The Last First Game

by Gina Azzi

  “Now.” It’s a whisper. I need to get this over with.

  “Myra,” Dad calls out. “Cade’s on the phone.” He pauses. “I’ll talk to you later, Cade. Thanks for calling.”

  Moments later Mamma picks up. “Cade! I’m so happy you called. Miers told us you were coming home today. That’s wonderful news! I know this must be difficult for you, having a fracture right now with you being a projected draft pick on ESPN, but you can overcome this so don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

  I’m relieved she hasn’t seen the most recent announcement on ESPN. At least I can tell her about the cancer before she hears it from the television, or one of her colleagues, or a random person.

  “Hi, Mamma.”

  She laughs. “Hi, sweet boy. How are you feeling? How big is your cast? Are you on crutches? Are they uncomfortable yet? I’ll send you some bandanas to wrap around the handles for some extra cushioning. Dan, do we have any extra bandanas for Cade’s crutches?” she asks Dad.

  “Mamma, I have to tell you something. I think you should sit down.”

  Her breath hitches and I cringe, knowing that I’m already causing her pain. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.

  “I’m in a walking boot right now, using crutches for long distances. But the doctors found something else when they ran the tests. I have a tumor in my tibia bone.”

  She inhales raggedly and I can picture her eyes squeezing shut tightly, her mouth twisting in horror, her face stricken in pain.

  “It’s cancerous. Osteosarcoma. Type IIB.”

  She’s crying openly now. I can feel her sobs through the line, each one knocking into me in quick succession, like a series of big waves on the Jersey shore.

  “I’m starting chemo in a few days. For ten weeks. Then I’ll go for surgery. The doctors think they can remove the entire tumor in one go and hopefully the chemo will make the tumor smaller and the surgery easier.”

  Her silence is deafening. It overwhelms me the same way the silence of the stadium did the night I went down.

  “The prognosis is really good, Mamma. They don’t have to amputate my leg and the cancer hasn’t spread to any other parts of my body. I’m going to be okay.”

  Nothing.

  “Mamma?”

  She shatters, her anguish erupting in the strangled cries of the dying deer. My eyes fill with tears over the pain I am causing her, the loss, the heartache. I can see her in my mind, her small frame shaking as sobs wrack her body, her eyes closing in desperation. I imagine her reaching out a hand for my dad and him pulling her into his arms to provide any comfort he can. I let her cry it out, wait until her anguish turns to sobbing, which transforms into mewling, which subsides into sniffling.

  “Mamma?”

  “Oh, Cade. I’m so, so sorry, sweet boy. Dad and I will be on the next flight. What do you need from us? We will get through this, Cade. We will get through this together, as a family.”

  I almost smile at her words of reassurance, her unshakable belief in me, her overwhelming and unconditional love. “I’m really okay, Mamma. I’m processing and I have a really good support system here.” Miers and Lila and Hendrix flit through my mind.

  “Are you coming home?”

  “No. I like my team of doctors here, and I think I’m receiving quality medical treatment. It’s too early for you and Dad to come, Mamma. Please, don’t stop living your life on account of this. I need you and Dad to keep on like normal and let me handle this my way. I promise when I need you, I’ll ask you to come.”

  “Oh, Cade. I’d rather be with you. We both would.”

  “I know, Mamma. Me too. But I need you guys here for the surgery. I can do the chemo part. I know I can handle it, and I have all the guys at the house looking out for me.”

  I imagine her face, indecision playing out over her features. I know she wants to fly out immediately just to see me, hug me, kiss my forehead like she did when I was a kid and had the flu. But she can’t just abandon her life for weeks or months on end and stay in California. And I don’t want her to. I want her and Dad to continue their normal routine and let me work through this here.

  “I promise I will call you with every update, every bit of news, and if I really need you to come, I’ll ask,” I reassure her.

  “Cade,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

  “I know, Mamma. I know.”

