Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (171 page)

“Why are you telling me all this?” I wonder. “You don’t know who I am.”

“Ah, but I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you unguarded and pure. I’ve seen you as yourself. Can you deny we’re compatible? Personally, I think we make a great fucking match… in bed.”

“That much is true,” I admit.

“So then let’s not complicate things. Let’s keep it at that. No restrictions, no boundaries. No formal declarations of a relationship or anything like that, if that’s what you prefer. You and I—we’ll stay lovers.”

The way he says that makes goosebumps run down my spine.

Is that what I want? Do I want that sort of commitment from him?

Then again… it’s not like I’m breaking any new rules. All of the old ones were flung out the window long, long ago.

“Okay,” I say. “Yes, James. I can do that.”

He takes me by the waist. “That means this…” He looks at our touching bodies. “…is the beginning of something truly spectacular.”

26.

James wanted me to stay the night after our agreement, but I told him I had to get home. He protested; I insisted. He kissed me, and while I kissed him back, in the end I pushed off. Finally, he relented and drove me home.

To my surprise, I find Summer waiting for me in the living room when I return. Her eyes sparkle. “Go for a little ride, did you?” she asks. “I saw the Porsche dropping you off. Who is it?”

I freeze. She saw? Shit,
how
?

“Just a guy,” I tell her, trying to play it off.

“Oh, this wasn’t
just
a guy,” she says. She comes around the table and stops in front of me. “Oh my God, Celeste, look at you! You’ve been fucking all night long, haven’t you?”

My cheeks flame red.

“Ah-ah-ah. I knew it!” she exclaims. She grabs my hand and pulls me to the futon. “Come on now.
Dish
. You have to tell me everything!”

“There isn’t much to tell,” I defend.

“Your eyes tell a different story,” she says. “Come on. I have to know. Who is he? How’d you meet? Was he any good?”

“Oh yeah, he was good,” I mumble coyly.

“Hah!” she says. “See, I fucking knew it! So what happened? Did he wine and dine you before you gave up the snatch?”

My eyes bulge out at her. “Summer!”

“What? We all know how it works. Plus, honey, with a car like that, the least you should expect is a fancy dinner.”

“I ate with you. Remember?
I
cooked?”

“Oh. Right. Of course, duh, but I um, I snuck out for some real food after you left.”

“What? You didn’t like what I made?”

“It was… palatable,” she hedges. “I’m not giving you more credit than that.”

I laugh. “Fine. I know I’m not the greatest chef.”

“And it’s the thought that counts!” Summer stresses. “Besides, I—swear to God—I thought that’s where you went when you snuck out of the apartment. I assumed you wanted to get a pizza or something. Little did I know you were really after…” she winks, “…cock.”

I slap her arm. “Summer!”

“Just telling it how it is, babe. These lips?” She points at her mouth. “They have no filter. You know me.”

She sidles up to me. “So, tell me about this mystery man. Who is he? Where’d you meet? Do I know him?”

I know she’s going to be absolutely relentless if I don’t indulge her. “I’ll tell you where we met,” I say, “but that’s it. After that, we have to go to sleep. Look at the time. It’s almost four! And we’ve both got class in the morning.”

“Ugh, I know,” she agrees. “How about we skip? Stay up all night bingeing on ice cream and gossip like old times, back in high school?”

“Summer,” I fix her with a level look. “I’m not throwing myself forty thousand dollars in debt to play hooky!”

“Fine, fine,” she hedges, holding up her hands. “We’ll each get three hours of sleep. Happy? Although at this point,” she grumbles, “I’d almost rather stay up and pull an all-nighter.” She slides closer to me. “Time to dish. Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“We met… on the boat. Remember the yacht party?”

She slaps a hand over her mouth. “No! You did not.”

“Yup,” I shrug.

“What about… all your rules and shit? Never sleep with the same man twice and all that?”

“Rules are made to be broken,” I say weakly.

“You got that right! You liked him that much, huh? I didn’t even know you exchanged details! You told me it was a one-night fling.”

“It was,” I say. “But then I ran into him, out of the blue. He recognized me. We got to talking…” I give an uncomfortable roll of my shoulders. “You know how it goes.”

