17
The day after tomorrow comes too quickly.
Ben has not been on a solo trip since his diagnosis. I have basically been by his side every waking minute. We know we’ve
grown codependent, that we’ve been living from a place of survival, and that this separation, however painful, will be good
for us both. Probably.
As Ben shrugs on his backpack and walks to the car, his eyes shine with something I haven’t seen in a while: adventure, possibility,
change.
A miracle.
“Call me the moment you get there,” I say.
“I will. I promise.” He kisses me again, and I try to soak in this moment, try to stop time. I don’t want to lay all my worries
at his feet. I know he needs to do this alone, to stay focused on healing, but everything in me wants to scream to stay here,
with me, in our condo. But I know getting out of the place he’s been so sick in will most likely make him feel better.
I wave until he is out of sight and then slump against the brick wall outside our building. I want to believe in miracles, but I also believe in reality. Though I remind myself, if anyone can beat this, it’s Ben. Maybe a miracle really could happen. Maybe it’s not too late.
My phone chirps with an incoming text from an unknown number. My heart flutters as I read the text. It’s from Liam.
How are you holding up? I thought we could go down by the river, maybe have a picnic, and I can interview you there since
it’s so nice out?
Seeing his message on my phone floors me. Did Ben give him my number? After I left New York, I’d wanted to reach out a million
times. I didn’t have Liam’s phone number or his email, but I could have found him. I could have looked him up at the paper
and gotten in touch that way. But as weeks turned into months and then years, I figured he didn’t want me to find him. He
wasn’t on social media, so I couldn’t even low-key stalk him when I finally got a cell phone, and I never allowed myself to
look up his work because it was just too painful.
Tiny, beautiful moments of our time together in Brooklyn throttle back to the forefront of my mind. I have never felt so special,
so alive, so on purpose as I did that week, and if I’m being radically honest with myself, I’m nervous to be in Liam’s presence again. He has an
effect on me that no one else does, not even Ben. It’s the closest thing to magic I’ve ever felt, and the fact that Ben has
brought up this crazy notion that he wants me to fall in love before he goes, and now has left me with the only other person I was madly in love with, is all too much to be a simple coincidence. It’s a sign of some sort, just like the cards said, but of
what, I’m not yet sure.
I think about how to respond. Should I suggest we just do the interview over the phone? No, I’m not some lovestruck twenty-something
anymore. I’m a grown woman, married to the love of my life. I can handle one interview.
I’m sad, but I know he needs this , I reply. Your plan sounds lovely. What can I bring?
We decide to meet in a little over an hour. Here I am again, all these years later, needing to focus on my art but instead
choosing to spend time with Liam. As I leave my apartment and make the brief journey toward the water, I realize meeting this
time is under very different circumstances. This isn’t all fun and games, and we aren’t falling for each other. He is here
for a story, and I am here to help honor Ben. That’s where this story ends.
I remind myself of that as I catch a glimpse of Liam spreading out a blanket on the soft grass, arranging food on compostable
plates before shoving a hand through hair I can almost still feel beneath my fingertips. My heart betrays me by beating much
too fast, and I contemplate turning around, locking myself in my studio, and sending him a “sorry, can’t” text.
Instead, I stalk down to the water’s edge as he blinds me with that devastating smile. “Hey, you.” He spreads his arms and
motions for me to sit. “Good day for a picnic, right?”
It’s like stepping back in time as I offer him a tight-lipped smile and sit on the very edge of the blanket. It’s impossible
not to remember the picnic he made for us on that rooftop all those years ago. My whole future was ahead of me then, and I
foolishly thought it would all work out.
Liam lowers himself beside me, and I swear I feel the heat from his body even with five feet between us. He offers me a can
of sparkling water. I take it and stare at the calm river, my thoughts dancing all over the place.
“He’ll be fine,” Liam says, popping the top of his water and taking a swig. “These workshops are wildly transformational. People who have been diagnosed with chronic lifelong illnesses leave completely in remission.”
I feel a flush of guilt as I realize I wasn’t even thinking of Ben just now and focus on the entire reason I’m here. I search
for what to say. I can’t think about Ben being fully healed. I’ve already been there in my mind, and with every doctor’s appointment,
reality caused me to come crashing back down. “I don’t know how he can do this to himself,” I finally say, plunging my fingers
into the grass beside me. “Give himself this type of hope.”
“What’s the alternative?” Liam shakes his head. “The mind is a powerful thing, Harper. I watched my mom give up because the
doctors told her there were no other options. She lived in fear, and then she died.” He shakes his head. “Whatever we believe,
that’s what happens. I’ve studied this. I’ve covered stories on it for years. I’ve done the research. And I can tell you that
it is one hundredpercent possible that Ben can walk away totally healthy next week.”
I want to believe that too, but I simply can’t. Not with advanced pancreatic cancer. Not with how much it’s already spread.
And what if the impossible does happen? Would Ben and I still live the rest of our lives in fear of it coming back again? Would we think with every cough
or bad day or stomach bug, Well, here we go again . It’s not the actual diagnosis that’s the cancer, I’ve realized; it’s all the uncertainty that comes after. I know Liam already
knows this; he went through it, and his mom did not make it to the other side.
