Chapter Twenty-Three
Even with the hour she crawled into bed, she didn’t sleep. Her head spun. Her chest ached, and she couldn’t get rid of the sickening feeling twisting in her stomach. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink anything that wouldn’t threaten to come back up.
She called Keegan that morning on her way to the doctor’s office. She at least had to explain her absence for the day.
“Hey there.” Julia tried to sound upbeat as possible, as normal as possible despite what occurred just hours earlier. “I’ve had some things come up and I’m going to be out today. I’ve already let the other admins know, so they’ll be filling in as needed.”
“Wow! Julia Jenner using personal time?” She laughed, and that sound warmed Julia’s heart. “What’s your big plans?”
“Just some appointments that came up.” She tried to stick as close to the truth as possible. She never was a good liar. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Will do, boss.” Then she paused, the call not ending yet. “Is this about last night?”
“No,” Julia answered honestly. “It has nothing to do with that. I promise.”
Keegan was quiet for a moment on the other side.
“Have a good day off!”
Julia clicked the off button on her Bluetooth. The only noise left was the sound of the tires on pavement–the thudding of rubber and weeks old salt being kicked up, beating beneath the car.
When she pulled into the small family practice, she couldn’t bring herself to get out of the car. She couldn’t turn it off. Her foot was placed firmly on the brake as her hand hovered over the shifter still in the drive position.
She could just leave. She could pretend she never found that little bump and go home. She could call Erin. They could have their stupid little fling and allow herself to get swept up in another’s loving embrace. She could finally let her body release every pent-up mistake with the weight of Erin’s on top of her. Then she’d be able to truly let go.
She could allow herself those moments of fleeting happiness. Blissfully ignorant. Isn’t it funny that after so many years of seeking out all the information she could, now she wished she could claim ignorance?
Just when she thought that was the decision she had made–her eyes on the rearview mirror as he gripped the gear stick–Dr. Rosel opened the door of the office before her. She wore a long white medical coat, a wide smile across carnation lips. She waved her in, those frail arms beckoning in the wind, too aware Julia had sat in that running car for far too long.
“Good morning,” Julia said as she smiled and exited her car.
“It is so good to see you.” She opened the door and Julia walked inside. “I wish it was under different circumstances. How long has it been?”
“I’m not sure. The last few years have been busy.”
“I’m sorry to hear.” Her smile faded–her ringless finger caught in the headlights.
“Thank you.”
What do you say to an apologetic statement like that? What is the correct response to diffuse that type of awkward situation? It’s like when someone dies and all you have to offer is, I’m so sorry for your loss. Well, no shit.
Everyone is sorry and you hear it over and over until the very words grate on your last nerve. You know people mean well. You know they are just trying to comfort you in a time of need, but there’s no comfort when a piece of your life disappears. There’s no comfort in words or actions. They need the time and space to pick up the pieces left and figure out a new way that they can fit together.
Dr. Rosel led Julia into a small, stark room. The lights shone brighter than the Florida sun, reflecting off-white walls to a point of almost glowing against the pale-yellow curtains.
“So, take this gown.” She handed Julia one of those thin, pale green excuses for a cover up. “Put it on and let us know when you’re ready. We’re going to do an examination, and then some imaging. It shouldn’t take long and it’ll be relatively painless.”
“Okay.” Julia nodded, her already cold skin forming goosebumps beneath her clothes.
Relatively painless?
She dressed and then the nurses came in to take her vitals. They went over her body, asking about tenderness and normality, when the lump was first noticeable, if she had any other symptoms. They noted her fatigue, nausea, and headaches–all normal occurrences. They checked her eyes, ears, throat, and every other orifice they could shine a light into.
And then they took her into another room, even colder than the last, her grippy hospital socks sticking to the glossy floor as she walked down the hallway. She walked in and saw the machine standing before her. It was tall and stark white, just like the walls and everything else.
She had to open her gown, press her breast against the cold plate, and hold her breath as it felt like life was being squeezed out of her. It pinched and stung, throbbing even after it was over. Those few minutes, the coldness absorbing into her skin, was more traumatic than the drive over. As the mammogram machine x-rayed her tissue, it began to feel real.
She got dressed alone, slowly pulling chilled clothes over her goosebumps and gurgling stomach. Isn’t it funny how nurses leave you after an invasive exam to get dressed? As if they didn’t see the most personal parts of you sprawled across a sterile exam table under fluorescent bulbs?
They told her it would take a few days to get the exam results, but not to worry. It could be nothing. It was probably nothing.
She contemplated going to work when she got home. She even pulled a dress from her closet and hung it on the back of the door. She pulled earrings from her vanity and placed matching navy shoes neatly on the floor. She had every intention of going. Almost.
As she stripped down to her bare skin, she couldn’t take her eyes off of her slightly pink, swelled chest. Her breasts were red with irritation–poked, pulled, squished in ways they shouldn’t be contorted into.
She couldn’t go. She couldn’t walk into that brick building and pretend everything was alright. She couldn’t smile at anyone while she fought the urge to throw up. She couldn’t see Keegan and lie and say everything was fine, because she really didn’t know anymore. There was something looming in the distance. There was the feeling of Erin disappearing before her.
Instead, she wrapped herself in fuzzy sweatpants, a pullover sweater, and laid on the couch with all the blinds in the house still closed. She turned on the television–not that she was watching it–as a sound buffer to fill the emptiness that radiated from still walls. She pulled out her phone, running through excuses she could use to avoid work in her head.
