Every Last Drop Page 9

  I swallowed the lump forming in my throat at his sweet words. “Even with everything I’m putting you through now?”

  “Tessa, you are not putting me through anything. Don’t push me away. Not now. Not when we need each other the most.” He stared me right in the eye, demanding I hear what he was saying.

  I nodded, biting my lips. I was pulling back, and he knew it. He wanted to take this journey with me, he wanted to be by my side, and I wanted to let him. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Kyle untangled Beast’s leash from around our legs once more, then taking my hands, he spun me around into another dance. I laid my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat in tune with the music, flowing from their instruments to his very core and into mine.

  “What if something happens?” I said barely above a whisper, unable to keep my fears completely at bay.

  He released my hand, wrapping both arms around me instead. “Nothing will happen.”

  “I have cancer, Kyle.”

  He looked down at me, the serious expression back. “Which means the worst has already happened. And we’re still here. We’re still fighting, and we’re going to win.”

  “How can you be so confident?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “How could I not be?”

  I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto my face. “I’m serious, Kyle.”

  “So am I, beautiful,” he said, wiggling his brows suggestively before kissing me.

  When we parted, I laughed, taking Beast’s leash and walking back toward the path. “You’re a goofball.”

  He caught up to me a second later. “You married that goofball.”

  I smiled. “Until the end.”

  “Nope.” Kyle shook his head. “There’s no end to us, Tessa. There’s only forever.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and laid a kiss on my scarf.

  I smiled. I wanted it. Every word.

  Only forever.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thursday, May 15, 2014

  * * *

  “This was your last treatment, are you excited?” the technologist asked, lifting the hated mesh holder off my head.

  “I don’t know about excited, but I’m definitely ready to be done with this thing.” I pointed at the mesh holder as she put it aside.

  “I can imagine.” She helped me off the table. “The surgery is tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed, not wasting any time heading for the door. She had turned out to be a sweet lady, but I was done with this room. This place. All of it.

  “You’ll do great!” she called after me.

  I pushed through the heavy doors, giving her a thank-you wave over my shoulder. It took all my effort to open the door, so the more reserved wave would have to do.

  Six weeks of radiation and I looked every minute of it. I slinked down the hallway toward the waiting room where either Kyle or my dad had sat every day, shuttling me back and forth. Today it was my dad, since Kyle was working so he could take tomorrow off for my surgery.

  I reached the end of the hallway, holding the rail the entire way and glancing up at the round mirror in the corner the staff used to see around corners to avoid collisions of beds and patients.

  The moment I saw my reflection, I realized my mistake. It was like staring at a ghost.

  The obligatory sweats hung loosely from my hips, no metal allowed. My face was a washed-out, pale oval, cheekbones pushing against my skin. Nothing defined me from the off-white wall behind me.

  There were no eyebrows to echo my mood, no lashes to bat and hide behind, no pink signs of life in my cheeks. My already small frame was even smaller now—my skin nearly translucent. Tiny blue veins marked my body, one of the few reminders I was still alive.

  Because I was still alive. Or something like that.

  Standing straighter in defiance, I released the handrail and readjusted the bright green scarf over my entirely smooth head. Even the fuzz was gone, replaced with scattered red blisters on my scalp instead. Taking deliberate and slow steps, I made it to the waiting room without assistance. Radiation had made my body weak, but I wasn’t.

  Cancer doesn’t get to win.

  “Sunshine? You ready?” My dad hopped up from his seat and dropped a magazine on the table nearby.

  “Yep, I’m done.” Truer words had never been spoken. I took his offered arm and leaned against him. “So done.”

  “Let’s go home, then.” He kissed the back of my hand affectionately. “Want to stop and get something to eat on the way? You didn’t have breakfast.”

  I shook my head and settled my free hand on my stomach that had begun somersaulting at the mere mention of food.

  His brows furrowed. “Tessa, you need to keep eating.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He grunted. “Delores will be here in the afternoon. We should ask her for more anti-nausea meds.”

