by Devney Perry
“So what do you think?” Becca asks.
I blink a few times and pretend I heard her question. “You should do it.”
“Okay,” she says and hops off the stool.
I grab her hand, holding her next to me so I can find out exactly what I told her to do. “Where are you going?”
“I asked if I should try to fuck ‘The Butcher.’”
My mouth drops open and my eyes grow as wide as saucers. “Becca!” I yell and wrap my fingers around her hand. “Sit your ass down.” I glance over my shoulder, following her eyes to where he sits.
“He’s always looking over here, ogling you. I thought maybe he’d take the next best thing.”
I gawk at her, completely in shock. “You can’t be fucking serious.”
Slowly, she walks backward toward her seat. “I’m just kidding, asshole. You acted like you were listening, but you didn’t hear a damn thing. I just thought I’d fuck with you.”
“I’m sorry.” The guilt of ignoring her eats at me, and even though I want to tell her what’s going on, I don’t dare. “And for your information, Bruno isn’t ogling me.”
She fiddles with her cosmopolitan. “I think you should get your eyes checked next time you’re at the doctor, Cal. He’s always watching you. It’s sexy, but it also creeps me the fuck out. He’s so dangerous.”
I laugh, playing it off, but I’ve noticed it too. “Is he looking over here now?” I ask, refusing to turn around to look for myself.
She leans forward, her eyes peering behind me. “He is. He’s not taking his eyes off us either.”
“He probably thinks we’re trouble or something,” I say and hope she drops the topic because I’d rather find out what she was going on about before.
“You can pretend like you don’t think he’s hot, Cal, but I’ve seen you flirt with him more than once.”
I shake my head and chuckle softly. “Smiling and saying hello isn’t necessarily flirting.”
“He has a thing for you.”
“He probably has a thing for every girl in this place.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head vigorously and puckers her lips. “He wants you.”
“Enough about him.” I glance over my shoulder and meet his eyes, but I quickly turn around as soon as I’m caught looking. “What did you ask before?”
“I broke up with Terrance. I want to know if you think it was a bad decision.”
I never liked Terrance. From the moment I met him, he made my skin crawl. Sometimes, I’d get a feeling about a person when something wasn’t right, and Terrance definitely fit the bill. “Why? What happened?” I already know the answer. He’d do weird shit all the time. Things that would never make any sense unless he was trying to hide something.
“I found messages on his phone from another woman.” She frowns and brings the glass to her lips as she waits for me to answer.
“You know unfaithfulness is a deal-breaker for me too.”
“Yeah.” She sighs around the rim of the glass. “I hate cheating bastards. I kicked his ass to the curb.” She starts to giggle.
“You okay, Bec?” I ask because she’s verging on hysterical and manic.
She wipes her eyes, removing the tiny tears that have started to trickle down her cheeks. “Totally. Never been fuckin’ better.”
“Okay.” Her behavior isn’t very Becca-like, but I figure the two cosmos she’s consumed have helped her feel a bit more relaxed.
“Do you think he’s a cheater?” Her eyes stray from me and land on Bruno, who I assume is still seated at the bar facing us.
“Probably. He has a dick, doesn’t he?” I reply and take a sip of my martini. The very thought of the man has made my body tingle for years. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me or maybe it’s the size of his body—he does something to me. Something no one else has ever done with a single glance.
“Yep. I mean, that man probably couldn’t be faithful a day in his life.”
“Probably not.” I frown behind my glass.
“Like, right now, there’s a girl hanging all over him. She’s probably his side piece of ass.”
I turn quickly, wanting to get a look at her, but he’s alone when I peer over at him and not looking at me, thankfully.
“Gotcha. Pretend all you want, but you want that man something awful.”
I swallow down the truth. “I do not. I was just curious what type of woman he’s into.”
“He’s into you, my friend, and you’re into him. Just promise me you won’t ever date him.”
“I’ll never date him. I promise.” I roll my eyes and scoff. “You’re clearly drunk. I think it’s time to pack up this party because I have to work tomorrow.” I sigh, knowing I’ll probably get the phone call I’m dreading too.
“We can’t stay for another round? I’m hoping Mr. TDH comes over here to say hello.”
“TDH?” I ask, grabbing a twenty out of my purse to close out the rest of our tab.
“Tall, dark, and handsome, Cal. Come on. Lie to me some more and tell me you don’t agree.” She throws her money down, hops off the chair, and heads straight for him.
I chase after her, my heels clicking on the shiny black marble below. “Becca,” I beg, trying to grab her hand before she reaches him.
She ignores me, walking faster so I can’t catch her. I freeze when she comes to a stop in front of him. He glances over her shoulder and meets my eyes. I can feel they’ve widened, and I probably look like a deer in headlights. Becca chats with him, but I’m still frozen ten feet away.
They’re talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Becca peers over her shoulder and smiles before turning around. He looks at me, his eyes roaming over my body before he looks at her again. I want to disappear out of sheer embarrassment. Before I’m able to regain my senses, Becca walks away from him and beckons for me to follow.
