Chapter 14 #2
‘You’re always doing something untoward. I don’t think you’re capable of being . . .’ she puffs out air from her cheeks as
she searches for the word.
‘Toward?’ I suggest. She laughs, and the sound of it scratches my brain. When the sun peeks out from behind a cloud for the
first time in a few overcast days, I stretch my legs in front of me, crossing them at the ankles, and close my eyes. I’m here.
In the present, once again. ‘Today is a delightful day.’
‘I’ve never seen someone so happy to be hungover.’
Now it’s my turn to laugh, and I open my eyes again to look at her. ‘I’m not happy about the hangover. Trust me, I’m very not happy about it.’ As if in answer, my stomach roils.
‘You’re happy about something else.’ I don’t reply, but she adds quietly, ‘Is it related to that phone call you were just
on?’
For a few moments, I wonder if I should say anything. But screw it, Marianne did tell me to talk to the people around me.
‘I’ve been waiting for the results of some tests I had before I left. That’s why I’ve been so on edge the past few days,’
I begin. Dylan’s face is open, but I need to ask something first. It’s caught me off-guard before, having someone bring this
up without checking, so I ask, ‘Are you all right hearing me talk about cancer?’ Her eyes widen infinitesimally, but she nods.
‘Okay, well, when I told you before that I had a minor health thing, I was downplaying it a bit. A lot, really. I had cancer
when I was twenty and it was pretty gnarly, then I had a minor resurgence last year, too. So I have regular scans to check
I’m still healthy.’
She shifts and peers at me. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
Yes? No? I take a deep breath to prepare. I’ve gone through this sequence of events in my head and in therapy so many times
by now that I can detach most of my emotions from it. ‘About seven years ago, I started getting pains in my leg. Didn’t think
much of it. Figured I was going too hard with physical activity. When I saw a doctor, they weren’t particularly bothered.’
She tuts softly.
I shrug. ‘I was twenty. It wasn’t the first thought for any of us. It was only when it’d progressed to the point I was struggling
to walk that I finally had a bunch of scans and they confirmed what it was. A one-in-four-million type of bone cancer, all
over my right hip.’ It’s strange to talk about this with someone new; even stranger to feel the lightest weight lift from
my shoulders. Damn you, Marianne, for being right.
‘I started chemo pretty soon after that, and it was going fine. As fine as it could, anyway. It was doing its job. Then I
got sick with a pretty severe case of sepsis, which was very much not fine, eventually had hip surgery after that, did some physio to get back on my feet, and voila, I was good as new. All the
way up until last year, when a check-up picked up on some dodgy cells again. The cancer had come back, despite the hip replacement,
which is rare, but it happens. Luckily, since it’d been caught so early, the process was way less aggressive, but still. Not exactly fun.’ I click my tongue. ‘I got
to experience the joys of radiotherapy, so hey, that was different. I do always love trying new things.’
She doesn’t laugh, and I worry I’ve said too much, until she asks, ‘How are you doing now?’
‘I’m much better than I was,’ I say quietly.
I don’t need to get into how much slower the progress is on my mental healing. But I’m not who I was even a few years ago,
and that feels like a win.
She swallows hard. ‘Good.’
‘I kind of just have to live with this, the same way anyone who’s ever been ill has to live with it.
Even when you’re okay, and no longer sick, you live with the memory of it, and, for people like me, you live with the possibility, too.
’ I fill my cheeks and puff the air back out slowly.
‘That phone call you saw was me receiving the results from my last
check-up. I’m all clear. Thank fuck.’ The last two words tumble out a little shakier than I’d intended.
‘That’s amazing.’ She backtracks in a hurry, cheeks reddening, and adds, ‘The results. Not the cancer.’
‘I promise you didn’t need to clarify that.’ Her face falls into an expression I know all too well, and I say, ‘Don’t look
at me like that. Don’t feel sorry for me.’
‘I feel happy for you,’ she explains, but her mouth is still in a tight-lipped smile.
‘Stop,’ I groan. ‘I get enough . . . coddling from every other person who knows. I don’t need it from you too. My parents
would wrap me in cotton wool if they could. They want to know every detail of every trip I take. Any ailment and they’re asking
me a million questions. There was a time where they couldn’t accept why I refused to share my location with them twenty-four-seven.