Julia - 6:38 p.m.
Hey! I’m not feeling well, so I won’t be in tomorrow. Please cancel my morning meetings and reschedule them for next week.
Keegan - 6:39 p.m.
Awh! Did that stomach bug get you? Ben wasn’t feeling well after dinner. Food poisoning?
Julia - 6:40 p.m.
Maybe. Hopefully it all passes soon.
Keegan 6:40 p.m.
I can bring you some of my famous chicken noodle soup.
Julia 6:41 p.m.
Thanks! But I’m okay. I think I just need rest.
Keegan 6:43 p.m.
Feel better!
She set her phone down on the coffee table and noticed her hands were shaking. The last thing she needed was Keegan at her house, or anyone, for that matter, doting over her. She wanted the quiet. She wanted the silence. She sought the nothingness, because that was the only thing that felt like home anymore.
As Monday passed, she couldn’t find the energy to work on her computer. She didn’t scour over reports or unread emails that piled towards mountainous heights. She laid on that couch as countless movies flashed across the screen and seemed to end just as fast as they started.
She ignored the phone calls from Keegan–no doubt trying to check on how she was doing. She ignored the cold messages from Erin with evaluations needing her review. She ignored the world.
She kept her phone on the coffee table before her, the volume turned up to max capacity. Every few minutes she’d open it and scan through her call log. There were no missed calls from the hospital, but she had to check. It’s probably nothing.
Surely they would rush her imaging. Surely they knew how important and time sensitive it all was. Surely they knew she was lying there in a ball, her knees pulled to her chest, while she contemplated why she’d been so afraid of living for so many years when they might be all she’d ever be allotted. It’s nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
If this was it for her–if cancer was what got her in the end–she was stupid for being so afraid of everything else. She took for granted every kiss, every touch. And when they were gone and only the ghost of Marin’s skin was left on Julia’s? Well, she buried herself with those memories instead of rising from the ashes like the phoenix she held within.
Instead of burying herself in her work, she should’ve been living. She should’ve taken that trip in the fall to the Adirondacks–admiring golden amber and maroon leaves falling hundreds of feet to the foliage living at the bottom of the mountain.
She should’ve rented that cabin deep in the woods–the one on the lake with the canoe clinging to a rickety old dock–and basked in the intimacy of experiencing it all on her own. She should’ve sat around a crackling fire with nothing but the quiet caw of birds and rustling trees filling the air. She should’ve brought her canvas and painted the way the water reflected the pine trees across the lake–the way the surface ripples turn a subtle yellow in the reflection of the sun setting above.
What she couldn’t push out of her mind the most–what tugged at the seams of her being–was that she should’ve taken Erin home that night in The Tipsy Hatter. She should’ve given into every impulse her body was electrifying into her and said yes. She should’ve soaked up the vanilla scent into her bedsheets and buried her face in her morning hair, savoring every last remnant of an unforgettable night.
She should have lived. She should have said yes at every turn, and now she may not have that chance again. How sad is it? To only now realize you wasted so much of your life on the little things? Is this what the very foundation of a mid-life crisis is built upon? Does everyone go through this moment of clarity and think they’re the last fool on Earth, or is everyone just uniquely set in their own misery?
Tuesday passed and there was still no call. It was worse than knowing. She texted Keegan again and told her she wouldn’t be in. She ignored all the other texts, calls, and emails. She tried to stay busy–tried to catch up on work or read the newspaper. She scoured over online articles about new legislation regarding LGBT students, anything to get her mind off of the rest.
She wanted to talk to Erin, desperate to ask for her forgiveness again. She wanted to explain everything–explain that she wished she was with her that night, not Lauren. But she knew she wouldn’t answer even if she did call. The way her voice broke would be ingrained in Julia’s memory until her last breath. It will scar over her skin, embedding itself to her forever.
She still wore the fuzzy sweats from the day before. She should shower–taking the stench of the sweat-soaked, sleepless night off of her. She should have drunk some water instead of having another cup of black coffee that just stretched her blood-shot eyes. She should have eaten something instead of drinking half a bottle of merlot as the sun settled beyond the horizon.
She should’ve done anything other than curl back onto the couch, the blanket pulled tight around her body as she prayed for rest. Just as her tired eyes slipped close–her body curled into the cushions like a snake–the doorbell chimed throughout the house.
Dammit, Keegan.
She pulled the blankets over her head and tried so hard to get back to the almost unconscious state. She’d go away. She’d take the hint and leave. Then the bell rang again.
She groaned as she sat up, throwing the blankets to the side in a toddler’s tantrum mode. She took down her hair and ran her fingers along her scalp. With a sigh, she clipped it back up and then walked to the door.
If she just answered that call or text message, she wouldn’t have to face her. She wouldn’t have to let her inside and tell her everything, wouldn’t have to apologize for keeping something that serious to herself. She wouldn’t have to look at the worry in her eyes as she tried to reassure her that it would be alright when she wasn’t even sure about that herself.
Isn’t it funny how when you’re the sickest–when you go through something no one else should have too–you’re the one that has to be sorry? You’re the fragile piece of China in the pawnshop. You’re the weakest link, but somehow, others are the ones needing reassurance. Because it’s one thing to have something wrong, to go through something unimaginable, but it’s entirely different to not be okay.
“Keegan,” Julia sighed, “I know, I know–”
She opened the door in haste, already preparing for the look in her dark eyes. When the door swung open and the cold wind wrapped around her, she realized she had it all wrong.
They both stood there, staring at the other.
Marin.