“Yes, because I know how formidable you are. You’re a badass bitch, and cancer is a punk waiting for you to beat her ass. I’m going to hold your earrings and cheer for you the whole time.”
This gets a laugh out of me, before a lighter sob. I look into her eyes and see that she means it.
Can I really do this? Am I strong enough? My whole life flashes before my eyes, like it did in the office, and I see that I am. I’ve faced enough things to know she is right. I’m going to beat cancer, because how dare it try me. How dare it show up in my life and mess things up. I don’t care what it takes, there is no way in hell I’m going to lose this fight.
I sit up and wipe my eyes, trying to ease some of the strain that crying so long has brought them. Then I force myself to start to move forward.
“I’m going to move in with my dad and focus on fighting this.”
“Of course I’ll be here the whole way.”
“Thank you.” I look into her eyes and try to convey my gratitude. It’s all that I have to give at this point. The rest I’m rebuilding slowly to form an armor for this battle.
I know myself. I’ll be able to stand up and attack this head-on. I think I can do it.
But for right now, I let myself cry and mourn, and fall to pieces. And I let Farrah be there for it all. I know I should let Charlie be here too, but I can’t get myself to call him. So I push him to the side, like I’ve done everything else.
Chapter 10
Mydadcarriesthelast box from the truck up to my room. I stare at the empty moving van, a pit opening up in my gut.
“Okay, here we go,” I say.
Closing the gate, I close the chapter on my life in Los Angeles. Not sure if one day I will return to it, I prepare myself to have to forge a new path.
Going upstairs, I take the steps two at a time, while looking at the wall lined with the story of my life. Seeing all the smiles in the pictures, I hate myself for wondering if joy will still come that easily to me. I know I’m going to survive this, I just don’t know if I’ll be the same person I was before.
When I see my childhood bedroom packed full of everything I brought back with me, the feeling multiplies as I search for surety among the chaos.
“Well, that’s it,” my dad says, putting his hands on his hips.
I take in a shaky breath, refusing to let myself give in to my tears. My dad, on the other hand, hasn’t stopped crying since I told him. Even now, as he rubs the sweat off of his forehead, he brings his hands down to wipe at his eyes too.
“I’m fine,” I say for what feels like the millionth time.
Every person but Farrah who finds out about my condition calls me and expects me to make them feel better about it. My dad, damn near bawling his eyes out on the phone, keeps acting like this is a death sentence. Whatever happened to putting on a brave face? I know I’m trying to. I know I wake up every day ready to fight this. Why can’t everyone else?
“I know, baby girl, it’s just you are supposed to live longer than me.”
“I’m not dying,” I practically scream at him, my hands coming up to massage my temples.
“I know that, too. I just worry.”
Worst case scenario is so far off in the distance to me that I can’t bring myself to worry about if I die. Right now, I need to focus on the fact that in a few weeks, I will lose the ability to carry children. Again, I grab at my stomach like that will somehow stop whatever is coming next.
“I’m going to take off work,” he says, coming to sit on my bed.
“What for?”
“To support you.”
Used to being threatened that he will knock them out of my head, I stop my eyes from rolling.
“You can take off for the surgery, that makes sense, but the five rounds of chemo are going to take months. You can’t miss that much work.”
“But who is going to take you?”
“Farrah. She doesn’t have a job, so she is going to come back to stay with her parents until it’s all done.” My ride or die, she shows up even when I don’t want her to.
