Goodbye to You Page 14

  Also, she’s not super-messy, but not exactly organized and neat, so for her to be so domestic is sketchy.

  While she’s occupied with laundry, I get up and start organizing her pile of mail and paperwork stacked on the kitchen table. We ate our take-out from the coffee table since the kitchen table is a disaster.

  I start sorting into piles: bills, catalogs and magazines, and obvious junk. I find a few pieces of unopened mail from the NCU Women’s Hospital, and some pamphlets I’m not sure what to do with. I glance at one of the pamphlets and the title surprises me.

  Options for Breast Reconstruction after Mastectomy.

  I don’t understand.

  Wait.

  Her mother died. Her sister underwent chemo.

  Thea’s going to make sure the same doesn’t happen to her.

  Now her constant desire for me to touch her breasts makes sense. Like she wants to imprint the memory of those sensations on her brain, to recall later when she no longer has her own mammary tissue.

  She comes back from the laundry closet outside her bedroom door, basket of whites in arms.

  I grit my teeth and hold up the booklet. “What’s this?”

  She gasps and drops the basket.

  Pinpricks stab my brain and tension creeps up my shoulders to my neck.

  I think I already know the answer to my question. The real question is, will she tell me the truth?

  “Why-what the hell are you doing going through my stuff?” She stomps over and rips the papers from my hands, the force of her motion stinging my fingers with paper cuts.

  “Going through your…you were helping me do my laundry. We can’t even eat at the table, so I was trying to be helpful and clean up a little for you.”

  “I don’t need you to clean up after me,” she snaps.

  “And I told you not to do my laundry, but you insisted. I was returning the favor for your help. Forgive me for trying to clean up this rat’s nest.”

  Her jaw drops.

  I’m not the mean kind. I get no pleasure from hurting people. But she’s holding something back, something huge. I’m hurt and lashing out.

  Her face softens and her eyes are shimmering with unshed tears.

  Way to be a grade-A idiot, Kelly.

  “Shay, I-I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

  “Talk to me about what, exactly?”

  “I—can we sit down?”

  I nod stiffly, and move to the sofa.

  She’s avoiding eye contact again. If she looks at me, will I see guilt, or deception?

  “Shay…” Her breath shudders on my name. “I’m having a prophylactic—that means preventative—mastectomy. In a few weeks.”

  My mouth falls open. My limbs turn to stone, and my heart is on the verge of exploding. A bark of laughter erupts from my throat. What an inappropriate reaction.

  She eyes me warily. Peals of hysterical laughter echo off the walls.

  “No. No.” I shake my head so hard my brain rattles around in my skull. “No way.”

  I jump up and pace the short hall, throwing my hands in the air.

  She follows, but I hold my arms out. She stops dead in her tracks.

  A mass of vipers slither in my stomach, hot and heavy and sickening.

  My jaw tenses as I grit my teeth again. My face is on fire. My nails bite into my palms as my hands curl into fists.

  The bubble of anger swelling in my chest erupts.

  “What the fuck, Thea?” My voice shakes as I pound my fist into the wall, leaving a dent.

  Her eyes grow wide. I don’t curse, ever. I can’t believe my own ears, even though the word came from my mouth. I don’t hit or throw things, either.

  She’s silent, crossing her arms across her body and cowering.

  I pace, flinging my hands up again. “When were you going to tell me? The day before? After? Were you going to break up with me and never tell me?”

  She winces and her gaze falls to the floor, avoiding eye contact.

  Must be the latter.

  Never.

  She’d planned on breaking my heart and never telling me why.

  “We were never supposed to happen. It should have ended in Florida. I should have severed all ties. All for fun. That’s what our fling was supposed to be.” Her soft voice shakes, choking over the unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

  My shoulders slump. She stands and approaches me, her head tilted to the side, each step tentative. She lays her hand on my arm. I flinch, and she withdraws.

