What's Left of Me (17 page)

Me:
Hey.

He responds immediately.

Parker:
Hey yourself.

Me:
How are you?

Parker:
Good. You?

Me:
Ok. I just wanted to say hi.

Parker:
Hi.

I wait a while to see if he sends me anything else, but he doesn’t.
 
Flustered, I throw my phone on the opposite side of the couch.
 
He must be really busy and can’t text back.
 
Or maybe he’s mad that I was short with him the other day?
 
I don’t know why I care so much.

“What’s the matter?
 
Fighting with your phone?” Genna asks, coming into the living room and handing me a cup of black tea.
 
I set it on the floor next to me.
 
I’m too hot to drink tea.

“No.
 
I’m exhausted.
 
I hate just lying here.
 
I’m bored, but I have no energy to want to get up and do something.”

“Want me to read a book to you?
 
Or we can watch some
Sex and the City
or
Dexter
?”

“No.”

I’m sweating, so I rip my wig off.
 
“I hate this stupid thing!” I say as I toss it to the floor.

“You know you don’t have to wear it when you’re home.”

“Yeah, I know.”
 
I’m irritated.
 
Like she doesn’t tell me this all the time?
 
Well, sorry, sister dear, that you have long, beautiful, shiny hair.
 
Sorry I don’t.
 
Sorry I want to feel like I do!

“Dre, come on. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m fine.
 
Can you please turn the air on or something?
 
It’s freaking hot in here.
 
I’m sweating.”

“The air?
 
It’s almost October.”

“Please, Genna.
 
You say you want to help me?
 
Make me comfortable?
 
Just this one time
I’m asking something.
 
Please, turn the air on for me.”
 
I can handle feeling cold.
 
Cold is easy.
 
I can always add on layers until I’m nice and toasty.
 
But feeling hot?
 
It’s a horrible feeling.
 
No matter what I do or strip off, I can’t cool down fast enough.

“Sure.”
 
She gets up from the chair, but she doesn’t come back until hours later.
By
then,
I’m sucked into my latest book.
 
It’s young adult, but so damn good.
 
I actually feel a little dirty crushing on the seventeen year old hottie.

“Hey, you okay?” Genna asks as she picks up my feet and sits in their place.

“Yes, you?” I ask, taking in her attire.
 
She’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt, a scarf, and mittens.

“I’m fine.
 
It’s pretty cold in here, though.
 
You sure you’re okay?”

“I said yes.”

“Just checking.”

“Where have you and Jason been?”

“The garage.”
 
They have a heated garage, so it doesn’t surprise me that’s where they would be.
 
Jason put a full-sized fridge, small TV, and microwave in there last summer, so I don’t feel too bad for driving them out.
 
They have everything they need to keep them occupied for a few hours.

I nod my head, then turn back to my Kindle.

“Jason invited the guys over to play poker in there tonight.
 
Do you mind if I turn the air off now so I can stay in here?”
 
I give her a blank look, and she quickly adds, “Or can I turn it down some?
 
I know you’re hot, but it’s literally freezing in here.”

“No, it’s okay.
 
I’m good.
 
I’m actually just really tired and was going to head to bed anyway.
 
You can turn it off.”

“Bed?
 
It’s only six.”

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“You sure?
 
I could make us something to eat?”

I give her a weak smile. “Thanks, but really, I’m just tired.”
 
I really am tired, but I mainly want to get behind a closed door where it’s private so that I can strip naked and lie down on my bed with the fan blowing on me.
 
I experienced hot flashes with past treatments and even though I was expecting them this round it doesn’t make them any easier to handle.

“Okay.
 
Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

It takes me awhile, but eventually I find the strength to lift myself up off the couch.
 
The first few days of chemo are the worst.
 
The fatigue that overtakes me is unstoppable.
 
It’s as if my body is taken over by something else.
 
I can’t move a muscle without feeling like it’s attached to a forty-pound weight.
 
Then, when I’m able to take a step, it’s like I’m made of Jell-O and my limbs will detach at any given moment.

My breathing speeds up as I finally get to a standing position.
 
I know Genna all too well—her closeness is not a coincidence.
 
She’s waiting for the opportunity to touch my elbow or waist.
 
She’ll try to make it seem like an accident the first time, but the second time she’ll linger.

I push myself forward and around her, slowly making my way into my newly located bedroom, holding the wall as I do, and trying not to let the spinning in my head take over.
Jason moved my room to the space that was once the office.
 
He and Genna thought it would be easier for me to be on the first floor, especially for the days following treatments.
 
To their faces, I made out like it was no big deal for me to go up and down the stairs, but silently I was relieved because I didn’t know how I was going to be able to do it again after last time.

Genna comes in after I’ve made it to my bed, handing me two cold washcloths, an ice pack, and my Kindle.
 
“Here.
 
I know you’re still hot.
 
I know you won’t, but please yell if you need me.”
 
She turns and leaves.

I rub my face and head with the cold washcloth while I soak in the cold from the ice pack on the back of my neck.
 
