Life in Chaos, Page 2

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  I woke up, momentarily startled to find myself piled under blankets and in my own bed. I took a minute to shuffle through my memories of the night before and groaned when I remembered calling Andrew and then passing out.

  I sat up slowly, surprised that I hadn’t needed to puke in the middle of the night. Usually a bad treatment left me nauseated for a couple of days. I thought I was safe enough for the time being, until I began my stumbling walk towards the bathroom. After the first step, it turned into a falling dash to the toilet. I made it just in time to empty the non-existent contents of my stomach into my porcelain goddess.

  I leaned my head against the toilet seat as my stomach calmed, attempting to will away the tears in my eyes and the burn in my throat. It didn’t work. The solid clanking of glass against counter nearly startled me out of skin, and the motion caused another round of dry heaving before I was able to look up and see Andrew staring at me with unreadable eyes.

  “Give me a minute.” I rasped through my raw throat. He hesitated briefly and then left the bathroom as I had requested. I began my morning ablutions, thankful for the glass of water he had brought me.

  It took me twenty minutes or so to put myself together. It was just as well because I needed that time to figure out what I was going to say. I knew we were over as a couple, and that it was mostly my fault. I didn’t blame him for breaking up with me, but now I needed someone. I was so tired of trying to do this alone, and he’d said he’d always be there if I needed him. I hoped “dying of cancer” counted as needing in his book.

  I took one last look in the mirror, trying and failing to remember the pale blond hair and bright green eyes that used to look back at me before I went out to meet my fate in the living room. Andrew was sitting on my couch, looking deliciously rumpled in jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. His curly brown hair stuck out in all directions, as if he had been running his hands through it over and over again. His deep hazel eyes stared at me, full of questions, as I settled in the chair across from him.

  I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times as I was overwhelmed with my first real sight of Andrew in six months. My heart seized in my chest, and that old ache reared its ugly head. I wanted to throw myself in his arms and beg him to love me again. I pushed back the tears threatening in my eyes and began nervously.

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to call you on one of my bad days.” I took a breath to continue but was cut off by an angry growl coming from Andrew.

  “So you did mean to call? Eventually?” His anger burned bright and fast before he seemed to collapse in on himself a bit. He sounded small and empty when he finally spoke. “Shawn, what happened to you?”

  Best to just rip the band-aid off, as they say. “I’m dying of cancer.” I wasn’t sure if I should keep talking or if I should give it a second and let that sink in. Turns out he took care of that decision for me.

  That anger from before was back in his eyes as he shot up from the couch and stalked across the room. “You’re what?”

  I stood up too, so we would be on a more even footing. I wanted to look him in the eyes, but I couldn’t quite manage it so, I stared at a point on my wall that was situated just over his right shoulder. “I have a brain tumor. About five months ago, I started getting dizzy spells. It took them a week or two to figure it out. It turns out I’ve got cancer taking over my brain. I’ve been going to chemo treatments but the doctor says it’s only got about a twenty percent success rate with where mine is located.” I had managed to remain pretty matter of fact up until this point.

  My voice cracked as I continued. “Yesterday’s treatment was really bad.” I risked a glance at his face. I still couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but I saw the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. I felt tears leak out of the corner of my eyes as something broke inside of me. “I’m so tired, Andrew. I just couldn’t do it alone anymore.”

  Finally, I shifted my eyes to his. “Please, don’t leave me alone again,” I begged. My lungs strained to pull in oxygen and my chest heaved as I struggled not to burst into sobs. Oh God, I didn’t want to die alone. Before I could get control of myself, I felt his arms wrap around me. I think it hit me right then, for the first time, I really could die. I clutched at him with all my strength and the dam that had been holding back all my emotions broke.

  I cried out my pain, my loneliness, my fear, everything I had in me, in wracking sobs against Andrew’s chest. He held me, rubbing my back and whispering comforting words that I could not comprehend in my ear.

  Eventually, I cried myself out and I pulled away from the snotty mess I had made of his shirt. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I also felt a little embarrassed.

  “Andrew, I didn’t do this to get you back. I just didn’t have anyone else to call.” Not that I didn’t want him back. I still loved him. But this was not the time.

  He looked confused for a moment. “But what about your family?”

  A sharp pain lanced through my heart and I felt my face grow hard. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I had done enough spilling my guts for one day. And we hadn’t even had breakfast yet. I could tell he wanted to press me, and I could see him forcing himself not to ask.

  “Okay,” he said, through a somewhat forced smile. I saw his chest rise and fall in a deep breath before he spoke again. “Okay, why don’t you put on a DVD while I make you some breakfast? What do you want?”

  I knew there would be more bad moments, and my fear was not completely gone, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a measure of peace spread through me.

