by Gina Azzi
I nod in agreement.
That would really be the icing on the freaking cake.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cade
Lila is pulling away from me. I can feel it. Or I’m pushing her away. I’m not exactly sure which. All I know is that there’s this space, this distance, between us that wasn’t there before. It’s like a black cloud, sucking all the energy, fun, and lightness out of our conversations and interactions. Instead of feeling uplifted and invigorated by her presence, I feel stifled. Suffocated.
When she comes over on Tuesday morning to take me to my chemo appointment she smiles stiffly, her eyes tired. “Hey, Cade.” She leans over, kissing me quickly. “Ready to go?”
To chemo? Are you serious? I want to ask her, but instead I just nod, mumbling hello.
“Hey, Lila!” Miers shouts as we walk down the stairs. “How’s it going?”
Her face brightens. My stomach drops since I can’t seem to make her smile like that anymore.
“Hi, Miers. It’s going. How are you?”
“Doing well, thanks. Going to pick up Kris now. You taking care of this grump today?” Miers slaps a hand across my back.
It stings and I force myself to hold still so he doesn’t notice that his friendly smack hurt.
“Have fun with Kristen. Yep. Let’s see if I can return him in better spirits.” She smiles up at me.
I fake a smile back.
When we walk outside, I toss my car keys to her and she settles herself in the driver’s seat, readjusting the mirrors and moving the seat closer to the steering wheel.
“Ready?” she asks again.
“Just drive.”
* * *
Chemo is long today. I can’t get comfortable in the chair. I feel cold and tug on my hoodie, but the chill doesn’t leave my body. My hands are weak and Lila has to open my water bottle for me.
She reads her Kindle quietly, barely glancing at me, her eyes running over the words on the page. The guy next to me coughs and meets my gaze gently, sympathy etched into the wrinkles around his eyes. I close mine and block him out. Block her out. Block out everything except the poison coursing through my veins to kill the poison eating my bones.
After several hours, Lila drives me home in complete silence. When she parks in my parking spot, she turns to look at me. “I’ll come in for a few, but I can’t stay.”
I nod, not questioning her, not asking why. It’s obvious isn’t it? She doesn’t want to.
She walks me into the house, up the stairs, into my bedroom. “Do you need anything?” Her voice is small and for a moment. I’m scared she might cry. But when I look at her, her face is blank, giving nothing away.
“Nah. I’m fine. Thanks for driving.”
“Sure. Well, I guess, I’ll, uh, talk to you later. Or tomorrow,” she adds.
“Yeah. Talk to you soon.”
She leaves in a hurry.
She didn’t even kiss me good-bye.
I spend the rest of the night throwing up anyway, so I guess it’s for the best.
* * *
“Yo, dude. You okay?” Miers’s voice is quiet. “Come on, man. Let’s get you up.” His hands are surprisingly gentle on my back. They feel cool against my forehead. “Shit, dude. I think you got a fever.”
His hands shift under my armpits as he tries to lift me. I struggle to get my feet underneath me, but my legs don’t cooperate and I hang like dead weight in his arms. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He lays me on my side.
The tiles of the bathroom floor are cold and refreshing against my skin. It reminds me of the hangovers I would nurse in high school, lying naked on the bathroom floor, Gatorade and saltines within an arm’s reach. I almost laugh at the memory, but it floats away before I can muster the energy to chuckle.
“Okay, you get his left side,” Miers instructs.
“You’re okay, ten,” Hendrix says.
The two of them hoist me up and half carry, half drag me into my room. They lay me on my bed gently and Miers disappears. Hendrix pours me a cup of water. “Take small sips,” he instructs.
Miers comes back moments later and runs a damp cloth over my face, neck, and chest gently. It takes me a few moments to notice that he’s cleaning up my puke. Oh God, why? This is so disgusting. So gross. But I’m so so tired. Too tired to be mortified. Too tired to care. All I feel is a twinge of relief that it’s Miers and Hendrix, not Lila, cleaning me up and putting me to bed.
Wisps of sleep float around the corners of my mind, pulling my memories into dreams. My eyelids close heavily.
“Sleep on your side, buddy.” Hendrix turns me.
I open my mouth to thank him, but I’m not sure if I do.
When I wake up, tiny hands are resting on my head, fingers drawing lazy eights softly through my hair.
“Shh.” Lila hushes my attempts to speak. “Just close your eyes and rest.” Her voice is soothing.
I reach out and take her hand in mine. I squeeze it, barely, pressing all the things I can’t say into her skin.
Thank you.
I’m sorry.
I’m scared.
I’m grateful for you.
I think you’re amazing.
I’m falling in love with you.
Then I fall back to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lila
When Cade’s number pops up on my phone in the middle of the night, my heart jumps into my throat and then sinks to my feet so quickly I think I’m going to be sick. Worry consumes me and my hands shake as I answer the phone. When Miers voice greets me through the line, my fear triples.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Miers.