  “I can’t talk to you right now. I can’t be here.”

  Hiding the truth, neglecting to trust me, knowing my distaste for lies. My heart shrinks, trying to hide from the pain.

  Too late.

  I snatch up the basket of dry clothes and go rip the rest from the dryer. They’re still wet, but I can’t stay here until they dry.

  I can’t stay here at all.

  I find my keys and wallet on the table in the front hall, and I’m out the door. My eyelid twitches and my jaw is sore from clenching. I stop for a minute as I collect myself, rearranging the laundry basket on my hip as I shove my wallet in my pocket.

  I pause long enough to hear a sob explode from behind the closed door.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath.

  Spinning back to the door, I raise my hand to turn the knob.

  I drop my hand, pivot, and walk away.

  ***

  Thea

  My lungs burn as I struggle for air.

  My own tears threaten to drown me.

  He did what I feared. Had hoped against, but what I anticipated. He found out I was getting my tits cut off, and he walked away. No.

  He stormed away.

  After he shouted, “What the fuck?”

  His outburst shocked me. I’m not offended, because I drop the f-bomb often. He doesn’t. Ever. That’s when he crossed the line from disbelief into rage.

  I deserved a little bit of that anger. I should have told him the first night, on the bowling alley date.

  Things were so remarkable. I wanted the good stuff to last for a while longer. It was wrong of me. Selfish. And if I’d told him then, I wouldn’t have fallen deeper because he would have left and the past week never would have happened.

  My breaking heart is longing for that scenario because it misses him so much already.

  How did all of this happen?

  Stupid tequila and fireball and loosened inhibitions. They made me run off to look at the stars with a beautiful boy.

  Stupid heart. It made me fall in love with him, when all my head was looking for was a fine piece of ass.

  Head got what it wanted. Heart’s now breaking. It all sucks.

  I rummage through the pantry and find the stash Bennie left behind last week.

  I crawl into bed, and the wrappers are flying off the chocolate medicine.

  If I died now, there wouldn’t be a chalk outline.

  My corpse would be lined by gold and orange and brown foil candy wrappers.

  So. Sad.

  My phone buzzes across the dresser and I nearly fall out of bed trying to get to it.

  Please let it be Shay. Please let it be Shay.

  Daddy’s calling. He doesn’t text, and he’ll think something’s wrong if I don’t pick up. Something is wrong, but he can’t fix it. I suck back the disgusting wad of snot clogging my nose, and answer the phone.

  “Hey Daddy!” I’m surprised by the amount of sunshine dripping from my words.

  “Hi, baby girl. How are you?”

  “Good. All good.” Liar. “I secured a spot for my student teaching assignment in the spring.”

  “Wonderful, honey. I’m so happy for you. I want to share some news, too. I wanted to tell you now, since, she’s…”

  Wait. What? “She?”

  “She’ll be at supper tomorrow. I’ve met someone, Thea, and it’s going well. I want you to meet her.”

  Huh. This is an unexpected development, but one to dis
tract me from my own state of heartache.

  “Does Jen know?”

  “Oh, yeah, Marcy’s one of the newer nurses at the oncology center. She started in July. You’re going to love her. I worked up the nerve to ask her out a couple weeks ago, and since Jen’s treatment ended, she agreed.”

  “Daddy, that’s so great.” I’m thrilled for him. He’s been alone for so long, and the joy in his voice is infectious. “But I’m under the weather. Can I take a rain check on supper?”

  “Of course. What’s wrong?”

  “Getting a cold or something, and just want to hunker down in bed. I can’t wait to meet Marcy, though.” It’s the truth. I thought when Daddy started dating again, I would be sad, worried he would forget Mama. He deserves happiness though, and this is another chapter in his book. Mama’s always going to be in his story, and he’ll never forget her.

  Like I’ll never forget Shay.

  The joy was short-lived, but it was the heart-swelling, belly-tickling kind of happiness that doesn’t go down without a fight.

