by Mindy Hayes
It’s all it takes. Like a riptide, she pulls me back in. She can’t help it. She doesn’t even mean to do it. It’s just who she is. Peyton. My riptide.
I smile back at her. “Hey, can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure. Come in, come in.” She opens the door wide. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to surprise my mom for her birthday. The big fifty.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot the dinner was this weekend! This wedding planning is frying my brain. I don’t know how many cells I’ll have let by the time I’m done. A month, Brodee. That’s all we have left. So much to plan with so little time, but I only have myself to blame.”
I follow her into the kitchen where she sits at the square table with Olivia. Magazine clippings cover the entire table.
“Well, look who it is.” Olivia’s face lights up. I’m reminded where Peyton gets her eyes.
“Hey, Liv.” I sit down with them.
“We’re trying to decide on a cake,” Peyton says and shuffles some clippings.
I look closer and see that’s all that’s on the table. Cake. I didn’t even know you could decorate a cake so many different ways.
“Sounds exciting.”
“It’s really not.” I’m sure there’s some organization here, but I can’t decipher it. “There are so many different themes to choose from, and the more I find that I like, the more confused I get. I hadn’t realized I was such an indecisive person until I started planning this wedding.”
“Ha. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
She looks up from the cakes. “Did Brooke not come with you?”
“Nah, she couldn’t get off work.”
“Well, that’s too bad. I was hoping to hang out with her at the dinner tomorrow.”
“Yeah, she was bummed, but only working at Dewberry for a week didn’t give her much leeway. She didn’t feel like she could ask for time off.”
“Totally understandable. What is she doing?”
“She got a structural engineering position, and she loves it already.”
“Good!” Peyton is overly enthusiastic. It’s weird. She turns her attention back to the magazine clippings. “The job market is so hard to get into right now. I’m so glad she was able to find something so quickly.”
“Me too. Is my dad around?”
“He had to work late today, so he won’t be home until after ten,” Olivia says.
I nod. Though, as much fun as this is, I have no desire to pick out wedding cakes with them, so I stand. “I just wanted to come and say hi. I’ll let you two get back to the planning.”
“Oh.” Peyton gets up. I can tell she was expecting me to stay longer, but this is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. Seeing the wedding planning is different than hearing about it. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
“What are you doing tomorrow before my mom’s birthday dinner?” I ask when we reach the front door. “Maybe we can go get some lunch or something?”
“Don’t forget about your appointment at ten, Peyton,” Olivia hollers from the kitchen.
“Yeah. I know, Mom.” Her eyes roll as she sighs. “Thanks for the tenth reminder.”
“You’ve got to meet with a wedding planner or something?”
Olivia walks in and looks pointedly at me. “She has a doctor’s appointment. She hasn’t told you?”
“Mom,” Peyton warns.
“He’s family. He deserves to know, Peyton.”
I look between the two women as they have an argument with their eyes. It doesn’t seem like an argument I want to get between, but I want to know what Peyton is hiding from me. Doctor’s appointment. Oh hell. She’s pregnant, isn’t she? I can’t find my heart. It sank deep inside my chest. I lost it.
“What’s going on?” I press. She can’t be. Please tell me my brain is overreacting. I’m just getting used to the idea of their marriage. A Peyton and Tyler baby is not something I want to even imagine.
“Tell him,” Olivia directs, her finger pointing at me like Peyton needs to ‘fess up to a crime. She must be getting pointers from my dad.
“Mom,” she hisses.
Olivia gives her The Look. I’ve seen The Look many times. It’s Olivia’s no nonsense face. If Peyton doesn’t tell me, Liv will.
Peyton exhales heavily and looks at me. Before she says it, I know I’m not going to like this appointment. I’m going to hate this appointment with a passion. “I have an appointment with my oncologist.”
It takes me a second to remember what an oncologist does. An oncologist is not an obstetrician. So, she’s not pregnant. Phew. My brain starts to pick up again. Oncologist, oncologist… When I know, I feel my body collapse, but somehow I remain standing.
“I have ovarian cancer,” she continues. “It’s probably completely treatable. Nothing to worry about. Tomorrow I have an appointment to discuss the form of treatment we’re going to proceed with.”
I clasp my hand over my mouth before I let out a cry and exhale. “Peyton, why didn’t you say something before?”
Olivia slowly retreats back into the kitchen, understanding this is now a conversation only between Peyton and me.
Peyton waits until she’s gone and calmly says, “Because it’s not that big of a deal, and I don’t want people to treat me differently.”
“Not a big deal? It’s definitely a big deal.”
“This. This is why I didn’t want to say something.” She points at me like I’m the one to blame for her condition.
I speak as normally as I can manage with every part of me screaming on the inside. “I’m sorry. How bad is it?”
“I don’t know yet. The doctor seems to think we caught it early enough, but that’s what the appointment tomorrow is supposed to help determine.”
I’m having difficulty finding the right words. I don’t want to cry in front of her. That won’t help matters. “You shouldn’t have kept it a secret from me.”
