What's Left of Me

“Don’t you have animals to see?”

“Nope. Lucky for you, I’m all done for the day.”

Knowing I won’t get out of this, I cross my arms and lean away from him in the chair. If there’s anything I learned in psychology, it’s body language. Maybe my unwelcoming gesture will give him the hint that I’m not in the mood for discussing my personal life.

When I don’t speak, Parker takes it upon himself to start asking questions. “Let’s start with an easy one. How old are you? I know you’re legal to drink.”

“Twenty-one. How about you?” I think it’s only fair to ask him the same. Besides, I’ve wanted to know this question since the first night.

“Not so fast. This is your interview.”

I roll my eyes.

“What brings you to Rochester with your sister and Jason?”

This is an easy question. It’s one I’ve already thought about when I had to come here. “School.” I don’t elaborate any further.

“Huh. What’s your major?”

“Astrophysics.”

“Wow. That’s not one you hear every day. What made you want to get into that?”

“Considering it’s the study of the universe, planets, and stars, I would say astronomy,” I say with a bite. I have a tendency to be sassy every now and then.

“Huh, okay, smart ass. We’ll come back to that. What interests you?”

You. “Lots of things.”

“You’re single, correct?” he presses.

Whoa! Not the question I was expecting next.

“That’s a personal question. Last I checked, personal questions are not allowed during interviews.”

“This isn’t the typical interview. You’re already hired, and I think I’m entitled to that one.” His voice dips down to a barely audible whisper before he continues, “After all, you did sleep with me. I need to know who I’m up against … if anyone.”

Just then, Shannon walks in, “How’s it going in he—”

Saved by the bell! She stops mid-sentence when she sees Parker.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She doesn’t hide the humor in her voice, or the wiggling of her eyebrows as she backs out of the office.

Before Parker or I can respond, she’s out the door.

“Well, looks like our time is up. I gotta get finished up here before Jason gets back,” I tell him.

Parker stands. He places both hands on the desk and leans over so he’s mere inches from my face. “This conversation isn’t finished.” He winks at me and turns away.

I sink back into the chair, throwing my head back.

I’m screwed.

That evening, Jason is out for his volleyball league, so Genna and I decide to have ladies’ night. This usually includes wine, movies, and gossip, but tonight it consists of watching Genna eat ice cream, and lots of it.

“You didn’t tell me about your day?” Genna asks from the opposite end of the couch. She has her back against the armrest and her legs resting on top of my thighs.

“It was good. I just scanned charts. I didn’t get that many in, but Jason didn’t seem to mind.” I realize I didn’t feel tired once when I was talking with Parker me. It didn’t even faze me that my legs or arms didn’t feel like rubber. I felt good. Really good.

Genna holds out her spoon full of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate syrup, gesturing for me to take a bite.

I shake my head no. My mouth is still sore, and I don’t have much of an appetite. Not even for ice cream.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, it’s taking everyone a long time to get those records transferred. Have you decided what you’re doing tomorrow yet?” she asks, taking the bite she offered me.

“I think I might go in just for a half day. Jason said he’d bring me home after the morning. I didn’t see any of the other staff there besides Shannon or Parker, so it will be nice to see everyone before they get too busy.”

“Parker, huh? How was he today?” she asks with glee.

“He seemed … good. I mean … I didn’t really talk to him much.” I fumble for my words.

“Interesting.”

“Why do you say it like that?” I look up at her and see the smirk she’s hiding with the wine glass as she takes a sip. Yes, my sister is strange, having wine with ice cream but, as she says, “It’s called dessert wine. Ice cream is a dessert.”

“Nothing. It just seems like maybe you’re into him.”

“What! I am not.”

“It’s okay if you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay … but if you are, just know I will support you.”

“I know.”

“And, it’s okay to tell him about your cancer.”

Why? So he can treat me like everyone else? As if I’m fragile?

“Genna, I am not telling him, or anyone here who doesn’t know, about my cancer. Don’t you get that? I just want to be me.”

“Aundrea, you will always be you.”

“No, I won’t. I will always be known as the girl with cancer unless I make it clear beforehand that there is more to me.”

“Aundrea, you don’t have to be scared to tell people about it.”

“I’m not! Why does everyone always think I’m scared? Is it too much to ask to just be treated normally for once?”

“Okay. I’ll drop it.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

As if someone’s ears were burning, my phone beeps with a Facebook friend request. Parker. I can’t accept it. I don’t want him reading the comments from my friends and family. My parents wanted me to start one of those blogs where I update my progress with my Hodgkin’s and where I’m at with treatment. It’s too depressing having to write out all the details, so I don’t. Instead, I get daily messages or posts asking how I’m doing.

