Better Than None (24 page)

“Stephanie, I know I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“And you thought sending a text would solve it? A text that pretended
like nothing had happened? Like we’d just pick up where we’d left off?” I was
so hurt and so angry and all I heard for a bit was my heart pounding. The
silence was deafening until he finally filled it.

“No, I just thought if I called first, you might not have answered.”

“You’re right.”

“I don’t know how to do this.” He almost whimpered. As annoyed as I
sounded, he sounded far more pained.

“I don’t either, Brad. That’s part of the problem. One of us can’t be
blind, and I’m thinking this time, it has to be me.”

There was a long pause. I listened to him breathing and thought, I miss
even that.
Pathetic, Steph.

“I signed the papers.” Was all he said. There was more silence for
longer than was comfortable before I spoke. There was so much to say and yet
not really anything at all.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with you.”

“That’s not enough.”

Never before had I asked for what I wanted from a man. I always thought
if I did I’d be my mother, I’d be weak, needy. For some reason, I didn’t think
my needs mattered which became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was so afraid of
rejection that it was always safer not to ask in the first place.

But with Brad, I didn’t need to tell him that I had trusted him, that I
opened myself up and bared myself to him, that even with all the sex I had
before him, that he was my first in so many ways. Or maybe I did need to say
those words, and if that was the case then he really wasn’t who I thought he
was.

“I understand. I just wanted you to know.” He said tightly. “And I
wanted to talk with you as Brad before I saw you again as Dr. Rosenberg.”

I did appreciate that, but again, it just wasn’t enough. And given
everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, there was no way I’d be able
to process any of this. Even if I could, it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to
have over the phone.

“I have to go.” I said with resignation, and waited. I waited for him
to protest or push, but when he didn’t, I couldn’t wait any longer. He told me
he signed the papers. He told me he wanted to be with me. The ball was in my
court. I’m not sure what else I expected.

****

People who are religious often say that God only gives you as much as
you can take. As I sat there hung-over, mortified and worried that I might have
done irreparable harm to my job, no matter how conciliatory Marty had been, I
thought that God must have thought I could handle a whole lot more than I’d
ever heap onto my own plate. Or maybe he was just up there punishing me for not
believing in him. Because in addition to everything else, I’d be seeing Brad in
a couple days to go over the results of my mom’s PET scan. Yippie.

There are moments in most everyone’s life where we’d all make a deal
with the devil, sell our soul, promise anything if we could just… fill in the
blank. Ace the test. Have her say yes. Get the job. I think both my mom and I
knew what the results of her latest scan would show. Her symptoms were only
getting worse. The pain, the nausea, the inability to eat. We weren’t medical
professionals, but everything pointed in one direction: growth. As we waited in
that damn waiting room, I wasn’t sure what I even had to offer in hopes of a
different outcome. But I would have given anything, anything I had not to see
the look on Brad’s face. I don’t know if my mom saw it, but it was clear the
moment he came in that he had bad news to deliver.

“Yours is a very aggressive form… the location… we could try a
different type of chemo…” I really only heard bits and parts of what he said as
my mom and I sat in the same room of our very first appointment. It hadn’t even
been six months. Brad kept talking, but all I could really focus on was the
feeling of Barb’s skin under mine. I stroked the top of her hand back and forth
with my thumb, it was so soft, I couldn’t get over how smooth her skin was. The
more he talked, the more I zoned out focusing on the feeling of her, wondering
how much longer I’d be able to hold her, care for her, be with her.

Ironically, this disease, this horrible disease made my mom stronger
than I’d ever seen her. Somewhere in the weakness she found her strength. It
was her voice that snapped me back to the present.

“No more hospitals, Dr. Rosenberg. No more procedures. I can’t. I
won’t. And no more chemo. I tried. I really did. But after everything that you
and your colleagues have done, I feel worse than ever. I can barely take care
of myself. I can hardly eat. I’m so weak I need Stephy to bathe me, take care
of me...” Tears started forming and her hands were shaking. “This is no way to
live, doctor. I can’t do it anymore, not to myself, and I can’t stand putting
Stephanie through it.”