  Poor Delores. I don’t know how she wasn’t sick of me yet. She came each afternoon, administering my medications and setting aside my pills for bedtime and the following morning. She listened to my whining about aches and pains and anything else. I was grateful for her, partially because my daily medications were overwhelmingly. There was no way I’d make heads or tails of it without her. But, I also appreciated who she was, and the support I felt just by her presence.

  “I guess the meds will help,” I replied, too tired to say more.

  “What about some toast?” he tried again as we entered the elevator to the parking garage.

  “Dad.” I put my hand over my mouth, willing my stomach contents to stay where they belonged.

  “Sorry.” He raised his hand in resignation, despite his usual persistence. It wasn’t that I wasn’t hungry, or even that nausea was the worst part of it. Food just wasn’t fun anymore. Before I became sick, I’d always loved to eat and had the curves to show for it despite my regular exercise routine. I had always described my body type as works out but definitely enjoys cheese. Often.

  Everything’s different now that my body is barely my own. My curves have long since melted away, the first thing to go with the weight loss from my treatment. My taste buds are now almost nonexistent and I can’t smell a thing, which makes eating like forcing rubber down my throat. Add to these wonderful symptoms nausea from the meds, and it’s no wonder food had lost all appeal for me.

  “New topic, then,” my dad said. “Your sister will be here on Saturday. She finishes her last final tomorrow.”

  I exhaled with a smile, relief flooding me at the thought of my sister being back by my side again. “I can’t wait to see her. Though I don’t want to mess with her final tomorrow by having her worrying about me in surgery.”

  “I think she’ll worry either way.”

  “Tell her not to,” I added, knowing it was useless. “She needs to focus on her test, not me.”

  My dad laughed, a deep belly laugh that shook even the arm I was holding on to. “Elly’s never been one to listen to her dear old dad, Tessa.”

  This was true. Of the two of us, she’d always been the rebellious, stubborn one. I envied her, having never had the chance to be a kid, to be irresponsible and just live for myself. I never wished for something different because I do truly love my life, but sometimes I wondered what it would have been like to be a regular kid. To have a mom who hadn’t died, a father who wasn’t often deployed, and a little sister who didn’t need me to be the parent we were both missing. I didn’t regret it, and I wasn’t bitter, but sometimes I wondered.

  My dad started the car and drove out of the parking garage. “What time do we need to be here tomorrow for surgery?” he asked.

  “Seven o’clock in the morning.”

  He grunted again—the majority of his vocabulary was made up of different grunts, but this grunt was his doctors-are-stupid-and-seven-in-the-morning-is-crazy grunt. “Those damn doctors are up with the roosters. Probably trying to make it look like they actually do shit.”

  I laug
hed, more to myself than to him. “I mean…they are going to cut into my head.” That was some definite shit.

  Honestly, I didn’t mind the early hour. In fact, I wished it was today. Or right now. I wanted this done. Finished. Over. The end. Six weeks of my life had been on hold, waiting for this, waiting for the tumor to come out. Then, I could finally move on.

  I would be able to say I’d beaten cancer. There was no other acceptable outcome. I was not my mother. I would not die alone in a hospital bed with no one to hear my final words.

  That wasn’t me. That wasn’t my ending. I am a survivor.

  I will beat cancer.

  • ღ • ღ • ღ •

  * * *

  Friday, May 16, 2014

  * * *

  “What am I supposed to wear?” I was almost bouncing with excitement, standing in my closet surveying the options, Beast rolling around on the carpet at my feet.

  Kyle leaned against the doorframe, watching me pack a bag. He was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes since it was only five in the morning, but I was too eager to sleep. “I don’t think it matters, Tessa. They’re going to make you change into a hospital gown.”

  “Not for now. I mean after the surgery. I have to walk out of the hospital in something kickass. Something that says I kicked cancer’s ass.”

  “I could have a shirt printed up saying that.” His lazy grin warmed my heart.

