Love Me Broken (42 page)

Then Adam’s primary oncologist comes into the room. Dr. Henderssen, resident pulmonologist, is a thick-built man in his fifties. He has on thin glasses, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. That’s not to say he’s unfriendly. His demeanor is more like exhausted professionalism.

He sits down at his desk and asks us all how we are doing. Adam doesn’t answer—I know this question seems stupid to him. I can’t answer either, because I am too nervous. His mother manages to get out a small “Fine” which makes it obvious that she’s far from fine.

Dr. Henderssen coughs and opens up Adam’s file, glancing at the contents. Adam grips my hand. Then the doctor takes in a deep breath.

“I’m afraid you’ve failed chemo,” he says, his voice soft.

Rachel gasps. Adam’s hand goes limp in mine, and I start shaking my head, feeling the tears flow instantly.

He continues. “The malignant cells have not responded to treatment, and have entered the lining of the lung wall and expanded. This represents a new growth, and because of the size and placement of the tumor, a second lobectomy isn’t an option.”

Dr. Henderssen is turning a scan around on his desk so that it is facing us. He’s pointing to something on it, but I can’t focus on it because I can see Adam out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching me. And I realize he cares more about my reaction than his own.

“What does this mean?” I ask, interrupting the doctor. His eyes turn to me, a gleam of pity behind his otherwise calm exterior.

“It means that we can continue with radiation and chemo if you wish, but I wouldn’t suggest it.” He looks at Adam. “No, from this point forward, I would suggest palliative care.”

I blink. “What?”

“To make Adam as comfortable as possible,” the doctor explains, although I already knew what he meant. I just can’t believe it.

Adam speaks. His voice is strong and even. He’s looking the doctor right in the eye. “How long?” he asks.

“It’s hard to say. Anywhere from two weeks to two months. It’s not likely to be much longer than that. It might be sooner too. You should make arrangements with the mindset that it would be sooner.”

Rachel is hunched over on the other side of Adam. I’m not faring much better. The doctor says something else, but I can’t hear it. I can’t listen to any more. I look at Adam, holding his hand tight. It can’t be. It isn’t possible.

Adam turns away from the doctor, looking at me. His mouth lifts up into a half-smile. A shrug of the mouth, almost an apology.

He did his best, he’s saying. He did his best and it wasn’t good enough.

It’s actually kind of a relief to just be able to die. Not that I want to. Not that I didn’t try to live all this time. But sometimes it’s easier to know the worst is happening than to hope for the best. You can prepare for it.

I worry about Erica though. It’s been one month since that day in the doctor’s office, when I had my final diagnosis. Erica’s not taking it well. My mom isn’t either, but I know my mom will eventually be okay. The only thing I want anymore is to know that Erica will be okay. That she won’t be is the only thing that scares me.

It’s Spring Break. Without classes, Erica is spending all day, every day, with me in the hospital. Even though my room looks the same as the ones I had after surgery, this one is in a different wing. It’s the wing for people like me who aren’t going to recover.

I’m in a hospital gown that flows over me like a cape. My arms are connected to IVs. I look down at myself, seeing my pale skin that looks almost blue under the hospital lights. The bones of my wrists and knuckles are clearly outlined.

We’re watching TV without really watching. The evening news comes on, and there’s a report of a five-car pile-up on the freeway. Erica finds the remote and switches it off. I sometimes forget that she was in an accident herself. She never mentions Conner anymore. I know she still thinks about him though. It’s a look in her eyes she gets sometimes, a distant look when she remembers. I need to know she won’t be lost in that look after I’m gone.

“I’m really proud of you,” I start, and she turns to me. Her hair is tied back, with two loose strands over each ear. Her eyes are red, and she wipes them dry. She tries to smile. Her face tenses, and she has to look away to not cry.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because I know you’re going to be fine.”

She shakes her head, puts a hand to her eyes as she cringes with tears.

Then I wonder, “Has it been worth it?” She looks at me. “I mean, to you. Now that we know, now that it turned out the same.”

She takes my hand. “I love you, Adam.”

Fuck. She’s going to make me cry too. But I resist. I need to know some things first. This is important. “That’s not what I asked. And I’d understand if you said no. These last few months haven’t exactly been fun.”

“Adam,” she starts as if I’m being ridiculous. “Of course it was worth it. How can you even ask that?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think it would have been easier on everyone if it was quick. Or...”

She looks at me sharply. “Or what?”

I can’t meet her eyes. “That you would have been better off if you never met me at all.” She starts to object, and I talk over her. “I’m serious. I keep thinking that if you had just met someone else, someone healthy, you could be living a completely different life right now.”

She shakes her head. “The only life I want is one with you.”

“But you’re not going to get that.” She cringes a little, and I feel guilty being so blunt, but fuck, she’s got to face the facts and there isn’t much time. “I need to know you’ll be happy,” I say. “That was one of our conditions, remember?”

She looks guilty herself. “I’ve been taking the classes.”

