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She chuckles. Her smile is so wide that it makes me feels good. "Honey, I wouldn't miss seeing you graduate for anything. I'm so proud of all the hard work you've done to get where you are."
After a couple of hours spent talking with Grammy, she drifts into a peaceful sleep. Carefully, I place her cat back in my carrier and drape a jacket over it, then seek out the doctor. He pulls me into his office and has me take a seat across from him. I place the pet carrier down and pray the cat doesn't make a sound.
The doctor leans over his desk and threads his fingers together. I watch his movement with an impending sense of dread.
"Are you aware of how ill your grandmother is?"
I frown. "I know she has bronchitis."
He studies me for a moment. "She told me she doesn't visit her physician often. Is that true?"
"She only goes if she feels really sick, otherwise she just fights any infection off herself." I pause. "She's stubborn like that."
"Did she ever seem sick? Tired? Out of breath? Weight loss? Complain about pain?"
I shake my head. "I live in the city so I'm not around as much as I used to be. She does have a cough I noticed, but nothing else." I shrug. "She wouldn't have told me if she wasn't feeling well, though."
He blows out a long, heavy breath and it makes me tense, like I'm bracing for an impact. There's a tightness in the way he speaks, cautious and careful. He tells me in detail about the scans and lab work, the reasons he requested them in the first place, and then reads the results. It's a lot to process and I almost wish I had James here with me to go over it.
Leaning forward, the doctor hands me copies of the reports to reread when I get home.
"What does this all mean?" I ask, looking down at the papers as I flip through them. I look up when he doesn't respond immediately, and his face softens with regret.
"I'm sorry to be the one tell you this, Aubrey, but your grandmother has lung cancer."
Fifty-Five
Every day since the doctor diagnosed Grammy with stage four lung cancer, I've been by her side each chance I've had.
She opted out of chemotherapy and decided to let nature run its course. I cried and begged her to consider changing her mind. She said she's too old to go through such drastic treatment and wants to spend whatever time she has left with me and her cats instead of in crippling pain just to live an extra year, if she's lucky.
Her decision broke my heart.
I decided I wouldn’t read anything online, even though I almost caved a few times. It'll just mess with my head. What I know is that the cancer is extensive, and it's already spread throughout her body. Knowing that pretty much answers every question I had. I can't blame her for not wanting to go through treatment. If I was pushing eighty, I wouldn’t want to do it either. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
The truth is, I fucking hate it. I want to push her and force her to do the chemo, but I can't. I won't. It's her decision, but it's breaking my damn heart.
I haven't stopped crying. It's only been seven days, but those seven days have been the worst of my life. I've kept it all bottled in and cried when no one was looking. I didn't tell Natalie. I was already dealing with the guilt of her parents’ divorce and I couldn't bring myself to lean on her for support. How shitty of me that would've been. The pressure inside my chest is growing by the day, my anxiety higher than ever at night. I hardly sleep. If I'm not at the hospital visiting Grammy, then I'm at school or in the library doing homework.
I also decided against leaving Sanctuary Cove, thinking the forced distraction would ease the pain, if only for a short time. Every day I take a job from Christine. Once visiting hours are over, I become Valentina.
"Are you okay?" Natalie asks as I step out of my room.
She's sitting on a high top chair at the kitchen counter doing homework. I eye her coffee mug and can't even bring myself to laugh. I like big balls and I cannot lie. I give her a fleeting look and slip my crossover purse over my head.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." She taps her pencil on the counter. "How was last night?"
I realize I need to cover up my emo mood before she digs and I unleash everything I'm holding in. That's the last thing I need to happen.
Reaching inside the refrigerator, I pull out a bottle of sangria and pop the top. I offer Natalie one and she takes it. Gotta love six packs of pre-made, sugarfied sangria.
I turn around and lean against the fridge. "I've had the strangest clients all week. I don't even know what to think. It must be a full moon or something. This one guy wanted me to slap his balls until they were red. I didn't want to at first because I didn't want to hurt him. You know how guys are so sensitive there? You look at the dick the wrong way and they're practically singing soprano. This guy, though, he took it like a champ and came four times. I've never seen anything like it."
She takes a sip and nods. "Been there, slapped that." We chuckle. "That's actually fairly common. I had one guy who filled his dick with saline before I banged his balls around."
I grimace in sympathetic pain, wondering why any man would want to do that. "This other guy wanted me to tell him how I lost my virginity while he was dri