  Over the next week, we settled into a routine. Andrew spent most of his spare time at my place. We watched all my bad sci-fi DVDs, and he cooked. We fell into an easy camaraderie we hadn’t felt since we first started dating.

  Then, on Tuesday night, he walked into the apartment with a huge grin on his face. My heart skipped a beat in my chest at the sheer beauty of it and I smiled back, unable to stop myself. I raised my eyebrows in question.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you! We’re going out tonight.” I was a bit surprised, as we hadn’t gone out anywhere since I called him to get me from the park, but I was feeling pretty good, now that chemo was a week behind me. Plus, I had another doctor’s appointment in the morning so there was no telling how things might stand after that.

  “Where are we going?” I asked him, a smile still splitting my face.

  “I told you. It’s a surprise. Now go put on some clothes or we’re going to be late.” I did as I was told, and half an hour later found us pulling into an old strip mall off South Lamar. I recognized the Alamo Draft House Movie Theatre at one end and figured that was where we were headed.

  But when he led me away from the car, we walked straight towards what looked like a 1950’s themed bowling alley. The sign above the entrance read, “The Highball”. I was a bit confused. There was no way I would survive a night of bowling.

  Andrew must have sensed my bewilderment because he leaned over and spoke into my ear, “Trust me, Shawn.” I looked at him, eyes sparkling in the light of the parking lot, mischievous smile tugging at his lips, and warmth in his expression. Lord knows, I did trust him. In that moment, standing in a dirty parking lot, surrounded by cars, loud music, and neon lights, I think I started falling in love with him all over again.

  I felt a jolt of heat go up my arm when he grabbed my hand. He had touched me many times over the past week, but only in comfort or aid. This was the first time he had touched me for no reason. The butterflies in my stomach started dancing the mambo as he threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed my hand before leading me inside.

  That moment would have been worth suffering through a night of agonizing pain and bowling pins. But luckily, off the side of the bowling alley was a small theater. The marquee read, “Live TV Tuesday: Firefly reenactment.”

  My geek brain did a little jump and danced around. This was going to be awesome. I whirled towards hi
m, grabbed his face, and gave him a brief, hard kiss. “Thanks.” I said through the grin on my face. He liked Firefly, but only because I had made him watch it. I was the true Browncoat (as we fans like to call ourselves).

  I worried for a moment that my ill-timed kiss might make things awkward, but he just kept that happy look on his face and reached for my hand again. We sat through a dramatic rendition of one of the funnier episodes of Firefly, Our Mrs. Reynolds, interspersed with some crazy fun original songs that had everyone in the audience laughing and cheering by the end. It was the perfect evening.

  I was exhausted, but still laughing by the time we got back to my apartment. I heard the phone ringing inside as I struggled with the keys. Inevitably, the only time you ever struggle with your keys is when you need to get inside quickly. By the time I got the door open, I heard the answering machine pick up. Yes, I am the only person on the planet who still uses an answering machine. I work from home and I like to keep a separate line for business and keep my cell for personal calls.

  I briefly wondered who would be calling my business line so late at night, before I recognized the cold drawl of the voice on the machine.

  “Shawn, darling, I tried your cell and it went straight to voicemail. Please stop ignoring my calls. When are you going to give up this farce and come back home?” The machine beeped again as my mother hung up.

  I stared silently at the answering machine, praying that if I just stared hard enough, it would disappear in a puff of smoke. Unfortunately, my magical abilities did not choose that moment to manifest.

  I felt, more than heard Andrew walk up behind me. “I think you need to tell me what happened with your family, Shawn.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” I sighed.

  I turned around and motioned for him to sit on the couch with me.

  Four and a Half Months ago

  There was a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach as I knocked on my parents' door. No mere knuckles against wood action for them. Nope, it was a full foot in diameter, brass door knocker that took most of my strength to lift, much less knock.

  I was terrified.

  I had been holding the news the doctor had told me at arm’s length all afternoon. I knew I needed to get to my family before I broke down. There was a niggling part of me telling me that this wasn’t the family I needed. That the family I needed was back in Austin, in an apartment I hadn’t been to in over a month. But this was the family I still had, so I held in my fear and panic and waited for my mother to answer the door.

  The heavy oak door opened inward on silent, well oiled hinges, and my mother came into view. She was standing in a brilliantly lit foyer, looking impeccable in heels and pearls despite it being after 9 pm. Years of practice at masking my emotions was all that kept me from collapsing in my mother’s arms and bawling like a baby. If I did that, I might wrinkle her immaculately ironed blouse and then she would kill me; I wouldn’t even need to wait for the cancer eating away at my brain.

  She reached out and set her fingertips lightly on each of my shoulders as she leaned forward to buss each of my cheeks with an almost there kiss as she said, “Hello, Darling. What brings you out here so late?” As if it was a regular occurrence for me to be four hours from home with no notice on a weeknight.