  We talk for a few more minutes, but I can tell her mind is a million miles away, already planning for my surgery, thinking about the research she needs to do, the second opinions we should get. She’s switched into supermom role, and I guess that’s best. At least she’ll be distracted.

  For now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lila

  Miers texts me when Cade is settled in at home. He mentions that he thinks Cade is working up the nerve to call his parents so I decide not to bother him for a few hours, allow him to have the time to speak with his family without me interrupting. I can’t even imagine having to call Brandon with news about my health. He would be here in a flash, squeezing my hand and forcing my parents to not make my illness about them. But Cade is close with his parents. He admires them, respects them, loves them.

  I wonder what that’s like.

  I sigh, sitting down on the edge of my bed. I stare at the latest text message from Dad. He’s leaving for a business trip to Paris in a few hours so if I am going to call him, now would be the time to do it. Ugh. I flop back on the bed, my arms splayed wide like a starfish. Why do I cringe just imagining the sound of his voice, the condescending, patronizing clicks of his tongue when he disagrees with me? Why can’t I just tell him how I feel, what I think, what I want?

  Kristen will be back from her hospital shift soon so I dial his number.

  “Lila!” He’s surprised. Good. “I’m glad you called, sweetheart. How’s the internship going?”

  I roll my eyes. Of course that’s his first question.

  “It’s good, Dad. I got your message.”

  “Ah yes, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about everything happening at home. Can you hang one minute? Mel, shut my door please. Yes, this will just take a few minutes.” His voice is muffled as he places his hand over the speaker. “Li? Okay, sweetheart, I’m back.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Well, I know you’ve talked to Brandon. I wish you would have given me the opportunity to tell you directly.” He pauses. Ah yes, twist it and blame it on me. “But Brenda and I have decided to move forward with our relationship. We went on a vacation a few weeks ago and have been spending a lot of time together. And now we’ve decided to move in together.” Ew.

  “I know.”

  “Um, yes, well I just wanted to see how you were handling everything. So, how are you?”

  “About you and Brenda pretending you’re on some romantic honeymoon in the Caribbean? Or the trip to Newport? Or for playing house?” I clap my hand over my mouth, shocked that I said that aloud.

  “Now listen, Lila, Brenda means a lot to me. Your mother and I are divorced. I’m not doing anything wrong, and it’s about time that everyone starts moving on with their lives. Especially your mother.” He’s defensive, his voice rising slightly in anger.

  “I get it, Dad. You’re divorced. You’re a free man. You can do whatever you want. It would just be so much easier to understand if it wasn’t with the woman you were cheating on Mom with.” My own anger spikes. I am my father’s daughter.

  “Lila. I am an adult and I am your father. I do not need to explain my actions or decisions to you. I make the rules and you need to follow them. I’m sorry that this is hard for you, but it’s no excuse for you to be disrespectful and rude.”

  “Well, if you didn’t really want to know how I feel, then why go through the pretense of messaging and calling?”

  “I just, I wanted to … one second. Yes, Mel? Right now? Okay, yes, one minute.” He sighs heavily. “Lila. I have to go. I’m glad you seem to be doing okay. Just focus o
n your internship. Now isn’t the time to become an angsty teenager and ruin your chances of being accepted into a top medical program because you can’t handle your father dating after being divorced for a year. Part of being a good doctor is being able to separate your personal life from your professional obligations. I expect nothing less of you. We’ll talk when I’m back from Paris, okay?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “I’ll bring you those macaroons you like so much. Strawberry right?”

  Coconut!

  “Yep, thanks.”

  “Okay. Take care.”

  “’Bye.” I hang up and toss my phone across the room. It lands softly on Kristen’s bed.

  Ahh! Why is he so infuriating? Angsty teenager? I’m twenty-one! How dare he flip it on me? Like it’s my fault I had to hear about his vacationing and moving in with Brenda from Brandon because I’m some petulant child who is screening his calls. Why can’t he just admit that it’s his fault he gave up on his marriage? And what the hell is that bit about using his dating life as an excuse for losing focus about my future?