When I get comfortable on my bed, I turn my Kindle back on and continue reading where I left off, even if it’s just for a little bit.
 
Besides tomatoes, the one thing I hate most in this world is being interrupted while reading a good book.

I wake up to laughter coming from outside my door.
 
The office—or my room, or whatever it is—is located just off the main living room, down a small hallway and across from the guest bathroom.

My Kindle is on my chest, so I pick it up and look at the time displayed on the screen, 8:41pm.
 
Awesome.
 
Only a two-hour nap.

My nausea is better, but I still feel exhausted.
 
One would think with how tired my body is that I’d be able to sleep for longer than a couple of hours.
 
Maybe a month?
 
That’s what I feel like I need.
 
A month-long nap.

“She’s already in bed?
 
This early on a Friday night?”
 
Shit.
 
What is he doing at our house right now?

Genna says something about me being tired, and then there are other voices I don’t recognize
.
 
So much for playing poker in the garage.

If I don’t make a sound or indicate that I’m awake then no one will bother me.
 
One thing I learned about my new room is that it’s most definitely not soundproof.
 
I can hear everything outside the door and anyone can hear in.
 
It’s like I’m a five year old being held captive in a playroom. Except this is far from a playroom.

“Dre, you awake?” Genna asks through the door.

You’ve got to be kidding me!
 
Don’t move; don’t move.
 
Sometimes I think Genna is Superwoman because that woman can hear and sense anything.

I lie quietly until I hear footsteps heading toward the living room.
 
Thank you!
 
However, unfortunately for me, I have to use the restroom and silently get frustrated that I drank all that water today.
 
The more I think about it, the more I have to go.

I panic when I remember throwing my wig earlier and swear at myself for not grabbing it when I came in here.
How the hell am I supposed to go to the bathroom?

Annoyed, I let out a loud sigh and sit up, trying to think of a plan.
 
When I move to stand up from the bed, I see my wig sitting on my nightstand.
 
Genna must have brought it in here when she was picking up for company.
 
Letting out a sigh of relief, I pick it up and put it on.

After adjusting my hair, I put back on the shorts and sports bra that I stripped off earlier.
 
Giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror on the dresser, I make sure my wig is on tightly.
 
I slowly creep out of the room and make a quick glance down the hall to make sure no one is looking this way. After making it into the bathroom, I close the door as quietly as I possibly can and don’t bother turning the light on for fear they’ll see it glowing down the hall. I tell myself not to flush so that I won’t give any inkling as to my whereabouts, but the second I open the door after washing my hands, I’m met with a gorgeous chest in my face that I can only assume belongs to a gorgeous man.

“I thought you were sleeping?”

“I was.”

He just quirks an eyebrow at me, and I silently swear at myself for not flushing the toilet.
 
Embarrassed, I turn around, locking myself back in the bathroom away from Parker.
 
His laughter makes its way through the door and I turn red with embarrassment.

I quickly flush the toilet, then make my way out of the bathroom, moving past Parker, and across the hall back into my room.
 
As I push the door closed, Parker pushes it back open and walks in.

“New room?”

“Yeah, easier for me to sneak out,” I say flatly, as I climb back into bed slowly, trying to avoid the rush of blood to my head.
 
I feel as if I could pass out at any second.

“Baby, you don’t need to sneak.
 
If you want to come on over, just ask.”
 
I think I need to have a conversation about these pet names.

“Ha ha,” I say, half sarcastically and half amused.

“So, this is where the magic happens?” Parker asks as he makes his way over to my bed, sitting on the edge, watching me.

“Magic?”

“Where you dream of me?”

I laugh.
 
“The only man I’m dreaming about in this room on this bed is Matt Bomer.”

Gasping, Parker holds his hand across his heart in a state of shock.

“What?
 
Would you rather I dream of someone else?”

“Yes.
 
As a matter of fact I would.”

“How about Jason Statham?”

“No.”

“Josh Duhamel?”

Parker shakes his head.

“Paul Walker?”

“Woman, you’re relentless!”
 
He makes his way up the bed so that he’s sitting next to me.
 
He puts an arm around me and pulls me closer.

I’m shocked at his sudden gesture and freeze in his arms.
 
He acts as if this is second nature, settling us in a more comfortable position. I half relax in his arms.
 
This is not what I expected of him after our text conversation—or lack thereof.

“You feeling okay?
 
Jason mentioned something about you not feeling too well, and then Genna said you were already in bed for the night when I got here.”

I shrug.
 
“I must have caught some bug. I’m not sure you’ll want to be too close.”
 
I move my hands to my head running my fingers over my hair.
 
Suddenly I’m self-conscious and wonder if my wig is sitting funny because I didn’t snap the clips into place.

“Sorry, I wish you would have said something to me.
 
I would have brought you chicken noodle soup or 7-Up.”

“Really?
 
Chicken noodle soup?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what you’re supposed to have when you’re sick?”

I look over at him.
 
His eyes show nothing but concern.