“It’s Cade. I think he’s running a fever. I don’t know what to do. Should I call an ambulance? Take him to the hospital?” His voice wavers and I can tell that he’s just as scared, just as unsure, as I am.
“I’m coming over.”
I dress quickly and accept the car keys that Kristen sleepily presses into my hand. When I arrive at Cade’s, I run up the stairs and burst through the door of his bedroom, not sure what I expect to see. Cade sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling evenly, Hendrix and Miers sitting vigil at his bedside is not it. But my heart slows the second I see him.
He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay.
I feel his head, clammy but not feverish.
He’s okay.
“He’s okay,” I say to Miers and Hendrix.
Miers releases his breath and Hendrix sighs shakily.
“It’s the chemo,” I continue. “The side effects.” My words stick in my throat as if I swallowed Bazooka Joe chewing gum.
He’s okay.
“I’ll stay with him,” I offer. The two of them look exhausted.
“Are you sure?” Hendrix asks.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
The guys nod and leave, closing the door softly behind them. I pull Cade’s desk chair closer to his bedside. My fingers play in his hair, trace his jawline, brush across his eyebrows.
He’s okay.
The relief I feel causes tears to swell in my eyes, spilling over slowly.
He’s okay.
* * *
When Cade wakes the next morning, he smiles at me weakly.
“Hey,” he whispers.
I smile back. For the first time in two weeks it feels genuine.
“Hi.”
“I’m happy to see you.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
Cade chuckles softly, but doesn’t contradict me.
“Can I take you for breakfast?” he asks.
“Are you hungry?”
His face twists. “Not really. But you need to eat.”
I scowl.
“And I’d like some toast and raspberry jam.”
“Okay. That sounds nice.”
He sits up slowly and although I don’t move to help him, my body tenses, ready
to catch him if his strength falters. “I need to shower first.”
“Need some company?” I raise my eyebrows at him. It’s been weeks since we’ve been intimate. And suddenly, I realize how very much I miss him, want to feel his hands slide across my skin, need to feel the connection we once shared.
Although he’s lost weight and no longer sports a healthy glow, when I look at him, I still see my Cade. Smooth, rich, creamy skin, expressive, stormy eyes, muscles and hard lines for days. I lean over and kiss his lips softly.
I don’t want to push him but …
“I’d love some.” Cade smiles at me, sincerity shining in his gray eyes.
I follow him into the bathroom. He turns the shower on and the room steams within moments. I stand in front of the mirror, watching it cloud over. I drag my finger through the steam, drawing a big heart and writing L+C in the center.
Cade comes up behind me, placing his palms on my waist and gently tugs my shirt up. He kisses the slope of my neck and I squirm. He breathes me in gently.
“I missed you.” It’s a confession.
“Me too.” I lean back into his touch. “I missed this.”
And in that moment, our connection resumes, all seems right in the world again, and I note the glow of bliss that crosses my flushed cheeks in the foggy mirror.
* * *
Now that things are back on track with Cade and I, I bite the bullet and decide it’s time to deal with my dad. I’m nervous as I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my cell phone, making excuses in my mind why I shouldn’t call today. He’s busy. He could be in a meeting. He may be jet-lagged. I roll my eyes at my own hesitation. How lame. Just call him and get it over with already!
Kristen pops her head around our bedroom door. “I don’t hear you talking,” She accuses.
I sigh, flopping back across my bed dramatically. “I don’t know what to say.”
“How about the truth?”
“But I’m not sure what I want to do. It’s not like I have some great passion that I want to focus on instead. I’ve never given this any real thought. I just always followed along, got A’s in the science courses, and figured why not become a doctor?”
“Okay, what other interests do you have?”
I shrug, which is a lot harder to pull off when one is lying sprawled across a bed like a damsel in distress.
“Give me something to work with here.” Kristen’s eyes narrow.
I sit back up. “I want to help people.”
“Okay. You know there are tons of professions in the medical field that don’t scream you-have-to-become-a-doctor.”
I frown.
Kristen continues. “It’s not like you have to start over because you majored in biology. You can pursue research.”
I make another face.
“Or look into physician assistant programs. That way you can do the medicine part without the responsibility. You can check out hospital administration. Physical or occupational therapy.”
“I guess. They’re all options.” I drag my toe across the carpet.
“You don’t have to decide now. You just need to figure out if you want to apply to medical school or not. And if you do, then you should take the MCAT prep course seriously. If you don’t, then why are you still going to the classes?” Kristen’s eyebrow rises, mocking me.
“Ugh. I should call him.”
“Yes. You should.” She hands me my phone. “I’m stepping out. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
“Or cutting your own throat.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.” She pats my head.
When Kristen leaves, I take a deep breath. Okay, Lila, you can do this. I select my dad’s cell number and press call.
He answers immediately and my heart jumps into my throat.
“Hey, Li.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“How’s the MCAT prep course going?”
Not the start I was going to lead with but okay …
“It’s going.”
