13. Layla
Chapter Thirteen
Layla
My first thought upon waking the next morning was that I was in a normal bed.
No hospital. The next thought was that my chest was sore.
It was down to a dull ache compared to the acute pain I’d felt the first day, but it was still very uncomfortable.
The drains didn’t help. After slowly getting out of bed, I walked into the bathroom and inspected my face in the vanity mirror.
I was happy to see some of my color was returning. At least there was that.
Last night I’d actually felt pretty when Kellan had come through my front door and kissed me.
Kellan. Was there such a thing as a perfect man? I hadn’t thought so until I’d met him. He was a combination of sexy, sweet, and—good Lord, could he make me laugh. During the entire year of seeing Chad I’d never experienced the spark I had with Kellan.
Cue the warning light. I was in a state where my emotions were heightened all the way around.
I had to be careful not to confuse myself regarding what I was feeling.
It would be way too easy to fall for him.
But doing so would make me completely vulnerable.
I’d come to rely on him for my emotional well-being.
And months from now, during which we wouldn’t be able to be physical, would he remain content with mere kisses?
Hell, Chad had cheated on me even though we’d had a healthy sex life.
The thought of Kellan cheating left me sick to my stomach. But I tamped down that fear. I might not be able to control what the cancer did to my body, but I could control the idea that we were simply dating and getting to know one another better. I didn’t need his serious commitment.
I groaned when the text came from my mother telling me to call her. She wasn’t accepting my request to communicate solely via text while I recovered. Was it too much to ask? Evidently it was because the phone rang showing her number. Deciding to get it over with, I answered.
“Hello.” My voice sounded froggy.
“Oh, finally. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“I woke up five minutes ago.”
“I’d know that if I was there with you.”
Here we went again. I couldn’t have this same argument. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait. I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t keep bringing it up, but obviously it’s still bothering me.”
I walked out to my kitchen, thirsty and already exhausted by my mother. The thought of her seeing me all a mess this morning did make me smile, though. She’d probably offer me lip gloss and try to comb my hair.
“Are you still there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I know.” That’s why I didn’t simply hang up. Because I knew she loved me and sincerely worried. “I have a fantastic nurse, and I told you I’ll stay in touch via text. But I can’t do these phone calls. Not right now.”
“You’ve never enjoyed talking on the phone with me.”
She wasn’t wrong, but I refused to hash out now the way her criticisms could make me feel. “I need to go.”
“Fine. I’ll see you Saturday night. I thought maybe I’d cook something.”
My mom was a terrible cook. In addition, she’d undoubtedly lament my lack of gourmet pots, pans, and whatever else she would find lacking.
“I’d prefer to get takeout from my favorite steak place instead.
” We’d already talked about this, but she had the uncanny ability to selectively listen, only hearing what she wanted to.
“Russell is placing the order. I’ll have him send you and Dad the menu. ”
“Will Kellan be there?”
“Yes, he’s planning to come.”
Silence. With her, this was telling. “What are you trying not to say?”
“Do you think starting a relationship with someone right now is the best idea? You have a lot on your plate without having to worry about how he views you now post-surgery.”
Of course she would question how he would view my appearance, particularly now when I couldn’t even pretend to be perfect. If I’d wondered if my self-esteem could get any lower, all I’d needed to do was pick up the phone and talk to my mother—because it could. “I’ve gotta go. See you Saturday.”
After hanging up the phone, I put my forehead against the cool stainless steel of the refrigerator.
I wished we had a better relationship but didn’t know what to do about it.
I’d given up trying to please her. For many years I’d tried that, only to fall short.
It was one thing for me to question the timing of my starting a relationship.
But it was quite a different thing when she implied I wouldn’t deserve a guy like Kellan after losing my breasts.
As if he somehow sensed I was questioning myself, Kellan texted me.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning. Thanks again for dinner last night.”
His reply came immediately. Glancing at the clock, I realized he was already at his jobsite.
“You’re welcome. What do you want for dinner on Friday? Anything you’re craving? Thought I could pick something up.”
