Chapter 16
I’m groggy when I wake up. But there’s light trying to sneak in through the closed blinds.
It must be early morning. Nathan is asleep on the small chair in the corner of the room, and Dad’s asleep on the cot the nurse must have brought in.
I wince as I reach for my phone on the table next to me; the right side of my body is tender.
My phone lights up before I can reach it.
Even though it’s dark in my room, I see that it’s nine in the morning.
I must have slept all night after the surgery yesterday, which Doctor Barker said would probably happen.
The time also explains why Mom is gone; she’s probably at the studio since she has to be there early on Saturdays.
“Hey.” I barely get the word out, but my throat is so dry and screaming for water, so I need someone to wake up. Thankfully, Dad wakes up at the sound of my quiet whisper and is by my bedside in an instant.
“Hey, Rosebud,” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Water,” I rasp and he grabs the huge mug from the table and holds the straw up to my mouth. Sweet relief.
“You feeling okay?” he asks .
I nod. “Sore, but okay.”
He gives my shoulder a squeeze.
Nathan sits up, as if jarred awake by some loud noise. “Dang, I fell asleep again.”
Dad laughs. “That’s what happens in a dark room, and when you didn’t sleep much the night before. I’ll go let the nurse’s station know you’re awake. Doctor Barker will want to come in and talk with us.”
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, grateful my voice is back to normal and my throat no longer feels like it’s going to explode.
“Studio,” Dad says, his voice tight. I wonder if they argued about it.
They always seemed to argue about her going to the studio when I was going through treatment as a kid.
She spent more time at the studio than she did with me at the hospital.
It was Dad who was always by my bedside.
But Dad doesn’t say anything else before he walks out of the room.
“When did Mom leave?” I ask Nathan, who stands up to stretch.
“I think around six this morning.” He gives a little shrug. “I can’t really remember. She was insistent about not missing a day at the studio. She even yelled at Dad out in the hallway and one of the nurses had to calm her down.”
“Wow,” I say, even though I’m not that surprised.
Nothing would keep her from the studio, not even her daughter having cancer.
It’s why Dad was with me night and day the last time.
It’s not that she doesn’t care; somewhere deep down I know—or think and hope—that she does, but dance has always been number one in her life, and it probably always will be.
“Any word yet from Doctor Barker?” I ask Nathan.
“Said they got the whole tumor out, you should be good.” If I hadn’t just had surgery on my side, I might throw my arms up and cheer. Instead, I settle for a modified version of the gesture.
“Woohoo,” I say, just as Dad returns with Doctor Barker.
“I see your brother told you the good news.” She smiles.
“We were able to remove the tumor without any trouble. We’ll do some more blood work and another scan before you leave, but I’m confident that we’re going to see the results we want.
We may still do a round of chemo just to make sure all the cancer is gone, but we’ll wait for the blood work to get back before we make any plans. ”
“That’s great,” I tell her. While chemo is pretty much the worst thing ever invented, I know it will help. That’s what helped the most last time.
Doctor Barker continues, “Whether or not we do chemo, we’ll have you come back in another month to run some more tests, make sure things are looking okay.
We’ll do that every month for the next year, just to keep an eye on everything.
” What she doesn’t say is that they want to keep an eye on me, see if they can figure out why after almost nine years of remission, I grew another tumor.
It’s not uncommon for cancer to return, but it has been a long time for me. I didn’t expect it to come back.
“Okay,” I pause. But I have to know, so I ask, “And what happens when I go to Paris in the fall?”
“We’ll get you all set up with a doctor over there.” Doctor Barker beams at me. She really seems thrilled about how everything went. “It won’t be a problem.”
I nod in relief. That’s good; this won’t change any of my plans.
“When do I get to go home?” I ask, and Dad laughs.
“You did just have surgery, but if everything looks good you’ll be able to go home tomorrow or the next day, as long as your vitals continue to look good. And I still want you to continue group therapy, at least a couple more times.”