“I’ve kept it from everyone, Brodee. I haven’t even told Harper. So, don’t you dare go blabbing your mouth to Skylar. I mean it. My mom, Nick, and Tyler know. That’s it. This stays here until I know more. I want to give people good news.”
“Peyton.” The way I say her name says everything. I can’t lose you like this. I hate cancer. I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me.
“I would have told you eventually,” she says softly.
“When? After you were treated or have surgery or whatever? Or once it got worse? We both know you were never going to tell me.”
Peyton’s eyes shy away from me. “I would have figured out something before then.” I know she’s lying.
“How long have you known?”
She scratches her temple. “About a month. When I went to see my OB/GYN for an annual visit, they knew something wasn’t right. They referred me out.”
A month? So, the whole time I’ve been in Boston living life and traipsing around the city sites, she’s been here suffering. If I’d been here…
“Tyler isn’t here to go with you to this appointment?” I know I sound judgmental, but if she were my fiancé, I wouldn’t miss one single appointment with her oncologist. Not only for support, but for fear that she’d leave something out. Because clearly, she’s good at keeping secrets.
“He’s busy in North Carolina. Something happened at his dad’s office that kept him there. He couldn’t get away. But it’s fine.”
I’d risk losing the job before I let her go without me. His dad has to understand. And so I decide. “I’m going with you.”
“Brodee, it’s fine.” Her reassurances mean nothing. “I don’t need you to come with me. I told you, it’s a simple appointment. I’ll tell you all about it when I’m done.”
“I’m going.” I open the front door before she can keep arguing with me. “And if you even think about leaving without me I’ll just ask Olivia where and who it’s with. She’ll tell me. I’ll be there no matter what.”
“Fine,” Peyton snaps.
“Fine.” I close the door behind me.
I didn’t leave so she couldn’t give me no for an answer. I left so I could rush home, to hole myself away in my room. When I shut my bedroom door, my body falls against it. My legs give out, and I slide down to the floor. It’s then that I cry. My head falls into my hands, and my body shakes with each strangled breath that tries to leave my lungs.
PEYTON SETS HER hand on my knee. “You’re making me anxious. Stop it.” I hadn’t realized I was even bouncing my leg. We’ve been waiting for the doctor in a tiny treatment room with posters of lady parts and diagrams plastering the walls. It’s not that seeing the female organs makes me uncomfortable, but I’ve never seen them in so many different forms all in one place.
“Sorry.” Hold it together, Brodee. You’re supposed to be the rock for her, not the other way around.
I know we’ve probably only been waiting for five minutes, but I swear it’s been hours.
There’s finally a knock at the door, and a man with salt and pepper hair walks inside.
“Peyton,” he greets and shakes her hand. “How are we doing today?”
“Doin’ good!” An automatic response, of course. How do you think she’s doing, Doc?
“And you are?” Dr. Levanstine—as I read from his white coat—looks to me.
“I’m her best—” I say at the same time that Peyton says, “This is my brother, Brodee.” She’s never referred to me as that before. It sounds so wrong coming out of her mouth. I want to take the words and burn them to ashes.
“Oh, wow. You must take after different parents. You look nothing alike.”
Ha. You could say that. “Well, we’re stepsiblings,” I say, correcting Peyton.
“Oh,” he chuckles, “then, that explains it.”
They talk a little about her medical history. It’s weird the things you can learn about a person during a doctor’s appointment, things I probably could’ve gone my whole life without needing to know.
Dr. Levanstine states, “Right now, in order to see how far the cancer has spread, I’ll need to go in and take a look. If the cancer is confined to one ovary, we’ll be able to do a unilateral salpingo-oopherectomy, which essentially means I’ll remove one ovary and one fallopian tube. If the cancer is confined to one ovary, I’ll be able to harvest your eggs from the other one.”
He carries on, giving Peyton all the different surgery and treatment options. I try to take it all in, to understand what it will mean for her. Everything is starting clog up my thought process.
“And there’s a possibility that it hasn’t spread far enough that I’ll need a hysterectomy?” she asks.
He pauses. “Yes, there is a strong possibility. As far as your tests have shown, you’re in stage 1, but I won’t know the severity of the cancer until I get in there. It’s likely we’ll be able to avoid it.”
“And what if it hasn’t spread that far? Would you still suggest a hysterectomy?” she asks.
The look on his face tells me he hates answering this question with patients. “You’re so young, Peyton. I’d hate to suggest something that’s so permanent, irreversible. It’s your body. Cancer can be aggressive. Even if you think you have it all, it could come back. It could be lurking in places you don’t suspect.” He sets his gaze on her. “Ultimately, it’s your decision. Only you can decide what is best for you.”
Wait. Hold on. What did I miss? Why are we talking hysterectomies?
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Do what you need to do,” she says. “Take the eggs from the other ovary and get rid of everything else if it becomes necessary. Better to be safe than sorry.”
I don’t know how she’s acting so brave. I feel my emotions getting the best of me, and she’s not even mine. It’s not my children she might not be able to carry.