“Do I ever,” she says. “So, this guy… You think he’s a keeper? I mean, you broke your own rules for him. He must be quite special to sway the impenetrable Celeste.”

“We’re not, like, in a relationship or anything,” I tell her.

“God, no! Of course not.” She winks at me. “But you do like him.”

“He’s… okay,” I admit.

“Okay?” She laughs. “Honey, if you come back here looking like
that
and claim the guy is just ‘okay,' well, I’d be afraid to see you after you hook up with someone good!”

I laugh a little, still hating the way I can deceive her about all this. I mean, she’s going to have to find out eventually. She’ll be pissed when she realizes I’ve been keeping it from her for so long.

Then again… I mean, she’ll be pissed no matter what.

I’ve just got to figure out a way to ease her into it. Somehow. I’m not exactly a master of deception. But denial? Pfft, denial’s easy.

I stretch my arms out and give way to a yawn.

“Really sleepy, huh?” Summer asks.

“Yeah,” I say into my fist.

“Fine,” she agrees. “Me too. Call it a night?”

“Yes, please,” I say. I get up and go to my bedroom. “Don’t forget to wake me on time.”

“Will do,” she affirms. I close the door and collapse into bed.

27.

I crash the next day as soon as I get home. I went to the hospital to get my scans so missed seeing James. The rest of the week I spend in the library, trying to catch up on all my assignments and readings I’ve neglected so far.

Before I know it, Wednesday arrives. Time for my
big
appointment at the hospital. Time to really find out what the hell is going on with my heart.

I stop in front of the hospital doors. I look at the people around me. Undergrads, graduates, some members of faculty. All going about their lives. All without the slightest clue that I’m due to be struck by that proverbial bus very, very soon.

I take a deep breath and then step inside. I didn’t come here to lament. I came here to face the truth. To find out how much time I have left. To leave with that knowledge tucked securely under lock and key in the deepest part of my soul.

I greet the woman at the reception desk. “An appointment for Celeste Adams,” I tell her.

She looks me up on the computer and ushers me into the waiting room. “The doctor will be a little delayed,” she says.

“Oh. I have class. Maybe I can reschedule?”

“He was very clear that he needed to see you today,” she informs me. She gives a tired smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It won’t be too long,”

I fidget in my seat as I wait. He
needed
to see me today? That means the test results, the CT scans… it means they didn’t come back good.

Eventually, the woman rouses me with a “Ms. Adams? The doctor’s ready to see you.”

I take a deep breath, give her a tight nod, and push myself up.

The doctor’s office is small but tidy. There’s a desk and an executive chair on the far side, two regular seats on my side.

I take a seat and receive another tired smile as the receptionist closes the door. I don’t blame her. When you see death on a day-to-day basis, it takes its toll.

I wait and wait and wait. When I can’t take the waiting anymore, I take out my phone and try to distract myself from dwelling on where I am.

Yet, I can’t stop thinking. I’ve pretended everything was fine for so long. I started skipping regular check-ins with the doctors taking care of me in college. I didn’t even consider transferring my medical records here.

I wanted a clean slate.

Irresponsible? Maybe. But with all I’ve gone through, health-wise, in my life, I just wanted to pretend things were normal.

At least for a time.

The door opens, startling me.

I look over my shoulder and see the doctor. “Hello,” he says. “I’m Dr. Robinson.” He extends his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I take it and shake. He has a firm grip. It’s sturdy. Somehow, that simple physical connection makes me feel surer of myself.

“So.” He sits down across from me. “I’ve seen your results. I’ve heard that you’re already aware of your condition?”

“Yes,” I say. “I am.”

“Still, let me pull them up so we can both look at them.” He logs onto his computer and turns the screen to me.

I see a scan of my chest. There are my lungs, my heart. It’s all very familiar.

“I see here you told the ER staff that you’ve had an operation previously?”

“I did,” I say. “In college.” I take a deep breath. “I had cancer as a little girl. Lymphoma. It went away, but then came back when I was nineteen.”

“Hmm,” he says. “You received treatment?”