“Ma, this isn’t about me—” I started to say.

“Oh honey, I know that. But what kind of life is this for you? Spending
any free second taking care of your dying mother?”

“Mom! I want to!”

“I know you do sweetie, and I’m so lucky to have you. I don’t know what
I’d do without you. But I hate you seeing me like this.
I
hate seeing me
like this.”

We were both in tears and for a second I forgot that Brad was right
there. I didn’t know if it was because it was me, or if he had somehow learned
patience. I turned to him, my mother’s shaking hands in mine.

“If she doesn’t want any more procedures, if she stops the chemo…” I
trailed off, looking up at him. He looked as sad and pained as I felt.

“I would recommend hospice at this stage. They can make you
comfortable, Barbara.”

Hospice. I wasn’t a medical professional, but I knew enough to know if
he were recommending hospice, that my mother, my best friend, the woman I spent
every free moment with from the time I could remember, that she didn’t have
long to live.

“That means a morphine drip?” I asked quietly knowing full well what it
meant. I just wanted to keep the conversation going. I felt like if we
discussed it, maybe there would be a different outcome, another alternative, or
that maybe I’d misunderstood

Brad nodded. “Eventually, probably yes. But not at first. They’ll do
whatever they can to manage the pain, the nausea. They’ll treat the symptoms.
They can help around the house. They can give you whatever care you need to
make… to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Maybe I was seeing what I wanted to, but it looked like he had tears in
his eyes too. “I’m sorry, Barbara. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.”

My mom gave him a teary smile as she reached out and patted his knee.
“I know. Me too.”

It was so strange sitting there with Brad, having such an intimate
conversation about the unspoken truth, but pretending he was no more than a doctor.
I wanted to talk with him, I wanted his comfort, but that wasn’t us anymore.
Even if it were, it wouldn’t have been there in the office in front of my mom.
Stranger still, was talking about the reality of the end of my mother’s life.
For the first time I started to understand what
his
reality must be, day
in, day out. I wasn’t excusing why he’d become so cold and heartless, but at
least now I understood why.

After coming to his offices on an almost weekly basis for the better
part of five months, when we stood to leave, I realized, this was it. We
wouldn’t be coming back here ever again. What had become our new normal was
ending. It wasn’t a normal that either of us had wanted, but now given the
choice, I would have taken it instead of the alternative in a heartbeat. 

Brad started to walk out but then stopped himself, turned around and
gently pulled my mom into a tight hug. Framed by him, she looked even more
frail than usual. As she relaxed into his embrace, her back to me, he looked up
over her head and gave me a sad smile before releasing her, and then silently
turned and walked away.

Almost six months to the day after my mother was diagnosed, she passed
away. The last few weeks of her life were simply awful, each day filled with more
pain, discomfort and sadness than the previous one. More than anything, I just
wanted her to find some peace, some relief from all of the suffering. The more
they medicated her, the less and less she resembled my mother. The vibrant
woman I called my best friend my entire life, the woman who was playing tennis
less than a year earlier, was gone long before her last breath.

I’m not sure if anyone is ever ready to lose someone they love. Even
with all the mental preparation, having watched my mother suffer and wither and
be subjected to all the treatments and procedures and hospitalizations, even
after all of that, even knowing she was going to die soon, I still wasn’t
ready.

The day after, I ran through the routine I’d been doing for half of a
year. And when I got to her house I went straight to her bedroom before
realizing she was no longer there. I stood staring at the empty bed. The bed
that had been stripped by the people who took her body away. Strangers, so many
of them, surrounding her, asking me questions, streaming in and out of the
house, documenting everything. It had been less than 24 hours earlier that I
had been in this house that was full of people and commotion. Quiet, respectful
commotion. And now it was eerily devoid of humans, most notably, my mother.
Part of me was actually tempted to walk around the house looking for her. Much
as I knew how absurd that was, I had to stop myself from going into each room
to see if she were there. I knew she was gone. I knew it intellectually. I had
watched her take her last breaths. I watched her struggle and labor. I
witnessed what hospice called her transitioning from life to death. And I held
her hand and kissed her forehead over and over while telling her I loved her in
those last minutes and seconds before she was gone. I watched them take her
away even when they cautioned me that I wouldn’t want to see them put her on
the folding cot that they did. I watched them. I was there. I had to be. I had
been there for her at every stage of her life, I had to be there for me, for
her, at every stage of her death. So in my mind, I
knew
she wasn’t
there.