  I don’t feel much like fighting though, so I wallow in misery and let it take over for a while.

  Chapter 15

  Thea

  Another week, another group therapy session.

  My appearance gives away the suckiness of my week.

  I don’t care.

  I never leave the house in yoga pants unless I’m, well, going to yoga.

  There have been no downward dogs in the last few weeks, and I’m not much of a warrior lately.

  More like a child. Or even a corpse.

  Yeah, that one.

  I’m here in no make-up, hair twisted up, and curls springing out in every direction.

  Wearing sweats, which are more comfortable than trying to squeeze into my jeans, which shrank this past week.

  I can’t give a shit right now. I’m getting my tits cut out in a couple weeks. I just lost Shay. I’ve tried to stay strong through this whole process. After I got my positive result for my BRCA1 mutation, I cried, screamed, and pouted, a tantrum to rival a three-year old crashing from a major sugar high.

  Then decided to kick cancer in the ass and take the boobs away.

  This “pretending to be strong” thing is exhausting, and I can’t do it anymore.

  “This sucks,” I mumble.

  “Thea, would you like to add something?” Dr. Luther stares at me over the top of her reading glasses.

  Everyone talks about how empowering the decision is—how it’s the most difficult decision to make, but one that will leave you stronger and in-charge. Not untrue, but there is so much more.

  “This. Sucks.” I purse my lips and stare wide-eyed at the group, daring them to challenge me. “Deciding on a mastectomy is empowering all right. Next comes the anger and the sadness and the self-doubt. Second-guessing? That’s the worst.”

  A few of the women nod.

  “Some women don’t want their chest touched. I love it. I am going to miss the sensation. Yeah, I’m saving my nipples, but I won’t be able to feel anything.” Because I’m talking about sex, or maybe because some of the women already know, some nervous tittering echoes through the room.

  I’m on a roll, though, and I won’t let a little nervous laughter stop me now. “How many of you have kids already?”

  All but three women in the room, including me, raise their hands.

  “You’ve been pregnant. Maybe you’ve nursed your babies. I may not have kids. Who’s going to risk a relationship with me, the young woman who may never be able to get pregnant?”

  “A good man will,” one of the new group members blurts out.

  I throw my hands in the air. “A good man? Good men still want families. They may say they’re okay with adopting or whatever, but in the end, how many are lying to you? To themselves?”

  Gina pipes in. “Girl, what’s going on? Did you talk to your young man?”

  I fold my hands in my lap, eyes down. “He found out.”

  “Found out? How?” Dr. Luther asks.

  “I’d piled up my mail and stuff on the kitchen table, along with some information I got from Dr. Jacoby’s office. He found some flyers and pamphlets. Guessed what was going on. I’d already told him about my mama and sister’s cancer. He figured the rest out.” I look down at my hands, picking at my fingers.

  “Was he mad? What happened?” Gina pushes for more information.

  I detail the events for them, and was rewarded with gasps when I told them he’d left, and was ignoring me.

  “Baby, I’m sorry.” Gina rubs my arm.

  I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. He affirmed my suspicions. He seemed like one of the good ones and even he doesn’t want me. So who will?”

  Despite my Herculean effort to remain calm, I erupt into tears, sobbing until I’m dry with nothing left to give.

  ***

  Shay

  I bombed the test.

  I’ve been studying like a madman. Scratch that. I’ve been reading my notes and textbooks and listening to recorded lectures over and over for days, but I didn’t comprehend a single piece of information.

  Thea’s been on my mind the entire time, her melodious laugh echoing in my head. Then she turns malicious, taunting me for being stupid and falling for her.

  The cackle is so loud, I can’t process anything else.

  “So wait, finish the story, man.” I was telling Fred about what happened before we walked into the lecture hall, and we had another class immediately after.

  I give him the Cliffs Notes version, which is apparently not enough.

