December 23
Dear Diary,
My last treatment before Christmas is almost over and Damian didn’t show. I don’t know if I expected him to or not. This whole thing is such a mess. And right before Christmas?
None of the nurses have asked me about Damian or the fight. I’m pretty sure they were congregated by the door listening in. When I came in today, I felt their stares on my back, but when I swung around, everyone seemed busy.
I didn’t see Damian in the halls.
I had another headache yesterday. It hurt so bad I couldn’t even cry over Damian. I missed having him there, holding me. His presence makes the pain more bearable. I sleep better knowing he’s there.
I can’t deal with the conversations in my own mind right now, much less explain to a real person why things between us were over. My mother asked if she should call him—I didn’t tell her about the fight. I hate lying to her, but I still told her he was out of town.
I have to admit it to myself first.
~*~
The door opened, and Leslie peeked in. She straightened her uniform as she walked over and unhooked the medication.
“Leslie?”
“Yeah.”
I hesitated for a few seconds. “Has…is Damian here?”
She nodded slowly.
I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. “Is he okay?”
She sat down on the chair beside me. “He’s fine. He’s doing his work and playing with the younger patients.”
“Oh.” Why couldn’t she tell me that he’d called in sick? Or that his mood was depressing the whole floor? Or that he’d admitted he hadn’t slept in days? “That’s good.” I dropped my gaze.
When I didn’t elaborate, Leslie added, “You should go talk to him.”
My hand clung to the necklace Damian had given to me, slinking the charm up and down the silver chain. “I don’t think he wants to talk to the girl he dumped. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Well,” she said grinning, “‘hello’ is always a good place to start.”
Leslie stood and kissed my head. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
“Uh, Leslie?” I said just as she opened the door. I hadn’t intended to, but I felt a smile creeping across my face. “Were you all listening the other day?”
She laughed. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re nosy.”
“I prefer to call it ‘staying informed.’”
I giggled. “Thanks, Leslie.”
She nodded and walked out.
Alone, I paced the room trying to decide what to say to Damian. I thought about what Leslie said, then considered how it tied together. When I was ready, I checked myself in the mirror, put on my black knit cap—“the one with the, uh, little flower thing”—and applied some strawberry lip-gloss.
I frowned. Who was I kidding?
I grabbed my stuff and kept my head low as I passed the nurses’ station. As usual, I had to wait for the stupid elevators. Why couldn’t there be more of them in this place? I tapped my foot, stealing glances down the hallway every so often.
The elevator dinged. “Ugh, thank you,” I whispered to myself. As the silver doors slid open, my breath caught. Damian, wearing his sky blue scrubs and looking as gorgeous as ever, stood inside, arms crossed over his chest. When he saw me, he dropped his arms.
“Hi,” I managed. Hi? Real smooth.
He stepped out toward me. “Hey.”
And my second line was? Oh crap.
“Um, I…I just got done.” My voice sounded unrecognizable in my ears.
Damian glanced up at the clock then locked on me. “Yeah. Sorry. I, uh, had stuff Tammy wanted me to do.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” We stood in silence, me shifting my weight and Damian staring at me.
“Are you done for the day?” I asked. “I mean, um, do you wanna, maybe, grab something to eat downstairs? My treat?”
Where did that come from?
“I can’t tonight,” he answered, not flinching. “There’s some stuff I have to do.”
“Oh! Yeah. Sure.” Fighting the heat rising to my face took everything I had. “Well, um, have a good night then.”
Damian’s features softened, and for a split second I wondered if he would lean into me. I would’ve been fine with it, but he didn’t. “You, too.”
I nodded, forced a smile, then started for the doorway to the stairwell. Cradling the emptiness in my stomach with one hand, I reached for the handle and yanked the door open.
“Katie?” Damian stood in the same place.
The way he said my name, Katie, knocked the air out of me. I froze and held my breath. Slowly, I peered over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
The corner of his mouth curved up, and my heart skipped a beat.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t stop the tears from escaping. Not wanting him to see, I ducked through the door.
