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Chapter 2
Nothing appetizing takes up space in my fridge. After extensive research, I bought groceries to pack on the pounds. My one-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds are all muscle, and I know I’ll lose weight once chemo and radiation start. I need to gain some weight before I start treatment. I’ll have a hell of a time fattening up after an entire adulthood of balancing food to keep muscle up and fat down. I bought all the things the internet suggested, all high in calories, proteins, and fat, but low in volume. I look at the eggs, olives, butter, peanut butter—why are there so many butters?—avocados, and whole milk. None of it seems to go together, so I close the fridge and hit the shower to go out to breakfast instead.
The furniture delivery service won’t arrive until after ten, so I have time to explore the neighborhood and grab a bite. I hardly slept a wink as I thought about my web of lies, but I didn’t want to waste any more of my precious time sleeping.
Kansas City is flat.At least compared to the tall buildings of my home city. None of the structures in this neighborhood are taller than a few stories, except for the hospital that reaches a whopping seven floors and sticks out above everything else on this street. Also, unlike my home city, greenery flanks almost every road.
I’m surprised when I find a gym not too far from my apartment. I look through the window, itching to go in, but what’s the point? I can’t get a membership. It’s not a fighting gym of any kind, but it would be better than nothing. I watch men and women go in, and I get a few friendly hellos. Maybe I could get a week’s membership and just come to lift weights until the treatment starts? I’m getting ready to open the door when I hear a voice behind me.
“Don’t even think about it.” I turn like the kid caught with my hands in themasato find Dr. Ramirez and Mandy staring at me. Dr. Ramirez’s arms are crossed over her chest, and one of her brows is arched in warning. Mandy is pressing her lips together, suppressing laughter at this exchange.
“I-um, I wasn’t going to go—”
“Yes, you were,” says Dr. Ramirez.
I hang my head with shame. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“You’re supposed to be softening up and trying to gain as much weight as possible this week.”
“I know. I know. I just don’t know how to not do what I was born to do.” I smile lamely at the women, and we all ignore my eyes misting over.
“We’re just going for breakfast,” Mandy steps in just in time to avoid my tears spilling over. “You’re coming with us.” She isn’t asking. She grabs my arm and laces hers through mine, tugging me away from the first place that has looked like home since I got here.
“Are you going to work today?”I ask as I sit in front of the two women looking at their menus.
“Yes,” Mandy says. “We grab breakfast together Monday mornings. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, I might do that,” I say, relieved to have someone to talk to besides a bottle of wine.
“So, are you really a UFC fighter?” Mandy asks with interest and much too loudly.
“Mandy,” Dr. Ramirez scolds. “I don’t think Valentina wants to talk about that.”
I look between the two women who couldn’t be more different. Mandy is short and has unruly wavy hair in a chocolaty dark brown shade. It’s almost witchy as the tresses stir with her movements. Her skin is a smooth, cool-toned light brown. Her rectangular face meets in a square jaw, and she has one of the widest smiles I have ever seen. She is almost my height and definitely much shorter than Dr. Ramirez.
It’s not just their physicality that is polar-opposite either. Dr. Ramirez moves with grace and sits with impeccable posture, while Mandy looks a bit frumpy and slouches in her seat, making her seem that much shorter. But what she lacks in physical height, Mandy makes up for in volume. Mandy isloud. So loud it’s almost embarrassing, and I can’t help but look at the other diners when she speaks.
I take a deep breath and answer Mandy. “No. I wasn’t a UFC fighteryet. I was starting to get close—before—well, before everything happened.”
“I’m sorry,amiga,” she says and reaches across the table to grab my hand.
I smile at her choice of words and hope she is sincere because, lord help me, I’m going to need a friend.
When the waiter comes to our table, Dr. Ramirez snatches the menu from my hands, and my brows knit together.
“I’ll be ordering for her,” says Dr. Ramirez. “She’ll have two fried eggs over-medium. Hash-browns, Texas toast with butter, two slices of bacon, and one biscuit on the side with gravy, if you have it.”
“And for you, ma’am?” the waiter asks Dr. Ramirez.
“I’ll have the spinach-egg white omelet with avocado slices and half a grapefruit,” says Dr. Ramirez.
I blink at her, and Mandy throws her head back with a roar of laughter so magnified, several rows of tables turn to stare at us. I sink in my chair.
The heaping plate of food set before me doesn’t look even a little appealing. I tug the plate, and the mountain of food jiggles. “Do I really have to eat this?” I ask.
“As much as you can, within reason,” says Dr. Ramirez.
I turn my attention to a glob of something white that seems to have bits of sausage in it. “What isthat?” I ask. It looks revolting, and despite my hunger, my stomach churns at the sight of it.