  “You did what, man?” Fred’s incredulous, and I didn’t even do anything to him.

  “I yelled. I swore. I punched the wall. I stomped out and left her crying as I walked away.” I’m pacing circles around the kitchen island, wearing a path in the vinyl floor.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not going to do anything.”

  Fred wrinkles his forehead and throws his head back a little. “For real?”

  “Yeah. She’s clear about not wanting me in her life. She wasn’t going to tell me. Our relationship was a lie. You know how I feel about lying.” There’s nothing about me Fred doesn’t know, including a certain dark piece of Kelly family history.

  “For a smart guy, you are so stupid sometimes.”

  I look at him like he’s nuts. “How so?”

  “Let’s see.” Fred’s hands are flying a mile a minute, like he’s trying to convey with his fingers all the thoughts spinning around in his head. “Do you get why she didn’t tell you?”

  “What do you mean?” I stop pacing.

  “Man, she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to go away. Some guys can’t hack that shit. They want their girls with boobs, not blood and scar tissue.”

  “You know I’m not like that.”

  “Of course I do. Does she?”

  Hmmmm. “She should. I didn’t run off because I can’t hack the hard stuff. I left because she lied. I told her back in Key West about Rose. How I hate when people hide critical information.”

  “Stop for a second. Dude, if you were in her shoes, what’s the first thing you’re going to think? This is scary to her. Imagine getting some part of yourself cut off…a part capable of growing cancer and killing you. People second-guess you and think you’re crazy.”

  “So she thinks I’m questioning her judgment?”

  Fred shrugs. “Maybe. She may think you’re a heartless dick who can’t stand the heat. When things aren’t all rainbows and unicorns, you jet. Think about it, man.”

  Crap. That’s probably exactly what she’s thinking.

  “Speaking of jetting, man, I’ve got to go. Big date with the black-haired hottie I’ve been eyeing. She’s tutoring me on anatomy.”

  I scratch me head and blink. “You don’t need tutoring. Heck, you could teach the class.”

  “True, true.” He waves his h
and in the air. “Cara, however, does not know this. What’s wrong with playing dumb?”

  I shake my head and snort as Fred heads to the library.

  What Fred said, well, he might be right. I left a week ago with my laundry, but she still holds my heart.

  This sucks like nothing else.

  Her surgery is in a couple weeks, and now I’m the jerk who’s letting her go through this by herself. Does she think it’s because I can’t take the pressure? Or that I’ll be repulsed by her body?

  She won’t be alone. Her friends and family will take care of her.

  I should be there though.

  I’m not angry about her getting the surgery. The medical reasoning is a hundred percent sound. I’m not scared about the blood and fluid and scars. If I was squeamish about the medical stuff, I’d chosen the wrong career path.

  I’m angry she waited to tell me. Didn’t trust me with her secret.

  We hadn’t known each other for long, but this is a case of everything between us being right. I loved her.

  I love her. Present tense. You don’t get over love in a week.

  I don’t want to.

  I need to know why she lied. She took away my choice by withholding a vital piece of information.

  I would have fallen for her anyway.

  She needs to know I’m all in, no matter what. I ignored a couple texts and calls from her in the past week.

  Because I’m a jerk.

  Now I get to see if she’ll return the “favor” by ignoring me. I pull up her contact info in my phone and hit “call.”

  One ring. Two rings. Three.

  I hang up. I’m going over to her place. Maybe she’s home, maybe not, but the things I want to say to her need to be said face-to-face.

  This whole thing started with me taking a risk—breaking out of my rigid mold—and another risk may be the only way to fix things, too.

  Here goes nothing.

  ***

  Thea

  The doorbell rings, making me jump. The Flying Pie delivery guy never gets here in under half an hour.

  I shuffle from my bedroom and to the front door. I don’t even check the peephole. Ha. The one time I don’t check, it’s probably a serial killer targeting ratty-haired, puffy-eyed, unwashed ex-coeds.