I wave her off. The motion makes me cough, and my body doubles over as I cough into my hand. Erica rubs my back, which doesn’t help at all but does make me feel a little better. When I can breathe again, I say, “I’m not talking about classes. I’m talking about you being happy. After Conner—” I glance at her eyes “—you were broken. But I was there to help you be strong again.”

Erica looks away, staring at the window without looking through it. “I don’t like talking about this,” she whispers.

“I want to talk about this, Erica. It’s important.” She looks over at me. “Do you remember that game we played? That first night together, on the pier?”

She turns to me. She nods.

I have to stop to breathe, to calm myself down so that I can continue. “I’d like to play that again.”

Her face becomes very rigid. Her eyes are filled with fear.

“Please, Erica,” I say. “For me.”

She doesn’t want to, but she agrees. It’s hard to say no to someone on his deathbed.

“So I’ll ask you questions,” I say, “and you have to answer not as things are, but how they’d be in an ideal world.” She’s quiet. A tear falls from her face as she looks down at my hand. “Only this time we’re going to add another rule. This time we have to imagine it as an ideal world that I’m not a part of.”

She looks up at me sharply. “No!”

“Erica,” I say. “I want to know you can at least imagine being happy in a world without me. I know it sucks but I really need to know you’ll be okay.”

She keeps her eyes on mine. “That’s not fair,” she says. “You don’t have to imagine a world without me.”

My heart lurches. “You’re right,” I say. “It’s not fair.”

Erica thinks about this for a moment. Then she says, “I want to be closer to you.” She looks at the bed.

“Get in,” I say, scooting over, careful to keep all my wires and tubes out of the way. She gets up and tries to climb into the hospital bed without shaking it too much. I put my arm around her shoulder, and she leans back. It’s an electronic bed, the kind you can adjust with a remote. I was sitting up before, and I use the remote to recline us slightly, so that we’re looking at the ceiling. Erica puts her head close, lets an arm drape around my waist.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s try to do this, all right? In a perfect world, what is your life like?”

She closes her eyes, trying but failing to stop her tears. “I can’t,” she says. “It hurts too much.”

“Maybe we’re going about this wrong. Maybe if you can’t answer, we’ll try to answer together.”

She’s quiet.

“Please, Erica. We can start practical. Like, in an ideal world, where do you live?”

She opens her eyes, and it’s obvious that she hasn’t even considered this.

“I know my mom won’t kick out you or anything,” I say, “but even if she let you, you can’t live with her forever. Where do you live?” I can feel her thinking. “San Diego?” She shakes her head. “Or go back to Astoria?”

“Maybe somewhere near the water,” she says. I hold her tighter and nod.

“That’s good. What else? You go to school, obviously. You get good grades. You—”

On the bedside table, my phone vibrates. It’s my mom. I send her call to voicemail and continue with Erica.

“You graduate with honors. You look beautiful at your graduation. Your mom and dad are there.” I pause. “You’re smiling for photographs.”

I picture this a little too clearly and have trouble continuing. I don’t want to cry. The phone starts to vibrate again and I turn it off in annoyance. I don’t want this last time with Erica to be interrupted. This is important.

I have to push her further. “In a perfect world,” I ask, “do you have kids?”

Her body shudders at the question, and she buries her face into my side. I can feel the warmth of her tears through my nightgown.

“I think you do,” I say. “You’d be a good mom. You’d... you’d be a good wife. Any guy would crazy not to see that. Don’t let anyone treat you like less than you’re worth. Don’t let anyone treat you less than amazing.” At this she breaks down. I put my arm around her, and say, “Shhhh, it’s okay.” And I try to picture Erica older, older than I’ll ever see her. I try to picture her at twenty. At twenty-five. Thirty. With kids. As an old woman. How she’ll be the day she dies. That’s too long to miss me. That’s too long to live alone.

“You have a lot of love to give, Erica. You can’t lock that away inside. You can’t let that part of you die.”

She tries to say something, but it’s mumbled. She pulls her head up and says, “I love
you
.”

“I’m not saying you’ll ever be able to replace me,” I say, and give her a sly grin. “I mean, come on. I’m Adam.” She shakes her head and tries to bury it again. I pull her up, put a finger on her chin to make her look at me. “But you have to live a life that’s big enough for the both of us, okay?”

She stares back at me, her eyes wide and green. I can’t help it. I raise both hands to the sides of her face, just to touch her, just to bring her close. “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper. “How did I get so lucky?”

Her face trembles with a sob, and I bring my mouth to hers. Our lips touch, and she brings her hands up to my face, holding me close. Her mouth opens, and we kiss hard because we both know we may never kiss again. This kiss has the intensity of a last kiss. I’m crying now. I can’t help it. It’s all too much for me. But still I kiss her.

Without pulling away, only taking her lips from mine so she can say it, Erica whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say back, and I mean it. I mean it with every cell of my body. And I immediately kiss her again. I kiss her lips, her face, her forehead, her neck. My chest heaves, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m crying or having difficulty breathing. I don’t care. If this is my last breath, I want to die in her arms.

She is the one for me. I may not be able to be the one for her, but she is the one for me.