“I spoke with Joe Richardson at UMass last week. He sent me some information on their medical program. I’ll forward it to you. UMass could be a good fit for you.”
FML. “Great. Thanks.”
“How’s the internship? Did you make an appointment to speak with Kate Lenox yet? She has a lot of contacts she can connect you with.”
“No, not yet.”
He sighs. “You really need to get on the ball, Lila. This is a wonderful opportunity for you and you shouldn’t waste even a moment of it. Get your head out of the bottle and stay away from the tailgates and focus on what’s important, sweetheart. On things that matter.”
Like family? My throat burns with the unsaid words I want to hurl at him.
“Okay, Dad.” I grind my teeth.
“Okay. Well, sweetheart, as happy as I am to hear from you, I’m at the golf course and tee off is in five.”
Really?
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Yeah. Study hard now and make me proud. Bye, Lila.”
“Bye, Dad.”
I hang up the phone and flop back down across the bed, draping my arm across my eyes.
That was an epic fail.
Kristen walks back in the room and fixes me with a pointed glare. “You suck.”
“I know.”
November
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cade
On Saturday morning, I sleep in late. I promised Coach I would be at the game, even though sitting on the bench in my jersey and not playing seems a bit masochistic. Still, Coach reminded me that I’m part of the time and that part of being a leader means leading by example. So even though I’m in hell, that doesn’t mean I can’t inspire others.
The guys in the house have been coming around slowly, circling me like wary dogs. Each day, our orbits overlap a little more. It seems like now that they’ve accepted that my football dreams are over, I will not help lead them to the Rose Bowl, and I most likely won’t drop dead this semester, they’ve started acting somewhat normal around me again.
When I finally get out of bed and make my way out of my room, the house is quiet. The guys must all be at the field already. Or visiting with family and friends who made the trip to Astor to watch today’s game. We’re playing the Buckeyes and it will be a good game.
The aroma of crisp bacon and fluffy waffles still floats throughout the first floor of the house. Hendrix really can cook. His future wife is going to love him someday.
I push my way into the kitchen and notice a place setting at the end of the table with a foil-covered plate and a note.
Cade – Happy you’re coming to the game today. Make sure you eat good grub before kick-off.
I uncover the plate and smile at the heap of pancakes, side of scrambled eggs, slightly burnt bacon, and whole-wheat bagel smeared in peanut butter. He’s a good cook and a thoughtful dude as well. Man, his future wife is in for it.
I walk over to the coffee pot and pour a cup of coffee, nuking it for a minute in the microwave. I add a splash of milk and a bit of sugar. Then, I unfold a newspaper that rests on the edge of the counter, and even though I’m not particularly hungry, I sit down to have the breakfast of champions.
* * *
It’s strange to watch a football game from the sidelines. Dusk falls quickly and the day disappears, leaving behind a cool breeze and the rustle of leaves. The stadium is lit up by the nightlights. Fans cheer loudly, holding up signs and shaking banners, honking noisemakers, participating in the Wave as it circulates the stadium. The band beats steadily on drums, and cheerleaders fly through the night sky.
Game day always carries an alluring charm, suspending the team between reality and an otherworldly phenomenon. It’s as if we have the ability to transform, for a few short hours, from regular football players into warriors. I’ve always reveled in the sacredness that is football. As I watch the Mustangs line up for kick-off, gratefulness floods my chest to still experience moments like this, days like today, and
the essence of the game, of football.
My eyes are glued to the field for the entire game. I take in every flawless pass, applaud each catch, shout as the Mustangs score. I remember the feeling of racing down the field, of rolling across a yardline to achieve a first-down, of kneeling gratefully in the end zone. The fleeting moments of leading a team like the Mustangs humbles me as I watch the team seize their victory.
When the team rushes the bench after the game, I’m swept into the huddle, the wild whooping, the backslapping, the whistles and helmet smacking. For a moment, I almost feel like myself.
Chapter Thirty
Lila
I’m nervous as I dial Brandon’s number. I know it will be nothing compared to my talk with Dad, but still my nerves feel frozen and my hands tremble slightly. This is my trial run.
“Yo,” Bran answers.
“Hey. How are you?”
“Doing good. You? How’s your internship?”
“It’s going.”
“Do you like it?”
“Uh, yeah.”
He snorts a laugh. “And your guy? Wilkins?”
“He’s doing okay. It hasn’t been easy for him, but he’s managing.”
“Yeah. That’s a tough blow. Being scouted like that.” Bran whistles through his teeth. “He was practically on top of the world.”
I nod and then remember he can’t see me. I make a noncommittal sound.
“So what’s up?” Brandon asks.
“I wanted to run something by you.”
“Shoot.”
“What do you think if I take a year off before applying to medical school?” I ease into the conversation. No need to say I’m not planning on attending at all. I don’t know that for sure yet, right?
“Why would you delay the inevitable? This isn’t some weird hippie thing you want to do, is it? Like you’re going to travel to an ashram in India for a year and find yourself? Or go backpacking across Australia with Emma or something?”