“Yes. It isn’t supposed to be this way. You’re so young. So healthy. So . . . good. You aren’t supposed to get cancer. Everything is all wrong.”
“Rory—” I try to interject, but he won’t let me.
“I wasn’t supposed to find someone I—” His voice cracks, and he has to swallow several times before he can speak again. “Only for her to have to go through this—”
I close my eyes because I don’t want to see Rory cry, and he seems to be on the brink. This is why I haven’t told anyone about the cancer. I don’t want this pity. I don’t want it from him either.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is firmer now. I dare to peek at him again, and all signs of incoming waterworks are gone. I relax and lean into my pillows. “It’s just, I’ve seen this disease so much. I know what you’re going through, more than probably even you do. I’ve never experienced cancer myself, but being on the other side of it, in this seat, I feel so fucking helpless, Valentina.”
I let his words sink in and try to piece together what he is saying. I can’t square this side of his personality with the man who, not too long ago, on hearing my diagnosis, laughed with me at his jokes about being an oncologist dating a cancer patient. His seriousness reaches a degree that leaves me uncomfortable.
I’m already in a somber mood after losing a big patch of hair this morning. Add to that happy-go-lucky Rory suddenly grim and I grow worried, really worried, that I am going to die from this. This is just too many bad omens for one day, not that I’ve ever believed in omens before.
“Look,” I say. “Um. I’ve had a bad day. I appreciate you stopping by, saying hi, but I really want to be alone now.”
“Yeah, um. I’ll stop by after your surgery, okay?”
I nod, and he leans over me to place a short, sweet kiss on my lips.
“Bye, Rory.”
I’m in the worst mood when Sara walks into my room, pushing a cart. I can’t stand her bubbly personality today. But she’s been amazing to me, and I don’t dare be rude to her. Dr. Ramirez walks in shortly after. As much as I love her, I’m starting to hate seeing her. She only ever comes to me with horrible news.
“Good morning,” I say, but Dr. Ramirez only smiles. “What?” I ask, confused at why these women are in my room so chipper.
Dr. Ramirez places some items on the counter in front of my bed. A few seconds later, Girls Like You by Maroon 5 and Cardi B fills my room from what I can now see is a speaker on the counter. I sit up on my bed, confused at what’s happening, and then prim and proper Dr. Carolina Ramirez starts dancing. Dancing. Dr. Ramirez—dancing. Her moves are a bit spazzy, but I can tell she is having fun.
When I turn to find Sara in my room to ask her what the hell Dr. R took, I realize Sara is also dancing. Several other nurses who have worked with me poke their heads in for just a moment to sing one line of the song’s chorus. I throw my head back in laughter.
They are trying to cheer me up. They don’t care if they look like fools doing it. Then Rory sticks his head in and sings the chorus directly at me. My face hurts from all the smiling, then I panic. Dr. Ramirez is looking at me with an eyebrow slightly raised.
The song ends and rolls straight into the next one as Sara uncovers her cart’s contents: hair clippers. I nod at her with understanding and permission. She wraps me in a cape with raised edges to catch my hair, and Dr. Ramirez takes me by surprise and starts painting my toenails.
I appreciate what they are trying to do. They’re treating me like any other girlfriend on any other day—not the sick person I am. There is no pity in their eyes as Sara leaves me bald. They keep singing until they run out of energy and turn their attention to boys.
If I could have had the guarantee my family would act like this around me, like I was still me, I would have told them.
I worry a bit as they keep talking about the men in their lives. First, because Dr. Ramirez implies that Sara’s boyfriend isn’t a good guy. Then I worry they are going to ask me about any romantic partners. I’m not sure I could lie to them after what they are doing for me.
Dr. Ramirez is so focused on painting my nails, she never notices Dr. Medina standing at the counter by the nurses’ station, watching as she and Sara tried to cheer me up. I have a clear view of him through my open door. He smiles at me and brings a finger to his lips, asking for my silence. I gave a quick, discreet nod, and he stays there, his eyes glued to Dr. Ramirez as she works to cheer me up. It seems I’m not the only one with a secret doctor crush at this hospital. I smile at Dr. Ramirez. Not until they are nearly done and putting away all the supplies does Dr. Medina sneak away unnoticed.
Sara and Dr. Ramirez leave, and though my spirits are a bit lighter than they had been before they came, I’m left exhausted. Even talking as much as we did today took it out of me.
I rummage through my purse to pull out my pocket mirror. I’m not a vain person, and I have never paid any particular attention to my hair, but it was beautiful. I say ‘was’ because Sara just walked away with all of it in a trash bag.
I take a deep breath and remove the blue silk scarf Dr. Ramirez tied around my head. I steel my spine as I unfold the mirror in my hand and take a peek at my new reality.
To be honest, it’s not bad. I mourn the loss of such beautiful, lush, thick hair, but the baldness gives me a certain edge. I almost look dangerous. Thinking of the future, I realize it might be a good look for the cage if I ever get back to it. The way a fighter looks can certainly affect an opponent’s perception and potentially throw them off their game.