“Awesome, I can do that,” I say as she turns to leave. “And thank you.” She nods before heading out of the room.
“I’m tumor-free!” I say. My stomach rumbles loudly. “And I think I need some food.”
“I’ll go get us something,” Nathan says, leaving the room.
“How are you doing, kiddo?” Dad asks, sitting on the edge of my bed .
“I’m good,” I say honestly. I feel a lot less groggy than I expected to after surgery. “How are you?”
“Oh, just getting better all the time, especially now that my girl is okay.” He smiles at me. “Mom was thrilled the surgery went well, but she had to get back to the studio.”
“I know,” I say, without bitterness in my voice.
I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“For what?” I ask. We both know Mom well enough to know this really isn’t out of character for her.
“For a lot of things.” I raise an eyebrow at him in question, but he doesn’t look at me as he continues. “I’ve always known how she was about ballet. I swore I wouldn’t let the same thing happen to you.”
“It’s not,” I say, but the words don’t feel quite right in my heart. Am I turning into my mom? Surely not. I’m dating Tucker now, even if my parents don’t know about that. I’m doing that for myself. My life isn’t only about ballet.
“It is happening.” Dad looks at me intently. I don’t know when I’ve ever seen him be so serious. “I thought things would help when you had a different coach, one that wasn’t Mom. But you just started dancing more.”
“I had to,” I try to explain. Doesn’t he understand that I didn’t do any of this because of Mom, but because of my dream to be a professional dancer? “I had to work hard so I could get into the Paris Ballet Academy.”
He looks sad. “I just don’t want you to throw away the people in your life so you can get to where you want to go in the ballet world.”
Anger bubbles in my chest. “I’m not. I won’t.
You don’t think I’m really that much like her?
” I don’t know what it’s like for most little girls, but I’ve known for a long time that I didn’t want to end up like my mother, who was always obsessed with being the best and having her dancers be the best. I mean, I would like to be the best. I sink lower into the pillows, realization washing over me. “Oh gosh, I am just like her.”
He comes over to me then and grabs my hand.
“No, Rosie, I don’t think you are. But you could get there if you’re not careful.
I think this Tucker boy is the best choice you’ve made in a long time.
” I look up at him in surprise. Aren’t dads supposed to not want their daughters to get serious with boys when they are teenagers?
“I mean, I know you tried to not date him by dating Shawn, which was really dumb by the way, and I know it wasn’t real. But I think Tucker is good for you.”
“Um, thanks. I think,” I say, even though I’m not exactly sure what to say to that.
I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to worry.
But maybe dating Tucker isn’t enough; maybe I need to do something more than simply date someone to prove that ballet isn’t the only thing in my life that I care about.
“Just remember there’s more to life than ballet.” Dad pats my knee.
I nod as my phone rings, and my heart begins to race as I see the number on the screen.
“It’s them,” I say, and Dad nods in understanding. The people from Paris are calling.
“Hello.” I hope I don’t sound nervous. This call could change everything.
“Hello, Rosie,” says one of the women who sat on the panel at my audition. “I’m calling to inform you that you have a spot at the Paris Ballet Academy starting in the fall if you choose to accept.”
“Yes, yes,” I squeal and the woman laughs. “I will be there.”
“Wonderful, we’re so excited to have you,” she says and then we both hang up. Thirty seconds and everything is different. Thirty seconds and the future I’ve worked for and dreamed about is going to become a reality.
“I got in, Dad!” I exclaim.
He gives my knee another squeeze before sitting back down on the cot. He’s smiling, but I can still see concern etched on his face from the conversation we just had.
“I got in. I’m going to Paris!” I sink into the pillows again, this time daydreaming of days full of music and dancing and spending my nights walking the streets of Paris.
All is right again; the tumor is out, I’m going to Paris, and I have the best boyfriend and best friends a girl could ask for. Life is good, no—life is perfect.