What's Left of Me

He gives me his full attention, and I can tell he means business when he speaks. “Name it.”

“No commitment. No strings. No questions. I have a lot going on, and I’m not looking for anything…” I trail off, searching for the right words. I don’t know what I’m looking for because, in truth, until this second, I wasn’t looking for anything. “Serious. And this”—I point between us—“whatever it may be, doesn’t affect our work relationship. I don’t like awkwardness, and I don’t want people talking about my personal life.”

“Wow, that’s more than one condition.”

“And, I think it’s best that people at work don’t know. I don’t want any confrontation.”

I take a calming breath, counting in my head. I don’t want to change my mind, but secretly I wish I could sneak away to call Jean. I know what comes with dating: talking, opening up about your dreams and aspirations, and sharing your deepest, darkest secrets. Things I’m not sure I can do.

“You have yourself a deal.”

I know I can do this. Date Parker. It’s just a few dates, like tonight. Wait, tonight wasn’t a date? Will he think it is now?

I tell myself that this will be good for me. Dating will give me something to look forward to. Parker gives me something to look forward to.

Chapter Nine

I’ve been dreading this day since my last round of chemo. I’m hooked up to the machine, getting my second round. On top of the Zofran I’ve been given to help eliminate the nausea, Dr. Olson put in an order for another drug to try during my session today in hopes of not getting as sick as last time. Two hours in and I feel just fine. The nurse keeps coming over to check on me, but I dismiss her each time.

Genna offered to come with me, but I told her I’d be okay going alone, and that I’d call her if I needed anything. I’m confident that doubling-up on anti-nausea medications will prevent me from throwing up during my appointment. I’m thankful that, after my meltdown about driving, Genna and Jason have let up and are allowing me more freedom. It’s progress, but I still hate the feeling of needing permission to do stuff.

I pass the time talking with my parents on the phone and texting with Jean. My mom tells me that they are coming to see me in a few weeks. They’re trying to rearrange their work schedules so they can take a week instead of just coming for the weekend. They haven’t been here since they helped me move, but they make sure to call me all the time.

Jean: What are you doing next Saturday?

Me: Nothing. What did you have in mind?

Jean: I got tickets to a concert in Minneapolis. Some local rock band. Want to go?

Me: Yes!

I’m not much into rock, but I am desperate to get away. To have another night out.

Jean: Awesome! I have four tickets, so bring your boy toy.

Me: Boy toy?

Jean: Yeah. Or is it loverboy now?

Me: Lol. Neither.

Jean: Ask him if he has plans. We can have dinner before or something. Maybe get a hotel if you want? We’ll figure it out.

Me: Umm, sure.

Jean: Yay!! :) How is it going with him anyway?

Me: Good …

Jean: That’s good! I’m happy for you Dre, really!

Things are good with Parker, I think. I mean, after our date he dropped me off at the house. He didn’t try to kiss me. He held my hand as he walked me to the door, then gave it a quick peck before leaving. Genna and Jason were, of course, waiting up for me as if they were parents waiting for their teenage daughter to get home. Genna asked a million questions. Jason was only concerned about Parker being respectful. There was never a doubt. His questions didn’t get a response. Just an eye roll.

After staying up past one talking with them, I sent Jean a quick message about the date. I wasn’t surprised she was still up. We went back and forth until I fell asleep with my phone stuck in my hand. I woke up the next morning with a half-written text to her on the screen.

Parker calls once on Wednesday after I get home from the hospital, but I don’t answer.

He texts a few times Thursday and I reply briefly, not extending the conversation. I’m too tired to lift my hand and bring a glass to my mouth, let alone send a text message. The medication I got for nausea helps, but it doesn’t take it away completely. There are times, no matter the position I’m in, where it feels as if I’m on a spinning carnival ride that won’t let me off.

I don’t hear from him on Friday.

I can’t do anything aside from lie on the couch or in my bed. I’m beyond lethargic. Jason and Genna watch me like a hawk, not leaving my side except to get food or use the bathroom. Genna sleeps in either the chair next to me while I sleep on the couch, or on the leather couch in my room while I sleep in the bed. I’ve tried to get her to go to bed in her own room, but she refuses.

Genna continues to force broth down my throat, but it seriously smells like old, musty juice mixed with chicken fat. It is horrible. One sniff of that and I’m instantly throwing up. She assures me it is brand new and just fine, but after yelling at her to get it out of my face, she takes the hint and returns with cherry Jell-O. Just the sight of it makes me ill. She doesn’t even try to give me any, turning on her heel and bringing back water and soda crackers.

By late Saturday afternoon, I still haven’t heard from Parker. I decide to send him a text to check in.

Me: Hey.

He responds immediately.