I ran down the stairs and out to my car as fast as I could. I sat behind the wheel with drops streaming down my face. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.
Seeing Damian, hearing him say my name, created a swell of longing in me. He’d hurt me, but I drove it right back at him. More than anything, I wanted to forgive him. To take back all the mean stuff I said, and have him wrap his arms around me and never let go. I needed to feel safe in his embrace again. Standing beside him and not touching him had turned me to mush. Yes, I still loved him.
After sitting in the parking lot for who-knows-how-long, I peered through the windshield. The windows of my Volkswagen Beetle were fogged over. I fumbled with the key and stuck it in the ignition. Almost immediately, the defrost kicked on and began to clear the clouds from the glass.
My head hurt from crying, and I hoped I’d be able to make it home before it blazed full force. Dr. Lowell had given me a migraine prescription, and I kept the pills in the bathroom with all the other meds I had to take.
When I got home, the headache hadn’t worsened, but I popped the pills anyway, then crawled between my sheets.
I didn’t want to think about anything. Not the indifference in Damian’s eyes. Not the promise that he’d call. Not the conversation with Leslie. All I wanted was to drift off to sleep and forget everything.
The sound of my cell woke me. It almost slipped from my hand when I reached for it. I groaned, breathing heavily. Still lying on my stomach, I answered without checking the caller ID. Through the blur, I could barely make out the letters and numbers anyway.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Hey.” Damian’s voice sounded soft on the other end, but it was amplified in my ear.
“Uh,” I gasped and held the phone away. The pain seared, and I folded my free arm around my stomach. Struggling to hold the vomit at bay, I finally replied. “Hi.”
“Katie, what’s wrong?” His tone changed to concern.
“Um. Headache.” I didn’t move my lips when I spoke.
“I’ll be right there.”
I threw up in the garbage can.
~*~
When I awoke, it was morning. Sunrise, actually. Damian lay beside me, his arm draped over my stomach. A surge of happiness enveloped me. His hands gliding over my body and slipping my dress off flashed in my mind. I reached for his hand and drew it to my lips. The warmth from his skin filled me. He didn’t stir. Gently, I tucked his arm between us and faced him. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek. He twitched a little, a dimple flashing me. Adorable.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I love you.”
I didn’t remember him coming into the room the night before, but the soothing presence of his body had radiated through me as I slept. I giggled a little, wondering how much sweet-talking he had to do to convince my parents to stay all night.
I kissed him again, then swung my legs over the side of the bed. I glanced over my shoulder, making sure I hadn’t disturbed him. Beams of sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a glow on everything in the room. I crawled up on the window seat and peeked outside.
Cracking the window slightly, I closed my eyes and breathed in the freshness of the morning. Nothing smelled so sweet. I tilted my head back and imagined a beach sunrise in the spring. The coolness of the breeze surrounding me and the icy-cold water washing up over my bare feet filled my senses, and as always, Damian was beside me.
Pleasurable warmth against my back that spread like wildfire through the rest of me woke me from my trance. I swiveled my head to see Damian standing behind me.
“Did I wake you?” I asked timidly. Somehow, he being awake made my heart flutter in ways it hadn’t when he slept.
“Yeah.” The corners of his lips crept up. “I couldn’t feel you next to me anymore.”
“Sorry.”
He crept up behind me, one leg on either side, arms wrapped around me. I leaned my head back against his chest, melting into him. It felt so good to have him close.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I asked, gazing out the window. “No matter how dark it gets, the sun always rises eventually and starts a new day. The darkness is forgotten.”
“Mmm,” he hummed in my ear. “I’m sorry.”
I nestled my head into him. “No. You were right.”
“I don’t want to be right,” he murmured, his fingers stroking my cheek. “I just want to be with you.”
My heart swelled, and I forced my pride away. “I’m sorry, too. I had no right to—”
He leaned down, cutting me off. “You had every right,” he said against my mouth.
“New day?” I whispered.
“Darkness forgotten.”
