Chapter 13
Now
Leukemia.
NO! This is not happening.
Not to my best friend.
My rock.
My other half. Tammy is the only stable thing in my life. She was there when Monica was born. Through all the affairs, when I cried myself to sleep and when Michael left. And when Michael came back.
“How? When did you find out? There’s a mistake.”
I’m in complete denial and will not let this happen to her.
Tammy inhales a deep breath as if the situation warrants no grand explanation.
“Last week,”
she says and exhales.
“And you didn’t tell me? Why not?”
“Jill, I didn’t want to ruin Monica’s wedding.”
“Are you kidding me? Can you stop being so unselfish, just for once? My God, Tammy.
And work? You’ve never missed any work except for today.”
“Come here,”
she says, holding her arms out for me.
“Calm down, Jill.”
“Calm down! Oh, Tammy,”
I say and hold her tightly to me.
Through my crying, she rubs my back as if I’m the sick one.
As always, she gives me comfort in my darkest times.
But it’s me who should be comforting her.
I’m such a selfish bitch. “Please tell me this is all a bad joke. Something to distract me with Michael’s return.”
“Okay, it’s a bad joke,”
she laughs.
“How can you laugh?”
I push up and hold her face.
“We’ll get a second opinion.
We’ll travel the world.”
Her eyes still hold that assuredness she has given me my whole life.
The strength I needed.
My Tammy strength.
I can’t be without her.
“We did get a second opinion.
Leukemia.”
“Now what? What do we do now?”
“I start chemo this week.”
It’s absolute the minute the word chemo comes across her lips, yet she says it as if she’s talking about the weather.
My existence begins fading away.
Dammit.
She needs me, and all I can do is worry about myself.
“Where? I’m going with you.”
Though we both work at Lakeland Health, it’s not at the top of cancer research.
“Woodland Cancer Center,”
she says.
“But Ryan has already scheduled to take me.”
“Good.
I’ve heard nothing but the best about Woodland.
And I don’t care if Ryan is taking you.
I’m coming too.”
She laughs.
Actually, laughs.
“You’re just trying to hide from Michael.”
I pull the covers down and climb in with her.
“Tammy, I would go through a thousand Michael traumas just to make this all disappear.”
I kiss her cheek.
“We’re in this together.
I’m stuck to your side.”
“Please, I’m going to need my space,”
she teases.
“Too bad.
I hope Ryan doesn’t mind the couch.”
She smacks my arm.
“And don’t worry about the girls.
I will get them off to school.
No worries.”
“Jill, I’m not dead yet.”
“Don’t say that! I meant while you’re going through chemo.
Oh, I’m going to shave my head.”
“Why?”
“You know…to show support while you’re going through this.
And we can pick out wigs together.
It will be like shopping when we were teens.
Except for this time, I get to be the straight-haired brunette, and you can be the curly blonde.
I will donate my hair to Locks of Love and make it a wig for you.”
She runs her hands through my hair.
“Well, make sure they cover up the grey.”
She laughs, and I kiss her again on the cheek.
“Gray, my ass.”
And that’s Tammy—my rock.
“Jill, don’t shave your head.
I don’t think I could stand to look at your ugly, bald head.”
We laugh.
We cry.
But one thing is for sure.
We’re in this together.
Ryan walks in, and the stress on his face lightens maybe a few degrees since Tammy has confessed to me.
Walking over, he grabs the box of tissues and pulls one out for both of us.
After I blow my nose, I ask, “Do the girls know?”
Ryan drops his eyes.
“We’re telling them tonight,” he says.
Tammy and Ryan have three girls—fourteen, twelve, and an oops at six.
They wanted Hailee to be a boy, but Tammy and I were destined to have girls.
Casey and Callie are the best older sisters and, without a doubt, will help their mother.
Tammy and I always talked about how we’d raise our children together, but with Monica being much older, she babysat the two older girls when she was a teen.
“Do you want me here when you tell them?”
“We…kind of want to do this alone,”
Ryan says.
I look at Tammy, and she nods her agreement.
“If the girls come in and see you here…us crying, it will lead to the worst in their minds.
We want to break it gently.
Explain what I have and why I’m starting chemo.”
I don’t even want to ask about the percentages the doctor talked about.
She will get through chemo, and our life together will go on.
“Okay, I understand.
But please call me if you need anything or if they need anything.
I will arrange my schedule at the hospital.”
I kiss her again and hold her face close to mine.
“I love you, girl.”
“I love you too, Jill.”
I get up from the bed, and Ryan takes my place beside his wife.
I look at the two of them.
They made it.
And Tammy will make it.
“Hey, Ryan. What do you think about Tammy having my blonde curly hair? I’m going to donate it to her.”
His eyes squint, investigating the loose bun on my head.
“Make sure to color the grey.”
I laugh.
“Kiss my ass, Ryan.”
. . . . .
I watch the flame dance from the candle across the room and pray for Tammy.
I never turned on the radio all the way home, and I’ve been sitting in silence at home.