Yes. Bald is the best fighting look.
Chapter 12
“You ready?” Rory asks.
“For what?”
“We’re going home today.” He smiles warmly.
“We?”
“Yeah, well, I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t need any help, Rory.” I sound about as annoyed as I feel.
The scarf Dr. Ramirez and Sara brought over to cover my head helps a bit, but I’m not ready for him to see me bald.
“No, you don’t need help, but I would like to see you home. Make sure you’re good.”
“Rory,” I let out a long breath.
“Please, Valentina. I worry about you being alone, and I’ll feel better seeing you settled.”
His brows are knitted together, and his longish hair is mussed. His boyish demeanor is long gone, replaced with sunken eyes like he hasn’t slept in a while. He’s been worried about me. Suddenly, my annoyance feels out of place. “Okay,” I relent. “You can drive me home, get me settled. But that’s it.” This surgery was more invasive, and I’ll have a larger scar than my other laparoscopic ones from before. I can anticipate more pain than before as well.
His smile is crooked, and barely a trace of his typically wide grin, but it’s something. “Thank you,” he says.
When we get to my apartment, Rory makes my bed and inspects my fridge. I know he is trying to determine if he needs to shop for me, and I hate that all I can be is angry.
We went from hot lovers to something else, though what that something is has not been defined yet. Is he my doctor and I his patient? Is he acting like a parent? Or worse still—am I his charity case? Long gone is the sexiness of our first day together. I almost wish I had stuck to my original idea and not given him my number to begin with.
I don’t say any of this to Rory because ultimately, I understand he means well. He is caring and thoughtful and wants to take care of me. Now I’m mad at myself for being angry, and it’s giving me a headache.
The medication bottle rests on the counter, and I grab for it.
Rory doesn’t miss it. “Is the incision site hurting?” he asks.
“No. Just a bit of a headache,” I say. After taking two pills, I go to my room, and Rory follows. He kicks off his shoes and lies next to me.
If he’s going to insist on bugging me, then it is high time for him to give up some information himself. This couldn’t continue to be
as one-sided as it has been so far.
“It’s time,” I say.
“Time for what?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me on your own, but you haven’t, so I’m forced to ask.”
“Ah,” he says. “You want to know about my scar?”
I nod. “You know more about me than I ever wanted you to know.”
“That wasn’t by design,” he says.
“I know, but if you’d like to tell me, I really want to know why your chest was cracked open.”
He turns on his side to look at me before he speaks. “I was born with a heart defect,” he says. “I have what’s called a pericardial patch on my heart.”
“That’s a pretty big scar if you got it when you were a baby,” I say as I trace my finger over his chest where I picture the scar under his shirt.
“Good eye. When I turned eighteen, it had to be revised. I was growing, and so was my heart.”
“You outgrew the patch?”
“Exactly.”
“Open-heart surgery both times?” I ask.
Rory nods.
“Will it have to be revised again?”
“More than likely. Eventually, it will wear out.”
My own heart skips a beat, and my mouth goes dry and not because of dehydration. Rory must see the worry plain on my face because he reaches to smooth out the crinkle between my eyebrows with his thumb.
“My cardiologist keeps a good eye on it. You don’t have to worry,” he says.
I purse my lips, and I can’t tear my gaze from his chest.
“Is that why you became a doctor?” I ask.
“Mostly,” he says.
“And?”
“And what?”
“You said mostly, so there’s another reason.”
He sighs.
“You’re intimately acquainted with my medical chart, and with noises you shouldn’t be familiar with this soon in the relationship. I think I deserve to know why you became a doctor,” I say.
Rory grins, pleased with himself. I have no doubt it was me referring to us as being in a relationship that has him smiling. “Oh, grow up,” I say, rolling my eyes.
His smile is gone when he speaks again. “I promise you’ll know that part of me. Probably sooner than later, but do you think you can be a little bit patient?”
“It’s not really my strong suit,” I say dryly.
Rory scoffs. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a little bullheaded,” he says.
“Occupational hazard.”
Looking at Rory in my bed under the current circumstances makes my blood boil. The anger is quickly followed by guilt about being angry when nothing is his fault. Nothing is my fault. Nothing is our fault.
None of that is true. It’s all my fault. If had only . . . so many things. If I had gotten my pap test when I was supposed to, or if I had gone to the doctor when the back pain started.
But I was built and trained to push through pain. It was nothing, I convinced myself, until it was too hard to ignore.
It’s also my parent’s fault because there is a vaccine for this cancer. If only they had agreed to get me the vaccine. Why won’t parents give their children a cancer vaccine if it’s available? My parents had only daughters. They should have known better. And even if they’d had only boys, they should have gotten the vaccine for them to protect their future girlfriends and wives. But who am I kidding? If we had been boys, we probably would have gotten the vaccine.
My family is estranged to begin with, but my resentment played a massive part in not telling my family what is happening to me.
Now, I’m lying in a bed with a wonderful man I wish I could keep, knowing I can’t—a lover who gave me a taste of the life that still awaits. A lover I can’t make love to.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Where’s that head at?” He smooths his fingers over my forehead again, and I blink my tears away.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“What do you have to be sorry for?”
