Chapter 37 Skylar
Skylar
That was terrible,” Analia says with a shudder. The car jolts as she hangs a right.
I clutch my back in agony. After today’s LP, the physician’s assistant only allowed fifteen minutes to lie flat, instead of the usual hour to prevent a cerebrospinal fluid leak.
I need to reach a different health campus quickly, before my pressure builds up again, in order to make the CT venogram on time and have my veins properly checked.
The last time I had a CSF leak, I needed my own blood injected back into my spine to seal it. Every pothole makes me sweat at the thought of another blood patch.
When we pull up to the hospital, Analia’s knuckles turn white. “This is the same building where I get my bladder instillations. My stomach knots up every time I turn this corner.”
I put a hand on her shoulder, knowing that dread before an appointment, those familiar streets leading to your personal medical hell.
Analia gets me a wheelchair. “I have to stop in the bathroom as soon as possible.”
I hope her interstitial cystitis isn’t flaring too much today when she can’t be at home. “We can stop now.”
“No, I’ll hold it until we get there.” She pushes me down the many corridors despite my protests. We go slow so Emy can keep up with her rollator.
At radiology, Emy checks me in. My pain is so intense I can barely stay lucid.
“I need to lie down,” I gasp.
Emy looks expectantly at the admin. “She needs a bed.”
“Once it’s her turn, she’ll have one.”
“She needs one now. She just had a spinal tap.”
“She can have a seat in the waiting room. The chairs are soft.”
Emy mutters irritably in Italian. Analia pushes me to a corner and excuses herself. I can’t keep my head up. The low-pressure headache and post-LP back pain have the room spinning.
I crawl onto the floor and use my sweatshirt as a pillow.
Emy perches cross-legged on her rollator. “I went out with this guy on Tuesday.”
My head swims. “Yeah?”
“Shh. You rest. I’ll talk.”
Emy talks nonstop. I love seeing her online personality come alive right in front of me.
She talks with her hands more than I expected, all emotion, and the funny way she describes her night with a Brazilian man she met online makes me laugh despite my pain.
She’s a shark with men, but her increased pain has kept her from going out lately.
“He already wants more,” she says, reading me one of his texts. “But I don’t know. Everything gets complicated if you meet a guy a second time. Ginevra tends to turn men off.”
It takes me a second to remember Ginevra is her rollator. Emy names all her mobility aids.
“You didn’t tell him about your pain?”
“I was having a good day when we met,” she says. “I figured, better to wait and see if it goes anywhere. Now he might question if I’m truly disabled since it wasn’t visible before.”
“Tell him before a second date, then.”
Analia’s long skirt swishes as she joins me on the floor, one hand clutching her lower stomach.
The patchwork fabric is stitched from vintage scarves, and she’s paired it with a worn-in tee, the neckline stretched just enough to slip off one shoulder.
She’s told us she favors flowy fabric when she’s in pain, as it makes her feel less constricted.
I wish we were meeting in one of our homes instead, where we could each curl up in our preferred pain positions with heat and ice packs and no outside stimulation.
“I can’t believe they haven’t taken you back yet,” she says.
“What do you guys do while you’re waiting for appointments?” I ask.
“Talk to my mom,” Emy says. “She always takes me.”
“Lucky,” Analia and I say at the same time.
I turn to her. “Kalle doesn’t go with you?”
She fiddles with the mixed metal bangles on her left wrist. “To appointments about my vagina? He’d black out.”
Emy’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk. “From what you’ve told us, it sounds like he’s quite comfortable with vaginas.”
Analia turns into a tomato.
“If I’m not at fairs, I’ll go with you,” I say, and Analia looks at me gratefully. “I play game show apps while waiting. Pike likes game shows too. Did I mention that? He used to watch them at rehab.”
“Sounds like you have a lot in common.” Emy raises a suggestive eyebrow.
“You need more in common than The Price Is Right.”
“Hmm,” Analia murmurs, but she changes the subject before I can say anything else.
“So,” Emy says.
She and Analia sit at my desk eating homemade Florentine bean soup, the sharp scent of sage filling the room. I lie flat on my stomach in bed with an ice pack on my back—the same position I’ve been in since we got home twenty-four hours ago.
“We’ve avoided the topic long enough. I refuse to leave before we talk about Pike.”
A different kind of headache creeps in, unrelated to the low-pressure one from my LP. They only know the basics of the breakup. Every time I try to bring up Pike, I close up.
Maybe he was right. I’m also afraid to be open in person.
But these are my best friends. They get me. And even more, they came here to be with me because they love me. I want to be real with them.
I force myself to recount everything in detail. My heart is raw and beaten by the end.
“But after Whistler,” Analia says, “he basically moved in when you were sick.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear again, her fingers often finding ways to stay occupied. “Why would he suddenly think you’re too much now?”
“It could’ve added up over time.”
“He could’ve paid for a cooking and cleaning service if he was tired of helping you,” Analia says, even if I wish it weren’t so logical.
I adjust my ice pack. Logical or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. “It’s over either way.”
“He seemed concerned when he called me,” she adds.
“He feels guilty. He’s a good guy.”
“Interesting.” Emy scrapes her bowl with a slice of baguette. “He’s a good guy, he takes care of you when you’re sick, he’s breathtakingly gorgeous, he’s rich, and he can relate to your pain. What’s the problem again, sweets?”
“My employer knows my bathroom habits. My mom knows how much I can’t stand her. I got kicked out of the group I created. And Pike let me take the fall with the paparazzi. He should’ve said something.”
“Honestly, what was he supposed to say? ‘Please stop invading our privacy’? Doesn’t every celebrity want that? Has it ever stopped anyone? He’s suing them.”
“I can’t really explain it. But it feels like Pike will only stand up for us when he doesn’t risk losing face. I think he was afraid of the blowback.”
“That’s valid. Honestly, for both of you.” Analia climbs into bed beside me and curls on her side with the heated electric blanket she brought with her. “We just want to make sure you’re leaving him for the right reasons.”
“You didn’t see the look on his face when he said he was so fucking tired. I don’t want him worse off because of me.”
“It’s not because of you,” Emy says sharply.
“It still hurts. I thought he was different. Maybe even, you know, the one. I know it’s not always easy, but I don’t want to convince someone I’m worth being with.”
Emy grimaces but joins us on the bed. “We’re here if you want to talk more.”
Analia nods. “And we don’t think you’re too much at all.”