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“I haven’t.”
“No shit,” she says, and then we both laugh.
The waiter clears our plates. He asks if we’d like to look at dessert menus. We both say no. I ask for a check and tell her I’m paying.
“We’ll split it,” she says.
“How about I think about it?”
We both laugh again.
Tell her,I think again, but I know that somehow the moment has passed. Instead I ask her the same question as every time we talk, even though she’s repeatedly told me to stop.
“How are you feeling?”
She smiles. And somehow, despite everything, looks as beautiful to me as ever.
“You mean for someone with cancer?” Brigid says. “Not half bad.”
Twenty-Eight
I DON’T STOP ATJimmy’s after saying good night to my sister and giving her a hug. I drive home and the whole way back think about my sister.
She was diagnosed with an aggressive form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma six years ago. The original prognosis was for her to live out five years with it, tops.
So in addition to everything else, Brigid might turn out to be even better at cancer than I am.
I still don’t know why I didn’t tell her about my own diagnosis, and prognosis, despite my best intentions before dinner.
Or maybe I do.
Maybe I’m not going to allow myself to turn into some kind of cliché, the one about not letting cancer define you. Because guess what. It’s notgoingto be a cliché with me. I’m notgoingto let my goddamn disease define me, at least not until this trial is over.
I’m going to keep playing my game, as scared as I am.
Scared to death.
But I can only imagine if it gets out somehow, in the middle of a trial like this one:
Defense attorney Jane Smith, battling cancer, comma…
Nope. Not happening. Not with me, it’s not,I tell myself as I pull into my driveway.
When I get out of the car, I see that the dog is back.
Front porch this time, not back. Big, sad eyes staring at me. Tail wagging.
“I thought we had an understanding,” I say.
Reallybig eyes. But still giving me the happy wave of the tail.
At least somebody is happy to see me.
“I know what you’re thinking: you can win me over with a charm offensive. But you and me? This…is…not…happening.”
I step over him, put my key in the lock, go inside.
Close the door behind me.