  “I think I’d prefer a billboard. Right over Millennium Park. TESSA KICKED CANCER’S ASS.” I made a congratulatory gesture with my hands imagining the sight.

  Beast rolled over, perching on my feet and cementing me to the spot.

  “I’ll get right on that.” He laughed, leaving momentarily before reappearing with a small package. “Speaking of getting shirts printed, I got you something.”

  “A present? Ooh, give it here!” I lifted my feet—dislodging the dog—and walked to Kyle, taking the gift from him. Moving to the bed, I sat on the edge with it in my lap.

  Kyle shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “It’s just a little something for today. For beginnings.”

  Pride beamed through his smile, and my heart leapt in response. Pulling the wrapping off, a small piece of fabric unfolded in my lap. The material was starched white cotton and when I flattened it against my thighs, I realized it was a baby onesie. The front had a big red heart and then black letters spelling out I love my Mommy.

  “Kyle! This is adorable!” I held it up against my chest, hugging it to me. “You know I’m not pregnant though, right?”

  “Obviously,” he said with a small chuckle, sitting on the edge of the bed next to me. “But after today, we can go back to hoping for a little person to wear that onesie. These last six weeks…well, it’s fucking sucked for all of us, but especially you. This is something to look forward to—you, me, your family. This is what we’re holding on to. This is what’s going to get us through.”

  “Oh, Kyle,” I whispered, staring at the heartfelt gift in my hands. “I’m so lucky to have you. Thank you.”

  “I’m the lucky one, babe. All the love.” He pulled me against his side and kissed my cheek. Standing, he headed for the doorway and glanced back at me. “Ready to go in twenty?”

  “I’ll be right down,” I said, watching him leave.

  Looking down at the onesie in my hands, I let a few quiet tears glide down my face. They weren’t sad tears, or overwhelmed tears, or even tears of pain. These were tears of hope, of excitement, of optimism. The best kind.

  I smiled and folded the onesie into a tight bundle, tucking it into my bag for the hospital. I wanted it with me. I didn’t want to forget what the last six weeks had been for. It wasn’t just my life, it was our entire family, our entire future.

  I returned to packing what I’d need for a few days into the leather weekend bag Kyle had bought me for my last birthday. I’d meant to finish packing last night, but I’d been sick most of yesterday and barely able to leave the bathroom.

  My phone pinged and I pulled it out of my pocket, smiling when I saw my sister’s name on the screen. There was also a well-wishing text from my boss. Both messages wished me luck today, along with many prayers. I needed every bit of it.

  I thanked them and returned the phone to my pocket.

  Wrapping a purple silk scarf around my head, I surveyed my appearance in the mirror. Even though I’d be taking it off in a few minutes, I needed the scarf. Partly to keep my head warm, but mostly, I’d gotten used to it being a part of who I am right now. I didn’t feel naked or on display when I wore them. Instead, I felt glamorous and connected to my mother in a way I hadn’t before.

  Contrary to my glamorous scarf, I opted to keep on my pajamas for the morning commute. They weren’t really pajamas anyway, rather, Kyle’s shirt and ill-fitting lounge pants.

  Everything I wore was ill-fitting these days. Pants hung off my hipbones, which protruded too far from my waist. My skin stretched and hung in a sad manner, as if it were clinging to my bones.

  Sighing, I surveyed Beast, whose snout was nose deep in his crotch, one back leg over his head. Snorting noises came from his self-manipulations, and I gagged slightly. Thank God, he’s cute.

  “Give it here. I’ll carry that.” My dad motioned toward the bag in my hands as I walked out of my bedroom.

  Gratefully, I handed it over, not wanting to waste the limited energy I had on carrying luggage. “Thanks, Dad.” I followed him down the stairs, Beast on our tail as we reached the bottom.

  “Do you want something to eat or drink?” Kyle asked, standing by the open front door, car keys in his hand. My dad walked past him with my bag, heading for the car.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. Nothing heavy in my stomach before surgery.”

