whatever happened to ‘no more waiting’?” Her voice escalates higher with each question.
“I meant live in the moment! I want us to enjoy us in the now! Marriage means future. I don’t know if I have that luxury. I can’t think…I can’t allow myself to dream we’ll celebrate anniversaries.” I try to say this calmly, though every ounce of me is pulsating fear.
This feeling that writhes over my skin is familiar. When Dr. Shaver called me into his office, I felt it for the first time. As he spoke, the feeling of loss, of fleeting hope, despair, and desperation over the things I would never have, never see, never be, brought me to my knees. His words deprived me of the capability for strength and wholeness. I choked on breath and spit on Dr. Shaver’s imported rug. Emotions clogged my veins and threatened to take me deeper to the point where I felt like I was suffocating as they pushed through my skin. This is that feeling again, and it physically hurts.
My Last Season With You Page 7