The next morning, I’m happy to find Dad has respected my wishes and left Mom at the hotel, though I’m sure she didn’t protest. After speaking with Dr. Ramirez yesterday, he looks less forlorn, though he admits he carries guilt for not being more involved in our health and leaving it up to Mom, who, let’s face it, didn’t do a good job. I tell him I forgive him because I really do.
“Why can’t you forgive your mother too?” he asks.
“Because she doesn’t believe she did anything wrong.”
I’m relieved when Dad lets it go. I change the subject and tell him about all the people I have met besides Rory. He smiles when I describe how Mandy, Tlali, and Izel welcomed me and have kept my spirits up.
“This place suits you,” Dad says.
I smile. “It does. Doesn’t it?”
I tell him about Rory, though I only give him the PG version, and he laughs when I describe the confrontation between him and Chema.
“And he didn’t flinch?” he asks about Rory.
“Not even a little.”
Almost as if we had summoned him, Chema walks into my room. He hadn’t come back after I texted him that my parents were here. For obvious reasons, Mom and Dad loathe Chema.
Which is why it takes me by complete surprise when Dad stands and hugs Chema. Towering over Dad, Chema looks over his head at me. His eyebrows float up in question, and I can only shrug. I mouth, I have no idea.
The men part, and I take the somewhat happy opportunity to give Dad my one request.
“Dad, Chema has agreed to stay and help me out while I finish the last few weeks of treatment.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you,” Dad says.
“I love Valentina like family,” Chema reassures him. “I wouldn’t take any type of payment.”
“I’d like for you and Mom to go home—” I start to say.
“Out of the question.” Dad shakes his head like he can’t believe what I just asked him.
“Dad, please. Chema promises he’ll call if things go south. But if not, and everything goes like I’m hoping it will, then what’s the point of you and Mom being here, living in a hotel?” He’s unsure, so I drive it home. “You know if she comes back, we’ll just fight—and that’s the last thing I need right now.”
“Mija, I want to be with you.”
“I know, but I promise I’ll video call often, so it’ll be just like you are here.”
He reluctantly agrees after I swear I’ll keep him in the loop, but I see his relief to be able to get Mom away from me—like this is the one thing he can do for me, so he will do it.
Dad hasn’t done much for me in my life, but this small gesture means the world to me.
The olive branch extends from my hands, and he takes it in the first fatherly act of my adult life.
Chapter 16
After my parents’ departure, I stay in the hospital for two days during my next infusion. I spend the two days in bed without any energy. Luckily, it is Chema who sees me like this, and he keeps Rory at bay as much as possible, though the weasel sneaks in here and there.
On the third day, I have a burst of energy that Dr. Ramirez takes as an excuse to finally discharge me.
When we get to my apartment, I see Chema has made himself at home. He upgraded a bit of the decor so everything isn’t so cream and beige. There are burnt orange cushions on the sectional sofa and several clear food organizers on the kitchen counter displaying oats, nuts, and shredded coconut. A few abandoned takeout containers sit on the coffee table, and Chema’s many pairs of tennis shoes litter the carpeted floor. It’s a mess, and it feels more like home than it ever has.
We settle on the couch, and I grab the remote.
“Wanna watch a movie?” I ask.
“No. Actually, my telenovela is on now. Mind if we watch it?”
Telenovelas don’t appeal to me quite as much as they do to Chema, but I owe him too much to say no. “Sure. Which one is it?”
Chema takes the remote and fills me in excitedly. “It’s called Curvas Peligrosas. With Erica Moran. She’s that new actress who’s really popular right now.”
“The curvy one who looks like she just stepped out of a fifties movie?’
“That one! It’s so good.”
We are watching the show, and I soon realize she is an anti-hero. She uses men as boy-toys, and they call her the man-eater because no man can tame her heart. I can see why Chema loves the show so much. It breaks away from every telenovela trope I’ve ever encountered. The actress is stunning, and she is also plus-sized. Not that there aren’t gorgeous plus-sized actresses, but they usually play the best friend, not the main character.
I’m going over this character analysis in my head when I get a text from Rory.
Rory: Please don’t kill me.
Me: What? Why?
Rory: I swear it’s not payback for making me meet your parents.
Me: What did you do?
Rory: My parents want to meet you.
Me: Um, okay.
I don’t say I think it’s too soon to meet the parents or that him meeting mine was a fluke thanks to my sister, but fair is fair, after all. I take a deep breath.
Me: Okay. Set it up.
Rory: Already done. Open up.
Me: What?!
Rory: We’re downstairs. I’m so sorry. They insisted.
My heart races. “I’m going to kill him.”
Chema’s eyes don’t tear away from the screen as he asks, “Who?”
I snatch the remote and shut off the television.
“Hey, what gives?” Chema’s annoyed glare pins me.
“Pay attention. Rory’s downstairs.”
“So?”
“With his parents.”
“Okay . . .”
“Chema!” I whine. “This place is a mess!”
“Oh.” Realization lands on his face. “Oh. Shit. Sorry.” He kicks it into gear and picks up shoes from the floor and trash from the coffee table as quickly as he can. Everything gets tossed in his room. I’m not able to help with much, but I go over to the intercom to buzz them up.