  “Oh, right. Well, I’ll make sure to have something yummy waiting when you’re done, babe,” Kyle assured me.

  “To celebrate,” I added. Because, damn it, we would be celebrating. Today was for celebrating. Well, in a few hours.

  “Definitely.” Kyle looked relieved, and I felt it, too. We were ready for today. We were ready for it to be over. He helped me shrug on a jacket as my dad walked back in, my bag no longer in his hands. “Glenn, can you lock Beast up in the kitchen while I get Tessa into the car?”

  “Sure, but it won’t make a damn bit of difference. He always slams through the gate before we get home anyway,” my dad muttered, stalking off toward the kitchen with Beast under one arm.

  I buttoned my jacket, laughing at my dad’s remarks. Warmth enveloped me and I pushed my hands in the jacket pockets. Though almost summer, my new paper-thin skin made me perpetually cold. A pair of loafers finished my less-than-subpar look as I stepped out onto the front porch. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  So damn ready.

  The drive to the hospital was quiet. Not awkward or uncomfortable, just quiet. We knew today would be tough, but it was blue skies after that. Sure, I’d have checkups and different therapies to return me to my old self again, but the worst would be behind us. A calmness comes with knowing the worst thing you’ll ever go through is behind you, and at only twenty-eight years old.

  After registering with the admittance staff, we were ushered into a small hospital room where a nurse told us to wait for the doctor. She gave me a gown and showed me to a private bathroom where I could change. Once barely-adorned in my paper coverings, I sat on the edge of the exam table and fidgeted, waiting.

  “Tessa, sit still. You’re making me seasick,” my dad grumbled from his chair a few feet away.

  I grinned. “Can’t help it. I feel like I’ve had eight cups of coffee.”

  “You haven’t had anything,” Kyle said with a snort, leaning against the far wall.

  I shrugged. Didn’t matter.

  “Good morning, Tessa,” Dr. Page greeted us, walking into the room. “And family.”

  We all sat up straighter, giving him our full attention.

  Kyle grabbed my hand and squeezed it between both of his. “Morning,
doctor.”

  “Yes, sorry to make everyone come in so early. We usually do surgeries as soon as possible so the day can be spent monitoring the patient, but, uh,” he paused and licked his lips, flipping through a clipboard chart in his hands.

  I narrowed my eyes. He wasn’t reading the charts, just turning pages. My dad glanced in my direction, and I saw a similar worry in the crinkle of his eyes.

  “What’s going on, doc?” Kyle seemed to sense it, too.

  “Tessa, I’d like to discuss a change in your prognosis. Would you like to do that privately?” He gestured to my husband and father, offering them a polite smile.

  I shook my head emphatically. “No, they can stay. I want them to stay.”

  Please just take me to surgery. Cut me open, yank out the tumor, and let me put this day so far behind me, it can never catch up.

  “Very well. We examined your scans from earlier this week, hoping to see a decrease in tumor size and spread. Six weeks of radiation should have done this—significantly. The tumor should’ve been more manageable so we could remove it today.”

  “Should’ve?” I interrupted. Panic fluttered through my abdomen. I swallowed heavily. Was that sorrow in his eyes? No. God, no. Please, don’t say it.

  “We won’t be doing the surgery today, Tessa. I’m so sorry. The tumor did not diminish.” Dr. Page inhaled deeply before continuing. “In fact, it grew and spread. At this point, we’d classify it as a Grade 4 glioblastoma, and inoperable.”

  Wide-eyed, I clutched Kyle’s hand. A strangled sound came from my dad’s direction, but he didn’t look at me. I glanced sideways at my husband. He was barely breathing, paler than the white hospital walls.

  My stomach somersaulted. My heart pounded against my ribcage.

  I don’t understand. Today was the last day. It’s over. The nightmare is over.

  “What are you saying?” I asked, my teeth clenched and each word coming out choppy. Separated. Confused. I don’t understand.