by C. B. Stagg
“Um… Mr. Preston… ,” and that’s all I got out before I completely lost control and let the sobs take over my body. Darkness and doubt flooded my mind. Fear wrapped its claws around my throat, piercing my skin and blocking air from getting into my lungs.
This was not okay. I was not going to be okay.
Nothing would ever be okay again.
My first instinct was to call Casey, but I stopped just shy of hitting his name in my contact list. We’d never really defined our roles. Were we boyfriend/girlfriend? Technically, we weren’t even ‘dating’ in the traditional sense. Was he my friend? Yes, but I’d only known him a few months.
I wasn’t an idiot. I’d seen enough medical dramas to know what I might be facing. Was it fair to dump all this on a guy I’d known like, five minutes? What if this was more serious than even I knew and he decided he didn’t want to deal with whatever this was? What if I wasn’t worth it to him? He was so noble; he’d never walk away if I was sick. I couldn’t stomach the idea of him only being with me out of pity. So I robbed him of that choice.
Three hours later, I was sitting in a different office, this time at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston.
One hundred miles away from my home.
One hundred miles away from my life.
One hundred miles away from Casey.
I’d been admitted with urgency, and I was scheduled for surgery the following morning.
It was happening.
Fast.
Mr. Preston met me at the hospital. Apparently, Dr. Suarez filled him in on the situation while I was having a nervous breakdown in her office. When I arrived by private car, my room was ready. And by room, I mean suite, including warm, sandy-colored walls and a spotless cherry wood floor. The bathroom was marble from wall-to-wall, including the walk-in shower with multiple heads and a Jacuzzi tub big enough to swim in.
There was also a massive walk-in closet that already had several sets of bedclothes and matching robes in my size, and a sharply dressed man who knew my name met me at the door. I was being treated like royalty, no doubt because of my father’s money, his connections, or both. At least he was good for something.
“Vaughn… ” Mr. Preston purred as he wrapped me in his arms. It’s funny, his arms had been the only arms I’d known my whole life. Until Casey. His arms were strong and familiar, and they brought a certain level of relief. But they weren’t Casey’s. I wanted Casey’s arms.
But no.
Not yet.
I didn’t even know what I would tell him. There were so many unknowns. I’d call him when I had more information. I didn’t want to jump the gun, so until I had a clearer picture, I had to put him out of my mind. I needed to deal with the more important matter of the grapefruit-sized mass that was to be removed from my body in the morning.
“How did you get here so fast?” He shook his head as I held onto him as if my life depended on it, inhaling his scent of fresh laundry and an aftershave he’d worn all my life. “Why am I here? This surgery could have been done in College Station, right?” I could hear his heartbeat, strong in his chest. But his breaths came shallow and quick, like a pant. He was scared.
Pulling away from me only slightly, I watched as he plastered an awkward smile on his face. I’d only seen him make that face when he had to deal with my mother. “Well, darling, this is the best hospital in Texas with the best surgeons. They’re going to take care of you here so we can get you well and get you back to school.”
I’d never known Mr. Preston to be anything other than the perfect picture of emotional control and dignity. His words, had they been delivered with confidence, may have been reassuring. They may have even calmed my fears. The shakiness of his voice, however, made it clear he had no idea what the outcome of my situation would be.
Before meeting with my surgery team, I snuck to the bathroom to text Casey.
Something came up. I had to leave town for a few days. I will call you tomorrow. Sorry.
“Well, all right, we have our plan in place. Vaughn, we’ll do what is necessary to get you healthy again. Get some rest.” That was the only assurance I got from my surgeon and her team. Then, she patted me on the arm and walked out of my room.
We’ll do what is necessary to get you healthy again.
I became obsessed with that statement as it bounced around my head like a ping-pong ball throughout the night. I had no choice but to put my trust in these strangers. After all, they were the best my father’s money could buy.
18-Casey
I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE HER.
But Friday was always the busiest day of the week for my crew. We walk every field at every park, making sure they’re in good shape and prepared for weekend activities. I always try to get an early start on Friday, usually out inspecting by 6:00 a.m., coffee in hand.
That morning, though, I couldn’t force myself to leave the warmth of Vaughn’s body curled into mine. I was like an addict. I’d had a taste, and I had to have more. I held her body to mine, her head tucked under my chin where we fit together like lock and key. Her hair smelled like the beach, and I’d found myself running my fingers through her long red curls several times throughout the night. I hit snooze over and over and over again, buying myself just a few more minutes to explore the angel lying beside me.
Vaughn was still feeling bad, so I’d canceled our dinner reservation. My new plan was to grab her some egg drop soup and hang out at her place. We’d discussed starting Gilmore Girls from episode one. According to her, I’d been missing out on something amazing, never having watched the series. Plus, she told me I’d have to watch in order to understand what her ‘Team Luke’ and ‘Team Jess’ shirts really meant. I’d grabbed all seven seasons on Amazon the night she’d mentioned it and had just been waiting for the right time.
And tonight was it.
Looking through the window after work, I saw that Vaughn hadn’t made it home from school yet, so I had a little time. I was seconds away from hopping in the shower when my phone dinged.