I find my feet, walking quickly past Bruno while keeping my eyes on the floor. Even though I’m not looking at him, I can feel his eyes on me. I weave my way through the crowd and out of his line of sight. “I’m going to kill you,” I say when I catch up with her.
“Why?” She smiles and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the doorway.
“What the fuck did you say to him?” I pull my arm from her grasp and keep walking.
“I told him that he should ask you out.” She laughs behind me, and I turn on my heels to face her.
My heart is hammering in my chest, and I close my eyes. “You didn’t!”
She snorts and covers her mouth with the back of her hand. “I didn’t. You know you two wouldn’t work. He’s a scary criminal, and you’re as pure as the driven snow.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I’m pure. What did you really say to him, Becca?”
“I told him they should clean this place up. That you had gum on your dress because some asshole stuck it under the table.”
He wasn’t eyeing me with lust; he was checking my dress for evidence. “I hate you.”
“I should’ve told him you want to fuck him, though,” she says, pushing past me and heading out the front door.
I follow her out and come to a stop next to her near the valet stand. “I’d kill you.”
Her eyes travel up my body and her lips twist. “You need to get laid. Although he isn’t my first choice for you, he’d do in a pinch.”
“I do not need to get laid.” It’s the last thing I need right now.
She knows I’m on edge. The worry has been eating me alive ever since I found out my blood work came back abnormal and I went in for more tests and an extremely painful bone marrow aspiration.
I don’t see a need for us both to worry. I’ll share the details with her when I know more.
She hands the ticket to the valet, and we stand side by side watching him jog through the parking lot. “I just wanted to see what you’d do if I talked to him, and you acted just like I figured you would.”
“And that is?”
“You were a complete chickenshi
t. I know the man is scary as hell, but one night wouldn’t kill you. You can hit it and quit it. I’m sure he does it all the time.”
“Don’t ever say those words again,” I tell her and glance behind us to see who’s around.
“Relax,” she says before kissing me good-bye and heading toward her car as the valet pulls up.
As I get into a cab, I can’t shake what she just said. She’s never liked Bruno. We’ve talked about him more than once. He’s too dangerous, and we both know it. Neither of us is built to deal with a man like him. But the idea of a one-night stand with him does make my heart go pitter-patter in my chest and my toes curl on their own.
Relax. If she knew what I was facing, she wouldn’t be so quick to say that word. If Becca were in my shoes, she’d be freaking out and I’d have to talk her off a ledge. I kick off those shoes of mine when I walk into my apartment. As I get ready for bed, my mind is still whirling.
Hopefully, tomorrow I’ll have the news I want to hear. Then I can “relax” and get back to my normal life where my biggest decision is what I’ll wear every day.
Of course, I live in a shallow, vapid society where we’re taught that things matter and make a person. I buy shoes as if I have more than two feet. So many it would make the average person’s head spin. I don’t skimp on clothes either, snapping up everything I love. I spend without thinking. Gliding through life like material shit matters.
We all have that moment in our lives. The one where we think we have it made. Every little piece has fallen into place. We have the job we always wanted, money in the bank, and are living life without a care in the world.
I’m there. I freaking made it.
When I was little, my mother always said, “Get a good job. You’ll be able to take care of yourself and buy whatever you want. Don’t rely on any man. Stand on your own two feet, Callie.”
She’d be proud of me if she were still here. I don’t answer to anyone but myself.
Years ago, when I lost her, I decided I’d follow her advice. I finished college, found the highest-paying job in my field, and lived without apology.
I’m self-made and completely independent.
No one tells me what to do.
But there’s a problem with her advice. One I hadn’t seen coming. I’d been going through life with blinders on until Dr. Craig mentioned the single word that strikes fear into every person on the planet.
After I’d walked out of his office, I’d had some life-changing realizations.
Things are just that—things. They don’t make us who we are. They make us look better on the outside, even when we’re hollow on the inside. They’re an illusion—the shiny objects that distract us from the really important things.
Sometimes, inevitably, we all need someone. No matter how hard we try to be self-reliant, there are times when we need a shoulder to cry on or a pair of strong arms to hold us.
But as with most realizations in life, I didn’t have mine until the darkness threatened to consume my world.
My life will change with a single word. Up may become down, left may become right, and nothing may make sense anymore.
Some will read this and say, “Ugh, Callie, get a grip and stop being a whiny bitch.” My response is this: Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes before rushing to judgment. It’s always easy to assume without any real knowledge to back it up.
Everyone thinks they’ll handle shit with grace, but in reality, our fears start to suffocate us.
I’m no different—my fears are many and real.
We’re all fragile, filled with insecurities and worry, and we shouldn’t be judged on how we behave in our darkest hour because it’s never pretty.
We should be judged on our life as a whole—the way we love, how we treat others—and not how we act when our world is crumbling around us.
I close my eyes and think of my mother, the feel of her arms around me, comforting me as I drift to sleep.