Parker: Hey yourself.

Me: How are you?

Parker: Good. You?

Me: Ok. I just wanted to say hi.

Parker: Hi.

I wait a while to see if he sends me anything else, but he doesn’t. Flustered, I throw my phone on the opposite side of the couch. He must be really busy and can’t text back. Or maybe he’s mad that I was short with him the other day? I don’t know why I care so much.

“What’s the matter? Fighting with your phone?” Genna asks, coming into the living room and handing me a cup of black tea. I set it on the floor next to me. I’m too hot to drink tea.

“No. I’m exhausted. I hate just lying here. I’m bored, but I have no energy to want to get up and do something.”

“Want me to read a book to you? Or we can watch some Sex and the City or Dexter?”

“No.”

I’m sweating, so I rip my wig off. “I hate this stupid thing!” I say as I toss it to the floor.

“You know you don’t have to wear it when you’re home.”

“Yeah, I know.” I’m irritated. Like she doesn’t tell me this all the time? Well, sorry, sister dear, that you have long, beautiful, shiny hair. Sorry I don’t. Sorry I want to feel like I do!

“Dre, come on. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m fine. Can you please turn the air on or something? It’s freaking hot in here. I’m sweating.”

“The air? It’s almost October.”

“Please, Genna. You say you want to help me? Make me comfortable? Just this one time I’m asking something. Please, turn the air on for me.” I can handle feeling cold. Cold is easy. I can always add on layers until I’m nice and toasty. But feeling hot? It’s a horrible feeling. No matter what I do or strip off, I can’t cool down fast enough.

“Sure.” She gets up from the chair, but she doesn’t come back until hours later. By then, I’m sucked into my latest book. It’s young adult, but so damn good. I actually feel a little dirty crushing on the seventeen year old hottie.

“Hey, you okay?” Genna asks as she picks up my feet and sits in their place.

“Yes, you?” I ask, taking in her attire. She’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt, a scarf, and mittens.

“I’m fine. It’s pretty cold in here, though. You sure you’re okay?”

“I said yes.”

“Just checking.”

“Where have you and Jason been?”

“The garage.” They have a heated garage, so it doesn’t surprise me that’s where they would be. Jason put a full-sized fridge, small TV, and microwave in there last summer, so I don’t feel too bad for driving them out. They have everything they need to keep them occupied for a few hours.

I nod my head, then turn back to my Kindle.

“Jason invited the guys over to play poker in there tonight. Do you mind if I turn the air off now so I can stay in here?” I give her a blank look, and she quickly adds, “Or can I turn it down some? I know you’re hot, but it’s literally freezing in here.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m good. I’m actually just really tired and was going to head to bed anyway. You can turn it off.”

“Bed? It’s only six.”

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“You sure? I could make us something to eat?”

I give her a weak smile. “Thanks, but really, I’m just tired.” I really am tired, but I mainly want to get behind a closed door where it’s private so that I can strip naked and lie down on my bed with the fan blowing on me. I experienced hot flashes with past treatments and even though I was expecting them this round it doesn’t make them any easier to handle.

“Okay. Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

It takes me awhile, but eventually I find the strength to lift myself up off the couch. The first few days of chemo are the worst. The fatigue that overtakes me is unstoppable. It’s as if my body is taken over by something else. I can’t move a muscle without feeling like it’s attached to a forty-pound weight. Then, when I’m able to take a step, it’s like I’m made of Jell-O and my limbs will detach at any given moment.

My breathing speeds up as I finally get to a standing position. I know Genna all too well—her closeness is not a coincidence. She’s waiting for the opportunity to touch my elbow or waist. She’ll try to make it seem like an accident the first time, but the second time she’ll linger.

I push myself forward and around her, slowly making my way into my newly located bedroom, holding the wall as I do, and trying not to let the spinning in my head take over. Jason moved my room to the space that was once the office. He and Genna thought it would be easier for me to be on the first floor, especially for the days following treatments. To their faces, I made out like it was no big deal for me to go up and down the stairs, but silently I was relieved because I didn’t know how I was going to be able to do it again after last time.

Genna comes in after I’ve made it to my bed, handing me two cold washcloths, an ice pack, and my Kindle. “Here. I know you’re still hot. I know you won’t, but please yell if you need me.” She turns and leaves.

I rub my face and head with the cold washcloth while I soak in the cold from the ice pack on the back of my neck. When I get comfortable on my bed, I turn my Kindle back on and continue reading where I left off, even if it’s just for a little bit. Besides tomatoes, the one thing I hate most in this world is being interrupted while reading a good book.

I wake up to laughter coming from outside my door. The office—or my room, or whatever it is—is located just off the main living room, down a small hallway and across from the guest bathroom.