Something came up. I had to leave town for a few days. I will call you tomorrow. Sorry.
I read it over and over. I even restarted my phone and looked at it again, hoping that it was incomplete. Something wasn’t right, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. Vaughn was too sick to be leaving town, and I was thoroughly confused. She wouldn’t just brush me off, but I texted back several times with no response. I’d tried calling too, but it just went to voicemail. I’d been watching her apartment like a hawk and she definitely wasn’t there.
So many conflicting emotions tumbled around inside my head, and I couldn’t settle on one. I spent the evening pacing around my apartment, staring out the window, and calling her over and over and over again. At some point, I fell asleep on the couch. But when I woke up in the morning, I was more exhausted than the night before.
I had exactly what I never knew I always wanted, just out of reach for so long, only to have to wait even longer.
19-Vaughn
YOU CAN TELL A LOT about a person by how they handle mornings.
Dr. May, my surgeon, was high-pitched, chirpy, and cheery to the point of being unhealthy. She had hair the color of sunshine wrapped in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she dressed as if she had a golfing reservation later.
“Good morning, Vaughn. How are we feeling today?”
We? I couldn’t speak for the other half of the ‘we,’ but I felt like I had been hit by a train after wandering in the Sahara for ten days, sans water. I wasn’t planning to dignify her question with an answer, not that I could have anyway. My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth, my lips were cracked, and it felt like a chainsaw was tearing my midsection apart bit by bit.
I looked around, surprised all over again that my hospital room was one step away from being a luxury suite at a resort. The door opened after a soft knock, and I immediately caught the eyes of a very disheveled Mr. Preston. He walked in, slowly carrying a pitcher and a Styrofoa
m cup.
“Everything hurts,” I croaked out, not recognizing my own voice.
“Well, Ms. Jennings. You just had surgery. Of course, you’ll feel a little discomfort.” Lord, if this was what this lady considered ‘discomfort,’ I’d hate to see what her definition of real pain was.
Dr. May explained, with what I could only describe as enthusiasm, how I could control my own pain medication with a handy little button clipped right by my hand, demonstration and all. The easy access to drugs earned points in her favor, and I managed to hit that sucker approximately eighty-seven times before the chore wore me out. I hoped eighty-seven was enough to take care of the searing pain shooting through me.
“Vaughn, this is Dr. Kim.” A small woman I hadn't even noticed before moved further into the room. “She’s a resident on this floor and will be taking care of your day-to-day needs while we get you all fixed up.” It was as though she was introducing a toddler to his new preschool teacher, all cutesy and just a smidge too loud for a room the size of the one we were occupying.
Dr. Kim leaned in to shake my limp hand, then took my chart from Dr. May and started reading. “We need to talk about the surgery.” Dr. May’s voice seemed foreign in a place like this, but I shifted my gaze away from Dr. Kim, giving my full attention back to Pollyanna.
”I’m afraid what should have been a laparoscopic, minimally invasive thirty-minute surgery turned into an open procedure. I’d say we were in there a good two hours.” She looked to Dr. Kim for confirmation, and she half-heartedly nodded.
My gaze moved back and forth between the two women in my room, thinking they made an odd pair. Dr. May’s ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ act was in direct contrast to Dr. Kim’s furrowed brow as she read my medical chart.
I was getting more tired by the second. I knew I needed to call Casey, but I wasn’t sure where my phone was. By the time I mustered the strength to open my mouth and ask someone to find it for me, I’d already forgotten what I needed in the first place. It had something to do with Casey. One thing I never forgot was Casey. But why couldn’t I focus? And why can’t I keep my eyes open?
One day a little over a week ago, Casey and I walked across campus to Antonio’s for pizza. After dinner, somehow the topic of children came up.
“So, I know you plan to have kids one day. How many do you want?” Being an only child, I was curious what he considered the ‘magic number.’
“How many do you want?”
I thought he was joking, tossing my question right back to me, but he looked serious. “Hey!” I hit him playfully on the shoulder. “I asked you first!” I was being flirty, trying in vain to lighten the mood, which had become stone-cold sober.
“I guess you’re not understanding me.” He never broke our eye contact. “I truly need to know how many kids you want, so I can tell you how many I want.”
“But, wait, what?” I didn’t know what to say, he was talking in riddles. “What does my… Oh!” My hands moved to cover my gaping mouth. His stare only grew more intense.
“Vaughn, I want what you want.” We were sitting on a bench on campus after an evening walk. As he spoke, he reached over and scooped me onto his lap. It was my absolute favorite place to be. “If you want three, we’ll have three.”
We? As in Casey and I, we? Us? Together?
“If you want five, we’ll have five, but I may need a second job.” He laughed a little at that last part.
I was devoid of speech as I sat there, looking up at him, just watching him watch me. His eyes held a fire I hadn’t seen before, so full of hope and excitement, and so very confident. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?” It was a genuine question, not just an observation.
I thought about Casey all the time. I thought about kissing and touching him. I thought about vacationing with him, spending holidays together, walking along the beach hand in hand. I thought about marrying him, and of course, I thought about having his children and all the things that went along with that.
