Chapter 20
chapter
twenty
For all Eitan’s assurance that he’s a poor communicator, I have yet to see it.
We keep a text chain going consistently for three days after the tasting.
I’m waiting for him to ask me out. There’s no way I’m going to make a first move again.
But Eitan just insists on asking me random questions.
Things like, What’s your favorite song this week?
And, How was work? It’s nice—don’t get me wrong—but it’s making me anxious.
Maybe he changed his mind, or he’s talking to other people.
Maybe he woke up one morning and decided he was repulsed by me.
With the pleasant banality of our conversation, I have absolutely no idea!
Are you free on the ninth? Eitan texts one morning. A flurry of excited nerves break out in my stomach at the sight of his name.
I let the text simmer all day, torturing myself, retracing over it when I should be listening to the Lunch they must be breast cancer survivors, like me.
Other people wear ribbons pinned to their collars and blouses.
I recognize some of the colors—white for lung cancer, teal for ovarian—and others I’ve never seen before. Purple, gray, orange.
On one side, a woman with pale skin and a headscarf sits at a window, sipping from a thermos.
There’s a large orange ribbon pinned on her shirt.
She can’t be much older than me. It’s like looking in a mirror.
Instantly it sucks me back to a time when I was bald, pale, and sick.
There’s a weight on my chest, like someone is sitting on it.
I spin before she catches me staring.
“You should go talk to her.” Eitan nudges me.
I rub my chest. “What would I say?”
He shrugs. “You could start with hello.”
“Right.” I blink rapidly, clearing the unsettling memory. You are better now, I say to myself, over and over until it alchemizes into the truth.
Eitan grabs my shoulders and turns me, leaning in to whisper, “You go over there, and I’ll get us drinks.
” Just like that, he walks away, and I’m left alone in a room full of people I don’t know.
I have about two minutes before my social anxiety makes me implode, so I do the only reasonable thing I can: I slowly approach the woman in the headscarf.
“Hi,” I say, pulling myself onto the stool across from her. “I’m Ruby.”
She looks up at me with large brown eyes. I feel bad for avoiding her. “Hi, Ruby.” Her eyes crinkle with her smile. “I’m Lucy.”
I reach out my hand, and she just stares at it for a second.
“Sorry, I can’t shake hands. No immune system, et cetera.”
“Of course!” I smack my forehead. “That makes sense—sorry.”
Lucy shrugs and sips from her thermos.
“So.” I squeeze my leg to get myself to relax. “Have you gone to one of these events before?”
She shakes her head. “This is my first one. I just finished up my first year of treatment, so I’m finally feeling up for stuff like this. What about you?”
“I didn’t even know this existed until five minutes ago.” My gaze finds Eitan, a beacon in the dark. “My friend found it. I finished chemo over a year ago, and immunotherapy about eight months ago.”
“Congrats,” she says, genuinely meaning it in the way only someone who’s been through treatment of their own can. “What kind of cancer did you have?”
“Breast. What about you?”
“Leukemia.” She takes a sip from her thermos, not missing a beat. There’s something refreshing in talking about this to someone who knows better than to feel bad for you. “A.L.L.”
I tilt my head, not familiar with the different types of leukemia.
“Acute lymphoblastic leukemia.”
“Ah. How’d they find it?”
“Leukemia is actually easy to diagnose, since you can see something is wrong with a simple blood test. I—of course—had every symptom, but I thought I was just really, really tired.” She laughs.
I laugh, too. “I finally went to the doctor, and by the time they did the bone marrow biopsy, it was calcified to heck.” Lucy mashes her lips together. “I had to start chemo immediately.”
“That’s tough.” A question nags at me, something I’ve never been able to talk to a young survivor about. “Do you, um, think life will ever go back to normal?” I ask.
Lucy blows out a breath. “I think normal died about two hospitalizations ago.”
I snort.
“I’m probably not the best person to ask,” she goes on, “because I feel like I’m still in the thick of it. Has your life gone back to normal?”
“No,” I say. “It hasn’t.” No matter how many lists I make or goals I chase. I look down at my lap. I should be grateful I’m done with treatment. Grateful I have a life to return to.
Lucy leans in, like we’re about to conspire to rob a bank or plan a surprise party. “I’ve always liked the butterfly metaphor.”
“Like, metamorphosis?”
“Yes, but think about it this way: caterpillar bodies are made for crawling, eating leaves. Then once they leave the cocoon, their shape is completely different because now they need to fly and mate and stuff. I mean, the caterpillar’s body actually dissolves into cells from the inside out, and the cells reform into a butterfly.
Our bodies are being rearranged into completely different shapes and will be capable of completely new things.
But when you’re in the middle of it—when you’re in the cocoon—it’s impossible to imagine flying. ” She sits back.
“And you’ll leave the cocoon once you’re done with treatment?”
She sips from her thermos, thoughtful. “Not necessarily. You leave the cocoon when you’re ready.”
Someone taps a microphone, causing sharp feedback to ring through the packed cafe. “Sorry!” a woman says. “Testing, 1…2…” she mutters into the microphone.
A hand wraps around my shoulders and places a steaming mug of tea in front of me. “Hope you like peppermint,” Eitan murmurs in my ear. “Hi, there,” he says to Lucy.
“Hi.” She smiles at him. “Is this your partner?” She looks at me.
“No, he’s, uh, just a friend.” I turn red.
“My spouse is here somewhere.” Lucy cranes her neck. “They were parking. Daniel!”
Familiar coily hair piled beneath a yellow bandana, glowing dark skin, and a welcoming smile join the table.
I stare at my barista, eyes wide in shock.
“Hey!” Daniel says. “Ruby, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” I look between Daniel and Eitan. “Daniel works at the Mike’s next to my apartment.”
Chicago is the world’s largest small town.
“Hi everyone! Welcome to AYAs Take Chicago,” the woman says into the microphone. “I’m Maddy, I’ll be your host for the evening. We’re going to get started in a few minutes.”
I’m still not fully briefed on what this event is.
“What’s starting in a few minutes?” I look at Eitan.
“It’s an open mic!” Lucy says brightly.
Eitan boops my nose. “Don’t worry, I already signed you up.”