“So what do you want to ask me?” It’s a sharp swerve, but Liam acclimates and brings out his phone to record.
He swallows, and I try to drag my eyes away from his throat and lips, but it’s harder than it should be. “Well, Ben has told me how you two met, and I know the infamous proposal story now, but I’d like for you to take me to that moment of his diagnosis. What happened. How you felt.”
“Starting off easy, huh?” I joke, hitching my knees up to my chest. I drape my arms around them, the can dangling loosely
from my cool fingertips. “He got really sick on our honeymoon. I knew something wasn’t right. I could just feel it.” I tell
him that after Ben fainted on our honeymoon, he started complaining about stomach pain and darker urine. Then it was unexpected
weight loss and nausea. He thought it was a bug. My mind went straight to cancer.
“I finally forced him to go in for bloodwork. They immediately called him in for more tests and to biopsy a spot they found
on his pancreas. I should note here that Ben hates doctors, hates blood, hates all of it. He used to say that anyone who walks
in for extensive testing doesn’t leave without some sort of diagnosis. When the doctor came in to share his results, Ben joked
and asked, ‘Am I dying?’ and instead of laughing, she simply offered a frown.” I swallow, remembering. “At that moment, I
literally thought, ‘This is it. This is the moment everything changes.’ She started explaining advanced pancreatic cancer,
what it meant, how it was diagnosed. They practically forced him into treatment on the spot, and it’s one of our biggest regrets.
That we didn’t take time to explore our options. They made it sound like if he wanted to live, he had to start treatment immediately.
You don’t know Ben, but this was not the way for him to enter a fight. I remember that all he asked was how long he had left,
and she told him six months without treatment, maybe a year or two with.”
Liam shakes his head and scribbles something on his pad.
“He worried that amount of time wasn’t even worth it for what his body would have to go through. But I asked more questions—about treatment, side effects, the cost with health insurance—and I realized this wasn’t just his diagnosis. It was mine too.” I pause and take a shaky breath. “I remember being so angry. Ben was the healthiest person I knew. We were newlyweds. We had plans. I didn’t understand why it was all happening. We left, and when we walked outside, he looked at me and said...” My voice trails off and I try to keep my emotions in check. “He said, ‘I’ve only just found you.’” My eyes lock with Liam’s and something familiar passes between us.
“Then he burst into tears, which was the only time I’d ever seen him cry.” I sigh and look up at the cloudless sky. “That
was one of the hardest days of my life. It all felt so unfair.”
I know Liam wants to chime in, say something positive, but this is our story, not his. I take him through the subsequent treatment,
how it made Ben so sick, how he experienced such negative side effects and developed several infections that nearly killed
him. It didn’t seem possible that there could still be an ounce of cancer in there with all the drugs and treatments, but
the cancer somehow still grew and spread.
“Does Ben have any unprocessed trauma? A rough childhood, things like that?”
I’m surprised he’s asking me instead of Ben, but I just shrug. “He definitely has some things he doesn’t like to talk about,
mainly with his dad’s unexpected death. He often works it out in his music.”
Liam nods. “That makes sense.” He scribbles something else and then presses Stop on his phone. “Snack time?”
I nod and dip into the turkey sandwiches, salad, and fruit he’s brought. We munch silently, staring at the water, a few paddleboarders
and boaters soaking up the day.
“Harper?”
My heart thuds in my chest the moment I look at him. “Yeah?”
“Why did you leave?”
My mouth is dry, my head is swimming, and I don’t want to answer. There are so many reasons I left New York, none of them
good. I know what he’s really asking: Why did you leave me?
“It’s complicated,” I say.
He nods, pensive. “Okay, but all this time, why didn’t you reach out?”
“Why didn’t you?” I toss the question back, and he actually laughs.
“You’re kidding, right? I reached out constantly.”
“No, you didn’t.” He definitely didn’t.
“Yes, I did. You didn’t have a cell phone, so I tried to track down where you work, but you’d already quit. I even tried to
reach you through Kendall and Rita.”
My head is spinning. He what ? Not long after I came back to Chicago, I quit my job, got a new email address, and moved out of my apartment. When I finally
got a flip phone and thought of reaching out, I didn’t have Liam’s cell phone number; all I had was his physical address.
I even wrote him several letters but never sent them.
“I thought about reaching out a thousand times,” I finally admit.
“Why didn’t you?” He turns to face me fully. “Because I tried, Harper. I emailed you but it bounced back. I tried to look
you up online. I even flew to Chicago once.”
These admissions hit me one after the other, until I am unable to keep up. He flew to Chicago? He tried to find me?
“That wasn’t just some random week to me,” he finally says. “It was my whole life, my future. You were my future.” His voice cracks, and so does my heart.
I know we shouldn’t be having this conversation. Ben’s earnest face rolls through my mind, front and center; I scurry to stand,
taking a few steps back, as if Liam has physically threatened me. “I can’t be here. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
I turn to go and break into a run. Maybe if I run far enough, fast enough, I will start to forget.