But emotionally? How could she not be there? How could my best friend,
the person I talked with every single day of my life,
every single day
,
how could that person just not be there anymore?

I went to work like usual because I didn’t know what else to do, and on
the way there picked up my phone and started to call her only to stare at her
name and wonder, when will this stop being routine? I was tempted to dial it
just to hear her voice on the answer machine. As cliché as it seemed, I now
understood that many clichés were borne out of realities.

****

I had kept my distance from Marty ever since the holiday party, so he
didn’t know how quickly things descended, but when he poked his head in to wish
me good morning, I tried to smile, but the smile almost immediately turned to
tears and then out and out sobbing. In the short time I’d worked for Marty, I’d
cried more with him and with Brad than with anyone other than my mom.

“Last night… she… she… she’s gone, Marty.” I said in between heaving
sobs as Marty came around my desk, pulled me into a hug and held me, cooing and
whispering as I shook and sobbed. When I finally stopped I sat back in my chair
and then just started right up again. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried.
Marty sat across from me as I tried to talk in between sobs. I told him how I
watched the breath go out of her. Literally. The hospice nurses had told me
what to expect, how to tell when it would be her last moments. They must see
people die literally all the time. I told him how even though she was better
this way, better without the pain and suffering that had been her last months,
I felt selfish wishing that she were still her even knowing how awful she felt.

Marty sat patiently and listened. As nice as it was to have him there,
I still felt awkward. The last time we talked was the day after I’d made a pass
at him. And it was a brief, uncomfortable talk.

“Marty, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pour my heart out to you.”

“It’s ok, Steph.”

“No, it’s not. You’re my boss. And I already made the mistake once
thinking that your caring was more than just that.”

Marty opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then
decided otherwise. He stood to go, but before he left he said, “If you need to
take some time…”

I shook my head. “I need to be here. I don’t know where else to go or
what else to do.”

“You’ve spent the last six months taking care of your mom, Steph. You
might need some time to take care of you.”

As Marty turned to walk out he almost walked straight into Brad. “Dr.
Rosenberg?” Marty was obviously confused. Why would my mother’s oncologist be
here at my office? They shook hands.

“I came to check on Stephanie.” Brad answered Marty’s unasked question.

Marty regarded Brad skeptically. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” Marty
said coolly, belying the sentiment. He gave me one last smile before he excused
himself to his office next door. The minute he shuffled out, Brad came in and
closed my door.

 We didn’t speak. He didn’t ask me how I was and I didn’t ask him
what he was doing there. He simply walked around my desk and pulled me into a
tight hug and much as I wanted to fight it, much as I didn’t want to feel what
I felt, I simply didn’t have the strength. I melted into him. I let him hold me
and comfort me. This man who broke my heart was also the one who had gotten
closer to it than anyone. And in that moment, I just went by instinct, and
Brad’s embrace felt right. More tears fell, more shaking, more crying so hard I
wasn’t sure I’d be able to catch my breath. And the more I cried, the tighter
Brad held me. I shouldn’t have compared the two, it wasn’t fair, but I did. As
sweet as Marty was, I didn’t feel with him what I did with Brad. Granted, I
shared a lot more with Brad, but on paper, I should have wanted Marty. Marty
was the sweetheart. The good guy. But right or wrong, I was finally listening
to my body, and though it wasn’t a competition, there was no question who it
wanted.

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that. Brad held me until I was
finally ready to break away.

“Let me take you home.” His eyes pleaded. “Let me take care of you.”

I looked up at him with watery eyes, still unable to speak.

“Please. Please, Steph. Let me love you.”