“Look, I know I haven’t talked much about Kris and our relationship, and I don’t particularly want to get into the specifics, but I will tell you this. There were many, many reasons our marriage failed, but for me, the main reason was that she didn’t want kids and I did. We found ourselves at a stalemate.” He sighed, running his fingers through his beautiful brown hair. He may not have loved Kris with fire and passion, but it was obvious he cared for her and felt guilty about how things ended.
“We actually had the official ‘I am never, ever having children’ discussion right before I met you… ” His voice trailed off as if lost in thought. A heartbeat later, he cleared his throat. “Once I met you, it was like a cloud was lifted and I, well, I could finally see my future.”
“How did I help you see your future?” I hoped I already had the answer to that question, but I wanted to hear him say it, in words, not just in actions.
When his eyes met mine, I knew I was right.
“You made me feel things, Vaughn. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I felt things. New things. Things I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling.”
He set me down beside him and fully faced me, taking my hands in his. ”From that first day, I saw nothing but your face when I closed my eyes. I spent my days wondering where you were and what you were doing, praying you were thinking of me too. I found myself counting the hours until I could see you again. That hasn’t really changed.”
His thumbs rubbed circles over the tops of my hands, fast, almost excitedly. “You control my thoughts, day and night. You come to me in my dreams. Once, I dreamt of us sitting and talking for hours under the stars about absolutely nothing. Another time, I dreamt of us cooking dinner together and you dancing around the kitchen, chopping this and stirring that. Please don’t ask me what you were wearing.” He smiled and winked and stole my breath.
“And on that note, I’ve had several dreams of you in my bed, your silky red hair fanned out across my pillow, your creamy body belonging to me and only me.”
His words were poetry, like music healing my soul.
“And last night, I dreamt of us out on the soccer field, the very one where we met. We were coaching together just like we do now, but Vaughn, we had a kid on the team. Our kid. Yours and mine. One who called me dad and you mom. I heard it just as sure as I’m hearing my own voice right now.”
My heart threatened to take flight at that moment. “You should probably know, I never really wanted kids. I’d never even thought about it.” I sighed, thinking back. “I wasn’t exactly raised by a model mother, and I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to be a parent. But then I met you,” I cupped his hairy face in my palms and looked him straight in the eyes. “And now I want that. Everything you just said? I want that. I want the cooking and the soccer, and the, um, the things in your bed… ” I blushed. “And I want kids. I want your kids. Lots and lots of kids. Ones who call you dad and me mom. That’s my future.”
The wind picked up, blowing my hair into my face. Casey took the strands and tucked them behind my ears, then, mirroring me, he cupped my face as he continued. “No, my love, that’s our future.”
The drug-induced haze started to fade, but all I wanted was to go back to the place where I’d just been. Back to Casey, back to my memory, where he declared his undying love and used his beautiful words to paint a picture of our storybook life together.
I was being poked again, and things were beeping—multiple things—and at that moment I would have given my right eye for those beeps to either stop or sync up. The cacophony was driving me out of my mind.
Hesitantly, I opened my eyes to find Mr. Preston at my side. “I hope you don’t mind, my dear, but I borrowed your shower while you slept.”
I looked around for my phone. The dream I’d just had about Casey was so incredibly real and made me ache with need for him. I wondered what day it was. Was it still the weekend?
Noises in the hallway snapped me out of my daze, and I asked a questio
n that had been bugging me. “Mr. Preston, why are you still here?” I abandoned my phone search to face him as much as my pain level would allow. He typically didn’t make a habit of sticking around for too long.
“Well, you see, Dr. May would like to discuss your surgery. You fell asleep last time she was in, so I thought I’d stick around. You might like another set of ears to hear what she has to say.” He wouldn’t look at me, which was very unlike him. “I’d hate for you to miss important details because you’re groggy.”
Something was off.
At that precise moment, Dr. May, with her nauseatingly wide grin swooped into the room, closely followed by a much more subdued Dr. Kim. “Well, there she is!” As if I could leave. ”And how are we feeling after our little siesta?”
I met Dr. Kim’s gaze and had to stifle a giggle when she rolled her eyes way back into her head. I took that as a gesture of unity and knew then I had found a friend.
"Vaughn, as I said before, things didn’t go quite as we’d expected them to in the operating room.” Dr. May pulled a chair over to the side of my bed and sat. “The mass was difficult to locate laparoscopically, so we had to open you up. Once we got in there and looked directly into your body cavity, we had trouble laying eyes on the mass.”
Dr. Kim stepped forward. “Vaughn, the team followed your right fallopian tube, eventually finding the mass tucked behind your floating ribs on the right side.” She looked to Dr. May, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “When we saw it, we realized that it wasn’t a dermoid cyst, it was a complex tumor.”
I’d always hated the word TUMOR, but suddenly I couldn’t get Arnold Schwarzenegger’s annoying way of pronouncing the vile word out of my head. Without knowing much about either, I could at least infer that it was better to have a cyst than a tumor. And I had a tumor.