“You’re in my bed . . . and—I want to want you, but . . .”
“But you don’t,” he says.
I shake my head. “No. Sorry.”
“Oh, Valentina. I know how this goes. Your sex drive will come back eventually. You have to be patient.”
“Even if I had my sex drive,” I explain, “I wouldn’t want to. Not while I look like this.” I avert his gaze, and Rory reaches to scoot me to him. His arm wraps around my waist, and he kisses my forehead.
“You silly woman. You’re so beautiful, dontcha know. If you ask me, losing your hair and getting a little pale is only fair to other women.” He chuckles. “They have a slightly more level playing field, but even then, you shine over all of them.”
“You’re just saying that.”
Rory shakes his head. “Not even a little.”
“It’s hard for me to tell when you are joking, being sarcastic, or being serious.”
“Always assume I’m serious and I’m joking. It’s that pesky sarcasm you gotta look out for.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” I scoff.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Rory asks.
“Sure,” I say.
“Mind if I take your apartment key and make a copy? I’d feel better that if you were to need anything, I could come in.”
“That’s sweet, but Rory, I’m feeling really weird about you taking care of me so much. We hardly know each other.”
“I disagree. We know each other intimately.”
I narrow my eyes, but he continues.
“I know, for example, that you prefer when I bestow attention on your left breast over your right. When I tease your left nipple, your back arches, and your toes curl. Nothing happens with the other one—”
“Oh, my, god, Rory!” I laugh—this man.
“I know you’re embarrassed by your morning breath—don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking to brush your teeth. I know you drink your coffee black but prefer it sweet. You’ve added increasing amounts of sugar each time we’ve had coffee together,” he explains. “I know you have a lot of anger, and that’s partly why you don’t want your family to know you are here—”
“I—”
“I know that you’re too stubborn and bullheaded to ask for help,” his eyebrow arches high above the rim of his glasses when he says this. “And I know you don’t feel beautiful bald, but I need you to know that you’re more beautiful than ever—especially to me.”
A sensation I can’t identify lodges in my throat, and I have no words. What do you say to a beautiful man who says the most beautiful and comforting words? Nothing, that’s what. You just hold on tight to that man.
Rory’s comforting arms envelop me as I fall asleep, drawn in by the warmth radiating from his body. I don’t know how long I’ve slept when movement in my living room wakes me.
The footfalls of more than one person alert me, and I hear voices. What the hell? Rory is not next to me anymore, so at least one of the voices has to be him.
I sit up and wince at the pain at the surgical incision. Looking at my phone, I realize I missed taking the last dose of my pain medication.
I readjust my headscarf that fell off while I slept. “Rory?” I say as I walk to my living room.
The apartment door is ajar, and Rory talks to another man who is bringing in a duffle bag. They both turn to face me as I walk over to them.
“Valentina, I’m sorry. Did we wake you?”
“It’s okay. I had to take my meds anyway. What’s going on?”
“Uh,” Rory cups the back of his neck like he does anytime he is nervous. “This is my roommate, Neil. Neil, this is Valentina.”
The tall, dark, and handsome man, who reminds me of Mandy’s Chris, sets the duffel on the floor and extends his hand. His black eyes shine as he looks between Rory and me, and his grin spreads wide on his face. “Nice to meet you,” he says, “Neil Campbell.”
Neil’s face turns to concern. “Are you in pain?” he asks.
I scoff. “Great. Let me guess. Another doctor?”
Neil chuckles and nods. “Yeah, but I’m in the surgery department.”
Rory wastes no time in getting to my side. “Are you in pain?”
I nod. “I didn’t wake up in time for pain meds.”
Rory rushes to the cabinet, searching for them while Neil grabs my hand and leads me to the couch. “This all right?” he asks as he props a cushion behind my back.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Rory offers a glass of water and two pills. I smile and take them. “Rory?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are there bags in my living room?”
“Okay, please don’t get mad.”
“Somehow, that statement alone makes me mad—”
“Well, that’s everything from the car,” Neil says. “I’m going to get going, man.” He claps his hand on Rory’s back and shakes his head as I watch him leave the apartment.
“Spit it out, Dennis,” I say with little patience.
“You need help.”
“I can hire a nurse.”
“I can help while you get the nurse hired, and even then, the nurse won’t be here twenty-four hours a day. You had major surgery. You shouldn’t be alone, at least the first few days.”
Looking between the bags and Rory, realization of what he has done sets in. My eyes widen with horror. No. He can’t. I won’t let him.
“So you moved in with me?”
“Well, um—” He at least has the grace to avert his eyes. “Just temporarily,” he says.
“You didn’t think you’d have to run that by me?”
“You have the extra room—”
It’s barely a whisper as I manage to tame my anger. “Get out.”
“Val—”
“Out, Rory! I don’t want you here for this.”
“Valentina, no.”
He tries to stand his ground, but I know he sees the depth of my anger in my eyes. I stand and take a step toward him. He rears back only one step as he shakes his head.
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