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“You outgrew the patch?”
“Exactly.”
“Open-heart surgery both times?” I ask.
Rory nods.
“Will it have to be revised again?”
“More than likely. Eventually, it will wear out.”
My own heart skips a beat, and my mouth goes dry and not because of dehydration. Rory must see the worry plain on my face because he reaches to smooth out the crinkle between my eyebrows with his thumb.
“My cardiologist keeps a good eye on it. You don’t have to worry,” he says.
I purse my lips, and I can’t tear my gaze from his chest.
“Is that why you became a doctor?” I ask.
“Mostly,” he says.
“And?”
“And what?”
“You said mostly, so there’s another reason.”
He sighs.
“You’re intimately acquainted with my medical chart, and with noises you shouldn’t be familiar with this soon in the relationship. I think I deserve to know why you became a doctor,” I say.
Rory grins, pleased with himself. I have no doubt it was me referring to us as being in a relationship that has him smiling. “Oh, grow up,” I say, rolling my eyes.
His smile is gone when he speaks again. “I promise you’ll know that part of me. Probably sooner than later, but do you think you can be a little bit patient?”
“It’s not really my strong suit,” I say dryly.
Rory scoffs. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a little bullheaded,” he says.
“Occupational hazard.”
Looking at Rory in my bed under the current circumstances makes my blood boil. The anger is quickly followed by guilt about being angry when nothing is his fault. Nothing is my fault. Nothing is our fault.
None of that is true. It’s all my fault. If had only . . . so many things. If I had gotten my pap test when I was supposed to, or if I had gone to the doctor when the back pain started.
But I was built and trained to push through pain. It was nothing, I convinced myself, until it was too hard to ignore.
It’s also my parent’s fault because there is a vaccine for this cancer. If only they had agreed to get me the vaccine. Why won’t parents give their children a cancer vaccine if it’s available? My parents had only daughters. They should have known better. And even if they’d had only boys, they should have gotten the vaccine for them to protect their future girlfriends and wives. But who am I kidding? If we had been boys, we probably would have gotten the vaccine.
My family is estranged to begin with, but my resentment played a massive part in not telling my family what is happening to me.
Now, I’m lying in a bed with a wonderful man I wish I could keep, knowing I can’t—a lover who gave me a taste of the life that still awaits. A lover I can’t make love to.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Where’s that head at?” He smooths his fingers over my forehead again, and I blink my tears away.