I almost typed out he didn’t have to do Friday but stopped myself. Before cancer, I wouldn’t have doubted his intentions. Why was I doing so now? We were simply two people spending time together.
“Soup sounds great.”
“Chowder?”
Clam chowder sounded delicious. I was practically counting the hours.
“You bet.”
“Good. See you about six on Friday. Don’t worry, I’ll still knock even though I have a key.”
Three more days. Why did it seem so long? My ex and I would go a week and sometimes more without seeing one another when our schedules got overly complicated. Yet right now, I was already missing Kellan. Still, I had something to look forward to and would hopefully be feeling better in a few days.
“Thanks. See you then.”
My smile was still lingering when Patty arrived.
Other than yesterday, which had been my first day home from the hospital, we’d worked out a regular schedule.
She’d come by in the mornings between nine and ten each day for the next week.
Then she’d drop by for the first few days after each chemo round to take my vitals and check my blood counts.
“I take it by your smile last night’s dinner went well.”
“It did. Thank you for doing my hair. I felt like a real person again.”
She tsked and led the way to my bathroom. There she went to work on unwrapping my bandage and checking the drains. I noticed she was careful to angle me away from the mirror. I was grateful not to have another look at my chest. “You are a real person always, honey, but I get what you’re saying.”
“I tried to give him an out last night. He’s either stubborn or doesn’t want one,” I admitted.
“Probably both if he didn’t take it. For me, the hardest part about cancer treatments was relying on others. For rides to the hospital, for helping me with care such as this, or even for making a meal. I was constantly beating myself up for accepting help.”
Sounded familiar. “What did you do to get past it?”
“I recognized that if the shoes were flipped and I was the one who could give comfort or assistance, I wouldn’t hesitate.
And I’d be hurt if someone didn’t accept it.
There will be plenty of people who won’t show up, at least in my experience.
I lost friends who either couldn’t deal with what I was going through or who simply freaked out at the idea of cancer.
My advice is you let the people who are determined to stay with you and support you continue to do so. ”
“But how do you know they’ll stay? How can you trust that it won’t be too much at some point?”
Her gaze met mine, and I knew she understood exactly what I was saying.
“You don’t know. You simply have to trust. It’s no different whether you have cancer or not.
Think of it this way. At some point, you gotta jump in and hope for the best. Most people do that when things are still shiny and rosy.
You’re doing it when the stakes are higher. Just do yourself a couple favors?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t make any rash decisions until you’re through this. Like break up with him unless he becomes a real ass. Treatment leaves you vulnerable, emotional, and oftentimes irrational.”
The way she said it made me wonder about her. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”
“I do. Luckily, he didn’t listen and remains my husband today. And for God’s sake, don’t go the other way and go eloping to Vegas, either. I’ve heard of people doing crazy stuff like that too.”
I grinned. “That definitely won’t happen.” I was questioning my ability to pick a boyfriend. I certainly wasn’t going to trust I could pick a husband. But her words did highlight how whacked out my emotions might become over the course of this treatment.
“The other favor you can do yourself is to stay busy. It’s good you don’t have to try to balance a job, but sitting around your apartment without something to occupy your mind will make the time go by slower.”
She had an excellent point. I needed something to keep me occupied. “I have a bucket list. I don’t suppose you know how to knit?”
“I don’t, but I have a friend who can show you. I’ll find out when she’s available.”
“That would be wonderful.” I also wanted to order the Rosetta Stone for Spanish. Those were two items on my list to conquer.
Changing the subject, I asked a question that had been weighing on my mind, “Have you ever known people who don’t have their hair fall out with chemo?”
“Yes, but most were on low doses. Given your treatment plan, it doesn’t sound to me that’s what will happen with you. You have aggressive cancer, you need aggressive treatment. You have thick hair, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“I won’t.” But I wanted to. Aside from my breasts, my long hair was an attribute I prized. I wasn’t fond of the idea of losing it.
“I have some really great scarf ties I can show you. And you can always wear a wig in the interim. Sometimes it’s fun to be a blonde or redhead for an evening, if you get my meaning.”