  He doesn’t understand anything.

  To think we used to be incredibly close, as thick as thieves my mom used to say. Yeah, for as long as I play the role of his little puppet and don’t question any of his plans for my future.

  I feel the burn of tears clogging my throat and choke them back down. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s gotten to me, that his words hurt, that his lack of concern cuts deep.

  I trot across my bedroom to Kristen’s bed to retrieve my phone and send my mom a text message. I know I should call her but how many parents can a girl deal with in one day?

  Me: Hi, Mom. Hope you are doing well today and having a happy afternoon with Aunt Lori and Uncle Ken.

  I’m relieved when Sam walks through my bedroom door moments later, forgetting to knock.

  “I have huge news,” he announces, his glasses even dancing down his nose excitedly.

  “Good news?”

  “The best! Ever!”

  “Spill it.” I sit cross-legged on my bed, hunching forward in anticipation. Sam sits across from me, leaning back against my pillows.

  “I have a date!”

  “With who?”

  “The hot law student who wears Hugo Boss socks and can coherently speak about the minimalism of Miuccia Prada’s new line.” He drapes his hand over his brows dramatically. “I think I’m in love.”

  I scrunch my eyebrows together, thinking about the object of Sam’s affection and attention. “Chris Martello?” I guess, picturing the only law student I know who could potentially fit Sam’s description. Chris is tall, has a twelve-pack, dresses in all designer, and always has an Earl Gray tea in hand.

  “Exactly. I knew you would understand.” Sam pats my knee, satisfied with my guess.

  “Wow! He’s hot.”

  “I know. He used to model. Calvin Klein. Underwear. But then he threw away that amazing op to go to law school.” He makes a face.

  “Could be worse.”

  “True. He could study philosophy or English Literature or something ridiculous.”

  I stifle a laugh. “You have high expectations.”

  “Well obviously,” he huffs. “Where’s Kristen? I need you girls to help me decide on my ensemble for the date.”

  “She’s still at the hospital. When is the date and where are you going?”

  “Tonight. Santelli’s Ristorante.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Damn.” Santelli’s is the most exclusive restaurant in town.

  “I know, right?” Sam bounces on my bed happily.

  “What are your options?”

  “My casually destroyed jeans with the navy blue paisley button down from Armani and that new John Varvatos scarf? Or dark jeans with a white T-shirt and gray Zegna blazer. I’d wear Berluti shoes with the first outfit and those Cole Haan shoes you love with the blue laces with option two. Thoughts?”

  “Option two.”

  “You think?” He tilts his head to the left, considering.

  “Yes. It’s a bit dressier, which is always key for a first date and those laces provide the necessary amount of fun, trendy, casual.”

  “That’s a good point. Okay, I like what you’re putting out here. I’ll run it by Kristen for a second opinion. No offense, but you’re fashion sense is sometimes, hmm, how do I say—”

  “It’s fine. Double check with Kristen.”

  “Thanks.” Sam looks relieved. “So, how’s Cade? I overheard someone in the cafeteria talking about the announcement of his cancer on ESPN.” He frowns. “That must suck.”

  “What? They announced it?”

  Sam nods.

  God that must have blindsided him. How did they even confirm it? I know Cade hasn’t publicly released a statement or anything. I mean, he left the hospital like five seconds ago.

  “What did they say?”

  “Do I look like someone who watches ESPN for news?”

  “I hope Cade hasn’t seen it yet. Maybe Miers will give him a heads-up that the information has already leaked so he isn’t caught off guard. Or worse, put on the spot publically.”

  Sam nods sympathetically. “How’s he doing?”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. “He seems to be doing okay. In fact, I’m probably more of a mess than he is, but I think he’s just putting up a convincing front. And it’s not like we’ve been together for years where I know how to accurately read his moods yet. I kind of feel like I’m just stumbling through it all with him.”