  “I just needed to talk to you about something important. Is Father home?”

  “No, he’s at a late strategy meeting.” She glanced at the ornate clock standing in the front entry hall and then back at me. “He shouldn’t be more than a half hour. Would you like a drink in the study while we wait?”

  This is how it always was with my family. We hid behind our manners. No warmth, no hugs, no smiles. I listened to Mother prattle on about local gossip, and my siblings for about twenty minutes before her favorite subject came up.

  “Darling, next time you come, give me some warning so I can have dinner for you.” Translation: Let me invite all the ladies of marriageable age over for dinner so you can pick one and give me grandkids already.

  I sighed. Loudly.

  She noticed.

  “Shawn, I just want you to fall in love and be happy.”

  I wondered what she would think if I told her I was already in love. God, I missed Andrew. I looked around the room as Mother continued to expound on the merits of various local young women. I stared at her in dawning realization that she didn’t know me at all. She only cared to know me as much as it served her purposes of appearing to be the perfect small town Texas family.

  I let her speak for another five minutes or so before I came to a decision. “Mother, stop.” I held out a hand as if that would help sever the flow of words coming from her mouth. Then I said the words that I hoped would be the first step to getting back my real family. “I’m in love already.”

  For a split second she was struck dumb, and then, almost without pause, she regained her voice. It still held the same polite tones but I could tell by the slight strain, she was not pleased with my announcement. “With who, darling? Not one of those hippy Austin girls. God save us from the hippies. You only think you’re in love. At your age, you couldn’t possibly know for sure.”

  I almost snorted. At my age. I was 32 years old. “I am in love.” I repeated. And now for the bombshell. “His name is Andrew.”

  It was the first time I had ever seen my Mother completely shocked into silence. Unfortunately, my Father’s booming voice from the doorway made up for her silence. Apparently he had returned in time to hear my earth shattering declaration.

  He walked calmly over to me and slapped me with all the force he could muster. Righteous, angry fire burned in his eyes, and any affection he had ever shown me was devoured by the flame of his rage. His voice was like ice, in contrast to the heat in his eyes. “Leave. You are not my son any longer.”

  I touched the back of my hand to my bleeding lip, surprised by how much it hurt, my lip and my heart. I thought I had held little love for these people, my parents, but there must have been some left because hearing it shattered felt like getting my chest hollowed out for the second time in one day.

  I walked out of their house in calm autopilot and drove until I reached the nearest roadside motel. When I was safely ensconced behind a closed, locked door, I cried like I had never cried before; each tear a knife fighting its way from my eyes, trailing lightning down my cheeks and stabbing ice into my heart as I lay, curled in a ball on the floor at the Motel 6.

  Present Day

  “They don’t know you’re sick?” were the first words out of Andrew’s mouth. It was an obvious and hopefully rhetorical question, so I merely nodded slightly and stayed silent while he continued to process what I had just said. I waited for it to click and I prayed to any God that would listen that he still loved me.

  I saw a look of dawning shock crossed Andrew’s features and I knew he had processed enough to finally comprehend. “Oh my God. You came out to your parents.”

  It might seem odd that coming out would trump a brain tumor in the hierarchy of emotional reactions for the evening but I realized he’d had awhile to get used to the idea of the cancer, while this was something that we had fought over and what had split us up. It felt as though the world had been tipped on its head.

  “Yeah, I did.” I whispered, because it still seemed too big to mention out loud. He reached a shaking hand out towards me and cupped my cheek. The tremors calmed but didn’t stop when his fingers came in contact with my face. In what seemed to be slow motion, he leaned towards me and pressed his lips against mine.

  Neither of us closed our eyes, and after tender touching of our lips, Andrew, his voice shaking as much as his hands, said, “I love you so much, Shawn Dempsey.”

  I leaned back a fraction of an inch, so his face was more than a blur of colors seen too close, and gave him back the gift he had given me. “I love you, too, Andrew Walker.”

  In that moment, it was like the spell keeping us calm broke and all of the sudden we were laying on the couch, completel
y wrapped in each other and kissing like there was no tomorrow. It was so powerful and so overwhelming that it almost felt like a first kiss. But then, he scraped his teeth across my lower lip because he knew I loved it and I ran my tongue across the back of his teeth because I knew it made him shiver and it just felt like coming home after years lost at sea.

  Our passion slowed and gentled, turning tender again because no matter how much I might want to I was not up to anything more. Even though it had been a good day, my good days were never good enough, the pain was never far enough away from the surface, for anything more than kissing to be on my mind.

  Andrew seemed to understand, and he led me back to the bedroom where we undressed and crawled into bed together. I was the little spoon, and I fell asleep in his arms, knowing I was still loved by the man who meant more to me than anyone else on the planet.

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  Chapter 3