It shouldn’t have taken my mother dying to hear those words, but I was
so fragile I just nodded and walked out with him. I poked my head into Marty’s
office. “Brad’s going to take me home. I don’t think I can work today.”

Marty’s eyebrows furrowed. “Brad?” and I pointed to him. Whatever
Marty’s expression was, I didn’t care. I needed to leave. I needed to be
comforted. And Brad was offering that.

****

I had felt rudderless many times in my life. When I was younger, I
think I was in a constant state of searching for something, someone to guide
me. Much as I bristled at anyone’s help, just below the surface, that’s what I
really needed. I was so used to being the adult to my mom that I never knew
that I might need someone to help point me in the right direction. On the rare
occasions I sought advice, she would be the one I went to, but it was always
framed as it related to her. So usually, I just didn’t ask. I figured it out on
my own. Or I floated and steered as well as I could, hoping that whatever
currents were taking me would drop me safely at port. 

****

When we got home, I wanted his comfort, but I didn’t want to fall so
easily back into what we had just like that. 

“I’m here as your friend, Steph.”

I tried to smile, but everything I did just seemed sad. “I’m not so
sure I know how to have friends, Brad. And I’m not so sure you and I should be
friends. Not after… everything.”

“I’m going to keep trying. Until you tell me to stop, I’m going to keep
trying to prove to you how sorry I am and how much I want you back. I know you
may never forgive me. I understand if you can’t, but I think you have it in
your heart to, even when I’m having a hard time forgiving myself.”

“When is it forgiveness and when is it just being a doormat? ‘Cause I
honestly don’t know the difference.”

We stood in silence for a bit. I knew he understood. He’d been in my
position, kind of. He wouldn’t have let himself be a doormat.

“I’m going to be your friend, Steph. You need a friend. I’m going to
prove to you that I’m there for you, as a friend first. If that’s all you can
accept, then ok. But I’m not going to just walk away. I can’t. I can’t forgive
myself for leaving you once. I’m certainly not going to do it again.”

“So you’re just here out of some sense of obligation?”

“Obligation has nothing to do with it. I’m pretty sure I love you.
That’s all.”

Brad may have been a lot of things. A prick. A cold jerk. A jackass.
Yes. And more. A liar? Nope. He didn’t have the demeanor to lie. He’d just tell
someone what he thought, felt. Regardless of how it might hurt the recipient.
So the fact that he just kind of told me that he loved me… well, I knew he
wasn’t just blowing smoke up my ass.  

 “I don’t know what I feel for you, Brad.” I said honestly. “I
think I was falling in love with you and then you broke my heart.” I could see
the pain on his face. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. “But figuring out where we
stand just isn’t my priority. Even if it were, there’s no way I’d be able to.
But right now, you’re the closest thing I have to a friend.” He chuckled at the
back-handed compliment. “And I think you’re right. For the first time in my
life, I’m not too proud to say that I think I need a friend. ‘Cause I just lost
my best friend. And not that you’re a substitute, but… fuck, we started
becoming friends, Brad. And that’s what I need right now.” I was babbling,
unsure if I was making any sense at all.

“Ok, friends.” He said and held out his arms.

I looked up into his eyes and hoped he understood what I was going to
say next. My mom often said that sex was how adults played. I was far too young
to understand what that meant when she first told me. I had no idea what the
rules of the games were and regardless, I shouldn’t have been playing.  So
whether this was how adults played, or comforted each other, I didn’t know. But
I needed to be held, and at that moment, I needed more than just a friend could
offer.

“I’m serious… but right now, I need more than that. I need…” I tried to
say it, but thankfully I didn’t have to.

“You need to be made love to.” Brad said so sincerely, like it was
obvious. It wasn’t the answer to everything, it might not have been the answer
to anything. But in the short time we’d been together, he showed me how good it
could be, how so much could be shared and communicated with an act that I never
understood until Brad. He was the first man who allowed me to feel. More than
that, I was able to get lost in it with him and forget everything else.

“But it’s just tonight. Tomorrow, we’re friends.”