  “I’m sure it’s better than him stumbling alone.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Trust me, if he didn’t want you around, he would tell you.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” I say sarcastically.

  “No worries.” He pats my knee again, my sarcasm going over his head. As per usual.

  “Oh good, you guys are here,” Kristen says, walking through the door. “I have news.”

  “Me too!” Sam gushes, jumping off the bed and taking Kristen’s hands in his.

  “I have a date!”

  “I have a date!”

  “When?” They ask each other in union.

  “Tonight!”

  “Ahhhhh!”

  I crack up at their giddy, smiling faces.

  “Let’s get ready together. Go get your outfit options so I can veto the ones that suck,” Kristen tells Sam.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He darts out of our bedroom.

  I reach into my bedside drawer and withdraw a bottle of wine. “Can’t get ready for a date without vino.” I smile at her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” She hugs me affectionately. “I’m super nervous.”

  “Who are you going out with?”

  “Joe Miers. Cade’s friend.”

  What?

  Kristen’s face is blushing furiously, but her eyes are bright, excited, genuinely happy. “Can you believe he asked me out?” she asks.

  Aw Kristen. “Of course I can. Now let’s make you look irresistible and downright smashing, dahling!”

  Kristen laughs, opening the wine while I grab three Solo cups from my desk drawer. What else do people stash in their desks?

  When Sam reenters with a slew of clothing draped over his arm, we cheers to new dates and new beginnings.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cade

  The day before I start chemo, I’m sitting in my room outlining a chapter in Samuel P. Huntington’s The Solider and the State for an upcoming paper I have to submit. And still write. I could curse myself for choosing Civil-Military Relations as an elective.

  I’m happily interrupted by a knock on the door. I hope it’s Lila, but it’s probably Miers.

  “Come in.”

  I’m surprised when Coach’s face appears around the door. “Got a minute?” he asks.

  “I got a lot of minutes.” I laugh, trying to make a joke out of the situation, the fact that my days may be numbered more than I previousl
y thought. I stand up and offer Coach my desk chair, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

  He smiles back, sitting down in the empty chair. “How you doing?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah. Even with everything that’s going on? It’s a tough loss to bear, losing out on the NFL when you were being talked about the way you were, when you had the stats that you have. It’s devastating.” Coach fixes me with a firm stare.

  “It was. It is. It completely sucks. But it’s not worse than losing my health, my future, my life.”

  Coach nods. “What are you thinking?”

  I smile internally at Coach’s roundabout way of making a point. With football he always gives it straight. With life advice, he always beats around the bush until you come to a realization on your own. He’s like a father figure that way. He’s a lot like Dad. The way he lets you handle things the way you need to. Jared was like that too.

  “About which part?”

  “All of it. Any of it.” He shrugs, the Astor zip-up jacket moving with his shoulders.

  “I think I’m pretty damn lucky that I’m not going to lose my leg. My prognosis is real good. I think chemo is going to straight-up suck. I think I haven’t fully admitted to myself that I may never play football again because I can’t handle losing that on top of everything else.”

  He nods in understanding. “That makes sense. Did you see ESPN?” he asks hesitantly, grimacing.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “It’s a tough blow.”

  “Suddenly not as tough as I thought.”

  Coach chuckles. “Yeah, cancer will put a lot in perspective for you.”

  We sit in silence for a few moments. Coach leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of his chin. “You know, ten, I had cancer once.”

  I raise my eyebrows. This is news to me.

  “I don’t talk about it much. Happened a long time ago. I was sixteen.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I’m still here.” He chuckles again. His face grows stern as he pierces me with his eyes, wisdom and stories and emotions adding depth to his normally jovial expression. “It was a living hell. I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. Hell, I thought I was going to die. The whole thing was a bitch. But you know what?”