Leukemia.
As shocked as I am, it still is surreal to me.
And that’s because I refuse to believe it’s happening. But as a nurse, I know science has come a long way with cancer treatment. I must remain positive.
I wonder if they’ve told the girls yet? How are they taking it? Maybe I should call.
I know they wanted to be alone.
But after?
My phone sits on the counter, and as I get up, thinking I need to call, the doorbell rings.
That would be the girls, and they know Tammy needs me.
I rush to the door and fight with the locks to quickly open.
Michael.
He’s standing on my doorstep holding out a pan of chicken cacciatore.
“I don’t know.
It’s missing something, and I need you to taste it.”
Without warning, I begin to cry—hard and drop my head into my hands.
“You haven’t even tasted it yet.
That bad, huh?”
“Oh, Michael.
Tammy has Leukemia.”
“Oh, Jill.
I’m sorry,”
he says and steps inside.
He sets the pan on the counter and then wraps me in his arms.
I don’t protest, and that’s because I’m numb.
I cry into his chest, and once again, the past and present slam into each other.
“When did she find out?”
“Last week.
Tammy didn’t tell me until today.
She didn’t want to ruin Monica’s wedding.”
I’m angry, and the foul language pushes up from deep down.
“Can you fucking believe that? She didn’t want to ruin my daughter’s wedding.”
I choke out more cries, and Michael listens, looking deep into my eyes.
Everything feels like an illusion at this moment.
He holds my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping my tears, and that look in his eyes.
What’s going on?
“Come here,”
he says, leading me to the couch.
He sits and pulls me next to him.
He holds me close, and I feel robotic.
I should be telling him to get the fuck out.
I should say to him he never should have come. I should tell him to shove his cacciatore up his ass. Yet, I am—lying on his chest and so glad he’s here.
“Oh, Michael.
I can’t believe this,”
I whisper, and when I do, the use of his name feels foreign on my lips.
I haven’t used or said his name in years.
And now, it seems to be dropping out of my mouth redundantly.
I can’t remember a time crying in his arms.
And that was because I was crying in Tammy’s arms for something Michael did. This moment feels oddly strange.
He slowly rubs my arm up and down as his lips place tender kisses on my head.
This is the same Michael who made my pancakes in bed just the other day.
The Michael, I didn’t know.
“Why are you here, Michael?”
I don’t look up and lay lethargically on his chest.
“For this.”
I don’t accurately comprehend what he means, and I’m sure Tammy didn’t tell him first so that he’d come and hold me.
But I’m too exhausted to argue at the moment.
However, I can’t let my guard down, not around Michael.
“Did you know she left the wedding early because she was sick?”
“Yes.”
“She told you?”
“She told us.”
“Us?”
“We were in your car…after…”
“Yes, after I got drunk.
And that’s your fault.
But go on.”
“I’ll accept that,”
he says.
“Tammy said she’d call you.
You tried to get out of the car, and when she noticed how fucked up you were, she bent down and hugged you through the window and told me to make sure you got home safely.
I promised her I would.”
“Oh, God,”
I say and break from his side, standing up from the couch.
“Have you eaten, Jill?”
“No, Michael.
Nor do I want to.
So, take your cacciatore and go home.
Wherever that is.”
“Jill, I don’t think you need to be alone right now.”
“What the hell do you know about what I need? Or even care.
It was never a problem in the past.
I needed you years ago.
And…I learned you were the one thing I definitely didn’t need.”
I walk over to the kitchen counter and look out the window.
The streetlight is on, and suddenly, I’m back there.
That night watching and waiting for him to come back.
I hear him get up from the couch and walk close behind me.
“I’m sorry, Jill.”
He touches my shoulders, but I shrug away.
Through the reflection of the dark window, I see his hand still held above my shoulder.
I turn around.
“Well, sorry or not, you never came back.
And I should probably thank you.”
His eyes look guarded.
“Because finally, I realized that no matter how much I loved you, it wasn’t what you wanted.
And it took a long time to figure that out.”
“Jill…”
“You know what else I figured out, Michael? The entire time Monica and I were so in your way, making you feel miserable, it was exhausting being your wife.
You never had to do anything to prove how much you loved me or our daughter.
Because you didn’t.
Yet I drained myself daily, showing you love.
No one ever gets tired of being loved. They get tired of waiting, assuming, hearing lies, and saying sorry and hurting. How could I prioritize someone who didn’t value me? In the end, Michael, I didn’t know who I hated more, me or you.”
His eyes glass over with heavy tears.
“I’m sorry.”
His words are faint.
“All you ever did was love me, and all I ever did was hurt you.”
A big tear drops down his cheek and onto his white shirt.
I watch the color darken from the wetness and know I am not crying.
“And so, once I overcame that, I had to overcome the fact that you left us for something better.
And I couldn’t figure out what that would be.
And there I was, making you a priority in my thoughts.
So, I will ask you, Michael, because I want to know.
What was better than our daughter and me?”
“Not hurting you anymore.”