It was a whole thing.’
‘They care about you, that’s all.’
‘I can take care of myself,’ I lie. ‘We’ve come to an agreement, recently. They figured out they can keep track of me pretty
well through social media, and I let them. They’re probably my top Instagram story viewers. Well,’ I wait for her to meet
my eye, ‘aside from you, maybe.’
She pulls her knees tighter against her chest with a half-hearted huff.
‘I know I haven’t been the best person to be around over the past few days. Thanks for putting up with me.’
‘It’s okay.’ She grimaces. ‘But I didn’t really have a choice, to be fair. You live in my cabin.’
A laugh tumbles out of me and she tries to hide her pleased smile, but it pushes out nonetheless. ‘Oh, your cabin?’
‘Slip of the tongue,’ she says, that grin hovering on her lips.
The wind whispers through the grass and I say, ‘No one here knows, by the way. About me.’
She picks fluff off her leggings. ‘Not even Jude?’
‘She knows something went on, but not the specifics. It was . . . part of how we met.’ I don’t want to talk about that time, for some reason.
It feels wrong to bring up who we were then, neither of us coping particularly well with our respective situations.
I scratch my jaw and a touch more honesty spills out.
‘I don’t really like to talk about it. Too many people treat you differently once they know. ’
‘I won’t say anything. And I won’t pity you, either.’
‘Thanks.’
There’s a glint in her eye when she speaks again. ‘Feeling sorry for you humanises you, and we can’t have that.’
Relief sweeps through me at her response. I can work with this. I can play. ‘Right? It’s harder to see me as the beautiful,
hot, sexy—’
‘Humble.’
‘—humble man I am when all you can think about when you look at me is what I looked like bald and eyelash-less.’
She pauses for a few seconds and I can see the thoughts swirling around her head. ‘What did you look like bald and eyelash-less?’
‘Like a soft-boiled egg.’
‘Why not a hard-boiled egg?’
‘Dunno. But if you asked anyone, I bet they’d say the same.’
We settle into silence again, and I have to forcibly remove the smile from my face every time I remember my results.
‘Max,’ she says quietly, knees still up by her chin. ‘I promise this is the last time I’ll mention this, but thanks for telling
me. For trusting me.’ She releases her legs and sticks an arm out in my direction. ‘No pity.’
Her sleeve flops down over her hand. Before she can move it herself, I wrap my fingers around her wrist and tug the cuff back
up her arm, my fingers dancing along the velvet-soft skin underneath.
‘No pity,’ I repeat, taking her hand in mine and shaking. Our gazes intertwine with our hands, and we stay like that for a
moment too long. A bolt slides between us, and I can’t tell if it’s a lock opening or a closing. ‘Unless you want to give
me a pity fu—’
She yelps and yanks her hand away, but she doesn’t even roll her eyes this time. It’s just habit at this point, to pretend she’s not interested.
‘Do you want to run back with me?’ I ask, because I definitely need to let some pent-up energy out. ‘I never see you on my
route in the mornings.’
She lowers her feet to the ground, then gives a small smile without meeting my eye. ‘Sure. Let’s do it.’
‘I can tell you don’t want to. That’s completely fine.’
‘Sorry. It’s just,’ she wrings her hands, ‘it kind of hurts my knees? I used to run a lot with my ex and I think I had bad
technique and it messed something up. I prefer to walk instead.’
‘You don’t need to explain. Seriously.’ If anyone knows how important it is to listen to your body, it’s me. Doesn’t mean
I do it, but I know the importance. ‘And stop saying sorry.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Dylan.’
‘Fine!’ Her voice is exasperated, but then she whispers, ‘Sorry.’
‘I swear to fucking god.’
We both stand and wander in the direction of the resort.
‘You kept your shirt on today,’ she says, gaze running along my arms like she’s cataloguing every tattoo.
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘I promise I’m not.’
Under the blossoming sun, I pull the bottom of my T-shirt up to wipe my forehead and the back of my neck. Her eyes guiltily snap up to meet mine when I drop the material. Liar, liar.
‘Well, the day is young. Just say the word.’
She sighs, and I intend to say goodbye so that I can run back to the cabin, but I end up walking all the way with her. It’s
easier on my hungover stomach, and, realistically, it’s gentler on the body I should take better care of.