The Moment
Running late, I rush around my apartment like a maniac trying not to forget anything. It’s inevitable, though; almost every day I forget something and end up going back inside. I learned to leave ten minutes early to give myself extra time.
My phone rings, and my latest and favorite ringtone—“Sugar” by Maroon 5—blares in the morning silence as I step outside.
Without thinking, I answer. “Hello.”
“Ms. Gentile?”
I fumble with my keys, trying to hold my coffee while balancing the phone on my shoulder and locking the door. “Yes.”
“This is Dr. Craig’s office. He’d like to speak with you as soon as possible.”
“I’m here.” I jog toward my car, trying to keep on schedule. I have every traffic light timed. Any deviation and I’d hit the most horrendous rush-hour traffic downtown.
“Please hold, ma’am,” the woman replies before the worst eighties pop music plays and I know I’m on hold.
Placing the call on speaker, I toss my purse onto the passenger seat. I balance my phone on my lap and start the car.
As I turn on the engine, I hear his voice. “Callie?”
“I’m here, Doc, but I’m late. What did the tests say?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant even though my insides are twisting into knots.
He’s been good to me. Probably better than I deserve. He always squeezes me in when I’m sick, even if he has a backlog of patients for weeks.
“Can you come into my office?” He clears his throat and doesn’t have the same jovial attitude he often does when I visit his office.
“Doc, just tell me. I can handle it.” I check both directions, about ready to pull out, when he speaks the words I’ve been dreading.
“You have cancer.”
Dead fuckin’ silence.
Time stops.
I freeze.
My car rolls into the street, and there’s a loud bang.
Everything goes black.
Whispers.
I can hear them but can’t see who is around me. I try to make out the words, but it’s muffled nonsense.
It was all just a dream.
The phone call.
It never happened.
The car rolling back—just a figment of my imagination.
Maybe I never really woke up this morning. My brain just played a cruel trick on me. Not even a dream, a nightmare.
I just need to wake up. If I do, everything will be different. I’ll be me. My life will be the same as it was yesterday.
“Callie.”
He’s not real. Wake up.
“Callie,” he repeats. “Wake up.”
It’s not real. Then his hand touches me and my eyes fly open as I realize it wasn’t a dream.
“Callie,” he says again.
Dr. Craig is sitting on my bed, in the hospital, and I remember what he said to me before I rolled backward into the street and was hit by another car. The news, which I still don’t totally believe, shocked the hell out of me. When I met with him to do the tests, I begged him to tell me over the phone and not to make me come back into the office.
I wanted to know without him looking me in the eyes for a few reasons. First, he’s a friend. I mean, we don’t have drinks together, but he’s always taken care of me. At one point, he asked me out, but I declined because I just wasn’t into him sexually. Second, I’m too damn busy to take more time off work to meet with him when he can give me the same information over the phone. No matter how you tell someone they have cancer, it doesn’t change the fact they have it. I figured I could handle it. I promised him I could. Dumb, Callie. Dumb.
I snap my eyes shut, clenching them so tightly they ache too. No. No. No.
“Open your eyes.”
Lying there, I take a few deep, harsh breaths, trying to will it all away. Why couldn’t I fall back asleep and wake up in my bed?
“Callie,” he hisses. Maybe I heard him wrong since my heart beat so hard that I practically couldn’t hear anything.
Slowly,
I open my eyes, hoping it will all be a dream.
But it isn’t.
He is real.
I’m in the hospital.
But I’m alive.
And then I remember what he said. “You have cancer.”
Maybe that part was a dream.
I could’ve been in an accident and imagined the news he dropped on me over the phone. It’s entirely possible. Right? I could’ve hit my head and the drugs they gave me caused the worst nightmare of my life. I’ve known it’s a possibility since I had the tests, but I never believed that I would have it.
“What happened?”
He sits on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on my leg. “You had an accident.”
“I remember,” I whisper, looking around the room and realizing I’m in the ER.
His face is somber when he drags his eyes to mine. “Do you remember what happened before the accident?” Somehow, his frown grows more profound, and I know that it wasn’t a dream.
“I don’t,” I lie.
“We were on the phone and—” He pauses and scoots closer before grabbing my hand.
I push my head back into the pillow, wishing I could disappear. “Cancer,” I whisper.
He nods, and his brown eyes become remorseful. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
Hearing him say the words again still doesn’t make it feel real. “What type?” I ask, knowing everything about the wretched disease. I studied biology in college and specialized in medicine before becoming a molecular biologist.
“Leukemia.”
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s hard to tell with a simple blood test.” I still haven’t faced reality. Even hearing the words come from his mouth a second time doesn’t convince me.
“Yes. I can say with one hundred percent certainty that it’s leukemia.”
The room starts to spin. Things fade and gray. The sound of my heart pounding in my ears dulls along with everything else.
I’m not a fool. I knew when I went for testing there was a possibility I had cancer, but I never truly believed it. Sitting here now, listening to him say the words again, doesn’t make it more believable either.