“Yes. A bit of chemo at the start, but the cancer was too aggressive. They had to operate on the tumor to take it out.”

“Did they?”

“Yes. They did. But between the heavy dose of radiation and the stress from the procedure, my heart weakened. I had a catheter in for a time. I guess it ruined some of the valves or flaps or something.”

“Yes, I can see that right here,” he tells me, zooming in on the appropriate region in my heart. “How long ago was that?”

“Three and a half, four years?” I say.

“And you’ve been monitored afterward?”

“For a bit,” I say. “But…um…” I look away from the doctor. “I haven’t been going to my follow-up appointments for the last few years.”

I expect him to scold me, but he only nods. “That’s understandable. After all, who wants to feel sick all the time?” He pulls up my bloodwork. Lots of different numbers and values flash on the screen. “You’ve had no symptoms in the interim?”

“No,” I say. “Up until last week, I’ve been totally fine.”

“Can you tell me what happened that night?” he asks. “I’ve read the reports, but I want to have the full picture. I want to hear it from you.”

I exhale. “It was totally unexpected. I was fine the entire day. No flare-ups. No nothing. I felt healthy and strong. And then, at night, I felt this sudden tightening in my chest. It was like I couldn’t breathe. My vision started to blur. I think I panicked. I didn’t recognize what was happening to me. Everything went hazy, and I passed out.” I bring my shoulder up in a small shrug. “Next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital… and that’s when I connected the dots.”

“So you’ve experienced episodes like this before?”

“Two or three times, yes,” I confirm.

“Hmm.” He taps his lips and looks at the screen. “Well, the good news is that your heart valves are still operational. There’s nothing wrong with them that I can see. And we’ve already checked your lungs for blood clots, which you don’t have. The other option…”

He exhales. “There is another possible cause. You’ve battled cancer twice. This could be a third recurrence.”

My stomach sinks. I look down. “I know,” I say softly.

“We’ll have to test you specifically for it. I’ll order bloodwork for any abnormalities. I don’t want you to worry yet, Celeste. But you do need to prepare for the possibility.”

I exhale. “Okay.”

“I don’t like to speculate,” he continues. “So I’m going to hold off until we have all the data. I’ll write you a requisition now. We’ll want to get a full CT scan of your brain and then an MRI…”

I stop listening as he goes through the procedures I’ll have to return for. I know the drill.

And I know I’m sick. I’ve been sick for a very long time. I’ve ignored the warning signs for as long as I could, but there’s no shying away now.

Now, it’s time to finally come face to face with the consequences of the decisions I’ve made.

28.

I collapse in bed and dig my phone from my purse. I’m exhausted. The walk back from the hospital took fifteen minutes, but it feels like I’ve trekked for hours.

That’s what getting caught in the cycle of illness does to you. You lose your autonomy. You become a slave to hospital visits and doctor appointments and constant monitoring, monitoring,
monitoring.

I remember it well from when I was a child. I remember the long, sleepless nights I spent with my mom at my side. I remember all the times she came into my room after she’d been crying.

She always tried to hide it from me. But I
knew
.

Mom and I had been on our own our whole lives. My deadbeat dad abandoned us a month after I was born. I never met him and never cared to.

I was seven when the lymphoma hit. It took a greater toll on my mom than it did me. She had to take on a second full-time job to cover the expenses that having a
daughter with cancer
brought.

Slowly, I scroll through the list of contacts on my phone. I reach her number. My finger hovers on her name.

Then, with a sob, I throw the phone as far away from me as I can and stuff my head into my pillows to cry.

Mom died just over a year ago.

I haven’t erased her number. I never will.

In college, I hid the cancer from her because she was going through her own struggle.

She had a faulty heart. It was hereditary. I don’t know how many operations she’d had on it in total, but there were a lot.

They did as much as they could for her. In the end, it made little difference. Her health started fading when I left for undergrad. She was a fighter, just like me, so she kept the battle to herself.

She promised me, though, many times, that she would see me graduate college.

She never made it. A heart attack in the waiting room of the doctor’s office killed her only three months before.

The irony was awful and perfect at the same time.