“Sit,”Ash stated. “Now.”
I wanted nothing more than to run from the room. To hide from my best friend. By telling her the truth, I’d be forced to confront the reality of my brain tumor. Not just confront it, but to make a choice.
Surgery or no surgery.
Short life, or even shorter life.
And then I had to face the possibility that even if the surgery was successful, I might not be the same person when it was over.
It was a lose-lose situation any way you cut it.
Cut.
What was the difference? Now or later, I was going to die, and soon. What were a few months’ worth if I wasn’t going to be myself? If I didn’t have the surgery, my symptoms would worsen, but I’d still be me. My children would still know me. If I had the surgery, there was a chance my personality would change. And there was a high probability that I wouldn’t even make it past the year mark anyway.
The result would be the same.
I’d be six feet under, and Flynn would be standing with our children at my grave.
Next to Malcolm.
I sat slowly and placed my hands on the table. With a deep breath, I said, “I have a brain tumor.”
Ash looked at me for a moment, her eyes widening, and then she let out a cackle. “Good one.”
I frowned. “Good one what?”
“A brain tumor.” She snorted. “You’ve got a sick sense of humor. Come on. Tell me what’s really happening. Two doctors are calling you. You’re discussing fertility options, aren’t you?”
“Why on earth would you leap to that conclusion?” I demanded. “I just adopted Piper and my family is complete.”
A reflection of worry appeared in her blue eyes. “I don’t know, I was just—”
“Ash,” I said quietly. “I’m being serious.”
“It’s true then? You really have a brain tumor?”
I nodded. “I went to see Dr. Bristow because I was having…unusual symptoms.”
Her breath hitched. “What kind of symptoms?”
“Hallucinations. Vivid ones.” I bent my head and looked away. “About Igor.”
“Igor.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “One sign of a brain tumor is hallucinations. Another is irrational behavior that’s out of character. But no one thought it was odd when I ran away to his home in Vermont.”
“We all thought the anniversary of his death was just too much for you,” she admitted. “Guilt.”
“I thought it was guilt too.” I met her gaze. “The food fight in your kitchen? I don’t behave that way. That’s notme.”
She exhaled and it was shaky. “I thought it was relief. You know, like you’d let go of all the Igor stuff and you were feeling lighthearted.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I thought that too,” I swallowed. “After my doctor’s appointment, I had a seizure. It was just after I’d gotten home. Sasha was there. He—he took me to the hospital.” I swallowed, blocking out the horror of almost dropping my infant daughter.
“I had an MRI, and yesterday I met with Dr. Elmond to go over the results. He’s a neurosurgeon at the top of his field. He’s world-renowned, Ash.” I got up from the table and began to pace because the idea of sitting still was unacceptable.
How long would I have use of my limbs?