“I’m going to take a nap,” Chema, the coward, tells me and shuts his bedroom door.
When I open the door, Rory stands in front of a couple a bit shorter than him, neither of whom is a redhead.
“Valentina, hi.”
“Come in, please.” I adjust my headscarf and straighten my sweatshirt.
“This is my Mom and Dad. This is Valentina,” says Rory as we stand awkwardly by the door.
“Oh, she is darling, Rory. You didn’t do her justice.” Rory’s mom takes me in for a hug that is so tight I have to suck in air. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Didn’t mean to crush you.”
“Hello, Mrs. Dennis. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“None of that nonsense. Call me Lisa. And this here is Tom.”
“Lisa. Tom,” I say and smile at them. “Please take a seat, make yourselves at home.”
Lisa Dennis has dark brown hair and a light-olive skin tone. Her eyes are brown, and she is short and stocky. Nothing about her looks like Rory. Tom Dennis is only a few inches taller than his wife, and both his hair and eyes are a dark brown that is almost black. Neither of them has Rory’s signature freckles.
“Your mom is right, son,” says Tom. “She’s a lot prettier than you said.”
“Dad! I’m sorry, Valentina. Don’t believe anything they say. They are both liars.”
I laugh. I’m glad I’m up for company today.
“I’m sorry to spring up on you like this,” says Lisa. “We wanted to surprise Rory with a visit, and he confessed he met someone special. He didn’t want us to meet, but then the weasel told us you are sick and alone and, well, we had to come check on you. He’s a sneaky one, dontchaknow.” Lisa shoots daggers at Rory with her eyes, and I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
It’s so strange to have his parents here and to have them so concerned about me—a complete stranger to them. I sear
ch Rory’s eyes for a possible explanation. Rory just shrugs, not understanding the question I failed to ask telepathically. He must have said something to them that made me seem important enough for them to want to check in on me. But wasn’t this move exactly like something Rory would do? He always shows up if he thinks I might need any help, whether he’s been invited or not. Now his parents are doing the same. He gets it from them, and I’m starting to understand that this is simply how his family operates. It’s intrusive . . . and loving.
Then I turn my focus to what his mom is saying. I remember Rory using that phrase before. Dontchaknow. The syllables running into each other like they are all one word. When he used the phrase, he had been talking about home. Now I know where he gets it.
I study Lisa with curiosity. I don’t understand what made them visit with such urgency once they found out I was sick. They don’t know me enough to care. What did you say to them, Rory?
“Oh dear,” says Lisa. “We’ve really put our foot in it, haven’t we? I only mean Rory’s been through enough in his life. If someone he cares about is ill, we want to be here for Rory.”
“And for you,” Tom says, looking at me.
“I, um—I don’t know what to say,” I admit. I look between the three of them, trying to find some sort of resemblance between Rory and his parents, but there is none.
There is no similar curve to his nose like Tom’s, and his wavy red hair couldn’t be further from his mom’s brown curls. I look like my mom—a lot, and still, I have a bit of Dad around the eyes.
“You haven’t told her,” Lisa says to Rory but keeps her gaze on me.
Rory shakes his head.
“Tell me what?”
“Well, we can get going if you two want to have a chat,” Tom starts to say, but Rory cuts him off.
“No. It’s fine. You can be here when I tell her.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m adopted,” Rory says. “It’s the rest of the scar story I promised I’d tell you one day.”
“Oh,” I say. “Wow. I mean, um. I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything, dear,” Lisa says. “We know he is our son, and so does he. There’s no difference if I carried him or if I didn’t. Rory Dennis is mine and Tom’s.”
Rory takes his mom’s hand in his, making me smile.
“I’m confused,” I say. “What does that have to do with the scar?”
“When my biological mother learned I had a heart defect and would need open-heart surgery as soon as I was born, she gave up her rights to me.”
“The poor thing was very young, and a sick baby was more than she could handle.” It’s nice to see Lisa doesn’t seem to carry any resentment toward Rory’s biological mother.
“At the time, we had been praying for a miracle,” Lisa continues. “When we got the news about him and that he had a heart condition, well that hurt as if he were ours. Because he was ours.”
Tom listens to his wife tell the story with a small smile, letting her do all the talking.
“Is that why you wanted to be a doctor, because of your heart?” I ask Rory.
He nods, and I imagine a teenage Rory, feeling rejected by his biological mother and wanting to be a doctor so no other child would have to go through the same thing.
“Why oncology, then?”
“The plan was pediatric cardiology, but then I came to Heartland Metro and met Dr. Ramirez.”
“Ah,” I say, understanding. “She inspired you.”
“Yeah. You could say that. I’ve had many passionate teachers before, but to her, fighting cancer is like a personal battle. She recruits physicians into oncology like she is drafting for war. She’s a force to be reckoned with.”
“No need to explain further,” I say. “You never stood a chance.”
Lisa and Tom both laugh like they already know everything Rory is saying and all about Dr. Ramirez. Does he talk to them about everything? I wonder what that’s like. To have parents you can speak with and who listen—parents who support your dreams, even when they change. Rory may be adopted, but his parents are closer to him than my biological ones ever will be to me.