“There’s always adoption, right?” she says, a sad smile tugging on her lips. I take her hand and squeeze. She’s not being optimistic enough. She won’t need to adopt because everything is going to work out. Dr. Levanstine will take care of everything. I push my positive thoughts through my fingers, hoping they’ll infuse into her skin.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take some time to think about this?” I ask. She made that decision without nearly any thought. Maybe she’s in shock. “That’s a huge decision, Pete.”
“I’ve done my research, Brodee. My aunt had ovarian cancer. I don’t want to go through what she did. I’ll do whatever I can to nip it in the bud.”
I nod, trying to accept her answer, but I feel like there has to be another way.
“I promise I will do everything in my power so it doesn’t come to that,” Dr. Levanstine says.
After they set up everything for the procedure, we walk to my car in silence. She doesn’t speak when I start the engine or when I stop for gas. She doesn’t sing or hum along to my radio. She doesn’t say anything until we’re five minutes from home. Even then it’s not words.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Peyton’s head bow, and a gasp is yanked from her lungs. Like she feels the grief deep in her bones, she curls in on herself. I pull over onto the side of the road and stop the car. I don’t think. I take her into my arms, pulling her across the console to hold her in my lap. To hell with her fiancé, she’ll always be my best friend. Her face presses against my shoulder, and her fingers dig into my back. I feel her tears on my neck as she sobs.
“I’ll never be a mom,” her muffled voice cries.
“Peyton, yes you will.” I run my hand over the back of her head. “He said there’s a high chance one of your ovaries can be saved. That’s positive. We need to be positive.”
“But if it can’t…” her voice fades.
“You said so yourself. There are other ways.”
“But they won’t be my blood.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve never thought of having children who weren’t my blood. It never occurred to me that I might not have children of my own. I doubt it’s a thought most men have. Has Tyler ever wondered about these things? Will he be supportive of her even if she can’t have his children?
As I rock her, there’s a part of me that mourns, too. If we were to ever have children, they might not have her face, her smile, or her laugh. What a tragedy that would be.
When her tears subside, she pulls away and apologizes about getting my shirt all wet as she tries to dab it out with her long sleeves.
“Stop it.” I grab her wrists. “I don’t care about some tears on my stupid shirt.”
She nods slightly as her eyes travel from my damp chest to meet mine. The sadness and vulnerability punctures my heart. There’s nothing in the world that I want more than to take away her pain. Even if it means I feel it for the rest of eternity, I’d take it on so she wouldn’t have to.
Her gaze drifts down to my mouth. And suddenly, I’m aware that we’re only separated by inches. It’s hard for me to breathe. Neither of us moves. My self-control is quickly depleting. Her hair made of coconut falls in her face. I’m instantly filled with nostalgia. I feel homesick, but that doesn’t even make sense. I am home.
Peyton can’t be immune to what’s building between us. Her body language and her eyes tell me her shield is down, if only for a few minutes. She’s been a bottle of sealed emotions for so long I nearly forgot what it feels like when she looks at me like she wants me. I let go of one of her wrists and grip the back of her shirt, then think better of it and latch onto my steering wheel. If I don’t hold onto something aside from her, I’ll do something she’ll later make me regret. I watch her swallow, then blink and quickly crawl out of my lap, sitting back in the passenger’s seat. I finally let out a deep breath.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” It’s a broken whisper.
“I don’t want you to ever apologize for suffering.” It comes out more harshly than I intend. I try to soften my tone. “There’s nothing wrong with letting yourself feel your emotions. It’s okay to be human. Let yourself
be human.”
It takes her a minute, like she needs to let my words find a place to live, but she eventually says, “Okay,” and I start my car.
“HOW’D THE APPOINTMENT go?” my mom asks when I walk in the front door. I know Peyton didn’t want me to say anything, but when she found me in my bedroom after Peyton broke the news, Mom wouldn’t let it go.
I drop my keys on the side table just inside the door and drag my hand through my hair. How did the appointment go? I’m exhausted just thinking about it. Please don’t make me think about it.
“Brodee,” she presses.
“Everything the doctor said sounded promising. She has to have surgery, but he sounded optimistic.”
“Then why do you look like you just signed her death certificate?”
I bite my trembling lip and take a deep breath. “Peyton’s not taking it well. The doctor might have to do a hysterectomy. The thought of not being able to carry her own children is hitting her pretty hard.”
My mom rests her hand over her heart as a layer of tears covers her eyes. I can’t handle seeing her cry, too. One woman I love a day. That’s all my heart can handle.
“Oh, Peyton…She’ll never…I just…I thought…” I can tell she’s not finishing her sentences because she’s hiding her thoughts from me, not because she can’t put into words what she’s feeling.
“Just say it, Mom.”
Her lips quiver. “She’ll never be able to carry your babies.”
I know I’ve already had that thought, but hearing it said out loud somehow makes it worse. I bite back my sadness. “She was never going to carry my babies anyway, Mom. They’re going to be Tyler’s. It’s time we all accept that. And Dr. Levanstine said he might be able to save her eggs if one of the ovaries hasn’t been affected, but he’ll have to go in to see what’s going on first.”
She swallows, brushes away the wetness on her face, and folds her arms over her chest. “Well, at least there’s that.”