My inbox shows I have one new message.

Parker: Are you going to ignore my request?

Me: Were your ears burning?

Parker: Are you thinking about me still?

Me: No. Genna and I were just talking about you.

I don’t get another message from him, so I go back to talking to Genna about her day and what her plans are for the rest of the week.

My phone beeps again, but this time it’s a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: I like to know I am the topic of discussion.

Me: Who is this?

Unknown Number: How many other men are you talking about tonight?

It’s Parker, but I don’t recall giving him my number. I’m a little giddy that he found a way to get it.

Me: Scott?

Unknown Number: Who is Scott?

Me: Mike?

Unknown Number: Not funny

I laugh at the idea of messing with him.

Me: I thought so. How did you get my number?

Unknown Number: I have my ways.

I don’t see him going to Jason for it, so it must have been Shannon or the new-hire paperwork I filled out today.

Adding him to my contacts, I tell Genna I’m tired and heading to bed. Really, I just don’t want her to see me blush over Parker.

Me: Of course you do. What do you want, Parker?

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I strip out of my clothes, putting on some shorts and a tank to sleep in. Once I’m changed, I take off my wig, then grab my phone to read his reply.

Mr. Handsome: You

Oh. Shit.

It’s okay. Be calm. Act like his text doesn’t affect you at all. Does he want me to come over? Fuck, I am so screwed if he asks me to come over. Play it off, Aundrea.

Mr. Handsome: Am I going to see you tomorrow?

Me: I’m thinking about it.

Mr. Handsome: Please.

Me: Ohh … Begging are you.

And now I’m flirting. Great.

Mr. Handsome: No. But you will be.

Oh boy.

Me: I don’t beg.

Mr. Handsome: Oh, I’ve heard you beg.

Okay, this is not going in the direction I planned.

Me: Yes. I will be there tomorrow, but only for the morning, and not because you’re asking. It’s because I don’t have anything else to do.

Mr. Handsome: I have something for you to do.

I bet you do.

Me: Yes, I know. Scan charts.

Mr. Handsome: Nope.

Me: ???

Mr. Handsome: Me.

Fuck me …

I stare at my phone. Who am I kidding? I know it will only be a matter of time before we sleep together again. Maybe I just need to get him out of my system. There is nothing wrong with two consenting adults ...

Okay, on second thought, it’s not a good idea to get involved with him.

Mr. Handsome: I don’t hear you saying no. See you tomorrow, Aundrea. *wink*

Him and his damn winks! I fall back onto my bed, pulling my pillow over my face and letting out a muffled scream.

Chapter Seven

I’ve never understood why women spend so much time in the mornings putting on makeup, doing their hair, or picking out the right outfit, especially if it’s all for a guy, but here I am, standing in my closet for God knows how long looking for a shirt to wear. Since when did picking out clothes and accessories become so difficult?

Picking out a simple yellow shirt with elbow-length sleeves and a lace back, I go for my signature black leggings and plain stud earrings. Now, I know leggings are not hot or attractive, but they are so damn comfortable and that’s all I’m about these days. Comfort.

After double-checking that my hair is in place, I make my way downstairs.

“How did you sleep?” Jason asks, handing me a banana as I sit down at the table to join them.

“Great! I couldn’t have slept better.”

Jason gives a tiny nod before going back to reading the newspaper.

“I’m glad to hear you’re back to sleeping through the night,” Genna says, beaming.

I peel my banana and take a bite, noticing that my canker sores have already improved with the medication I’ve been taking.

I want to tell Genna the truth. How I couldn’t shake the burning sensations in my feet and toes. How all night, it felt as if a thousand needles were poking me nonstop. How no matter what I tried the tingles would not go away, and this morning it’s as if the sensations never happened. But I can’t tell her. Because if I tell her, she’ll make me report my symptoms to Dr. Olson who will want to discuss changing my medication or dosages. I can’t go through a change in my drugs. I’m not a lab rat, and I hate feeling like one.

Jason clears his throat. “I have some surgeries this afternoon, so I’ll drive you back here around 11:30 if that’s okay, Aundrea? Unless you,” he pauses, looking at Genna, “can pick her up?”

Before I let Genna answer, I speak up, “Why don’t I just drive myself? I’m feeling well enough to drive. I’m tired, yes, but I’m feeling better. The medication I got is working.”

They look back and forth at one another, and I can see the passing of silent words with their eyes. It pisses me off because they’re making me feel like a child who needs permission to do anything.

Standing up abruptly from the table, I shove my chair back with my leg. “My God, I have cancer! I’m not disabled!”