Lisa stands, inviting herself to my kitchen. She opens the fridge door, and meeting with scarce options, declares it won’t do. In a blur, and before I can stop her, she goes into my room and comes out with a dirty clothes bin. “I’ll take care of these for you, dear,” she says.
I’m about to protest, but she glares at me with a look I don’t dare confront.
“It’s best if you just let it happen,” Tom says and winks at me.
“Tom, would you drive me to the grocery store? I want to fill the fridge and—” Lisa starts to say.
“It’s really not necessary. My friend Chema is staying with me. He’s helping.”
When I mention Chema, the corner of Rory’s eyes tighten a bit.
“I don’t see him anywhere,” says Lisa.
“He’s napping,” I say.
“Good. While he naps, I’ll get the laundry going and go get some things so I can make some soup.”
“Mom’s chicken noodle soup is magic,” Rory says.
“Uh . . . Thanks. For everything,” I say.
“You betcha, dear,” says Lisa with a smile.
Lisa and Tom say a quick goodbye and leave my apartment, though Rory lingers for a little while.
“I’m sorry about all that,” he says. “They mean well.”
“Don’t be. They are fantastic, Rory,” I say.
Rory smiles and plants the customary peck on my lips before leaving. It feels familiar already, like we’ve known each other for years, and this is how we part ways.
I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Rory was meant to be temporary. A tiny blip in my life, when everything was said and done. But somehow, he has already cared for me in my sickbed, met my parents, introduced me to his, and told me about his biological mother and his heart defect, which couldn’t have been easy for him.
He thinks this thing between us is serious.
It can’t be. Not unless I know I’m in the clear. If death weren’t staring down at me, I know I’d let this happen, but everything is so much more complicated because of my stupid, stupid cancer.
Rory beamed when he introduced his parents to me. He was so proud for us to meet. He was not scared like I was when I was forced to introduce him to mine. My life is much too complicated to let this happen. His feelings for me are growing, and I can’t break his heart.
I need to nip this in the bud.
Chapter 17
Rory pulls the wheelchair from the trunk and places it outside my door.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Rory asks.
I chuckle. “Yes. When you picked me up, remember?”
“Yeah. Right.”
He is lying through his teeth, but I know he’s just trying to make me feel good.
I dodged him after his parents went back to Minnesota, but we both committed to going on a date to Mandy’s art show. I figure I can break it off with him after one last date.
If I’m honest, I want to see him one last time. One last time when we are both happy.
I feel okay today and insisted I wouldn’t need the wheelchair, but Rory didn’t want to push my luck with my energy levels. At the tail end of treatment, I only have one week to go, and then all that’s left is to wait and see if it comes back. Finally leaving chemo and radiation behind me will be one of the best days of my life. I just hope I’m putting treatment behind me for the last time. I’m not sure I can put myself through this again.
I’m swimming in my wrap dress. I tied it as tightly as I could to make it seem more my size, though it’s not fooling anyone. Rory looks dashing in dark slacks and a maroon button-up shirt that makes his beautiful green eyes pop. I’m going to miss him, but I try to focus on one last night together, enjoying his company for now.
Rory pushes my wheelchair into the nearly-empty gallery. The
space has a modern vibe, and every wall is filled with colorful oversized landscapes and much smaller portraits.
Tlali and Izel huddle around Mandy, talking to a tall woman whom she introduces as the gallery manager and her art dealer, Debra.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
“You too, enjoy the show. I have to check on a few things,” Debra says and gets to work.
I turn to look at Mandy. “Are you nervous?” I ask.
Mandy nods. “A little. I’ve been working on this for so long. It’s always a little nerve-racking putting work out there, hoping no one will trash something you’ve poured your heart into.”
“It’ll be great; you’ll see.” Tlali half-hugs Mandy and rubs her shoulder. “The paintings are great. You’ll get rave reviews. I just know it.”
“Thanks. I hope you’re right,” Mandy says, and nervous isn’t a look that suits her.
Izel walks over to the hors d’oeuvre table and plops a tiny tart in her mouth, then grabs a glass of white wine. “You look good, Valentina,” she says. “I’m glad you felt up to it.”
“Me too. Thanks.”
A few more people trickle in, and Mandy leaves us so she can greet them. Izel and Tlali both make their way to various paintings to admire, and I ask Rory to push me around so I can see them all.
One half of the room is hung only with portraits. I recognize depictions of Tlali, Izel, and Mandy’s mom. The rest of the portraits are all women, though I don’t recognize any more of them. Mandy’s style is a bit abstract up close, but the further you step back, it’s almost photorealistic. I’m no art expert, but despite my untrained eye, I can tell these are good.
I’ve seen modern art before. I don’t understand most of it. A lot of it seems like things children would do, but somehow, Mandy has managed to merge classical-style painting with a modern twist. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.
“She’s really talented, isn’t she?” I say to Rory.
“She sure is,” he agrees. “One day, when I’m making a good salary, I’ll commission a portrait of you from her.”
Contusion Page 15