He kissed me again.
~*~
Damian stayed the rest of Christmas Eve with me. We put our baking skills to the test and whipped up a batch of sugar cookies. More sugar and flour lay in patches on the kitchen counter than what made it into the bowl. Admittedly, the flour wasn’t exactly accidental.
Damian volunteered to mix up the frosting.
“What’s ‘shortening?’” He furrowed his brow and tapped the recipe card against the counter. The flour on his face and cookie dough in his hair made him look cuter than usual.
“This stuff.” I tossed him a bar of Crisco. “Like butter.”
“Like butter?” His nose crinkled. “Why don’t they just say butter?”
“To confuse you.” I shrugged and watched as he plopped the whole bar into the mixing bowl.
“It’s working, ‘cause the next ingredient is actual butter.”
Suddenly, Damian grabbed me around the waist.“Hey!” I laughed.
He didn’t listen, but tackled me lightly to the floor. He kissed my lips then my nose, and before he got up, the punk actually smeared Crisco on my head.
“You better watch your back, Lowell!” I said, wiping it off.
When his frosting was finished, it looked…uh…weird. And a little crunchy.
“Did you use powdered sugar?”
“I used sugar.” He grabbed the container of regular sugar. “Like it said.”
“Right.” I giggled. “Why don’t we throw this out and start all over?”
The next batch tasted better, and what didn’t end up in the mixing bowel matched nicely with the cookie dough in his hair. Payback!
We didn’t need all the frosting because we didn’t have enough cookies. Mom retrieved two sheets of black snowmen—which Damian dubbed, coalmen—and Christmas trees from the oven while Damian and I were too busy making out on the sofa. After that, we stayed entangled in the kitchen—with one eye open.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I said after setting last batch on top of the oven. “I’ll be right back.”
Damian patted my butt as I walked away. Passing my parents’ room, I overheard my dad talking. I stopped when I heard my name.
“Kate’s lost weight, Marcy,” he said. “And the headaches are getting more frequent.”
“I know,” Mom answered. “But look at her! I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with him. She glows.”
“Yeah. We can’t ignore it, though,” Dad replied. “Any news on the donor front?”
“No. Nothing.” Mom sighed. “I’ll…I’ll make an appointment after Christmas.”
I heard them move, and I darted past the door and into the bathroom. I leaned my head against the inside of the door, focusing on the ceiling.
My hand automatically lifted my shirt and rubbed my stomach. I slipped my hand between my hips and the waist-band of my jeans. Since Damian had come into my life, I hadn’t noticed how I could put them on and take them off without unbuttoning them. I walked over to the mirror and pulled my shirt over my head. The reflection of my ribs, easily defined, created a lump in my throat. I twisted and examined my back. Ribs there, too. They protruded more than they used to.
I picked my shirt up off the floor and put it back on. Then I leaned in closer to the mirror. The contrast to the rest of my body was easily recognizable. I’d never seen my eyes so bright and healthy. Even without makeup, my cheeks had color and my lips were the perfect shade of pink.
I shook my head. The weight-loss and headaches had to be the chemo. You’re on the strongest dose, Dr. Lowell had said. Stupid side-effects.
Making a mental note to buy some new jeans or a belt, I hurried back out to the kitchen.
Damian and I frosted about a dozen cookies before my mom walked in and almost had a heart attack. Her OCD in holiday decorations kicked into overdrive at the sight. Red frosting had made its way into the white, the black sat in clumps on the dining room table, and the green was splattered on her homemade glass ball Christmas tree that we forgot to take off the table. Besides all that, Frosty’s silver buttons weren’t perfectly aligned.
She tapped her fingers on her teeth, trying not to bite her nails. “Why don’t you two go clean up? I’ll finish in here.”
I took a quick shower in the upstairs bathroom while Damian washed the frosting and dough out of his hair downstairs. Since Mom was OCDing over our cookies, we cuddled up on the sofa to watch Miracle on 42nd Street. We both dozed off somewhere in the middle.
Dad woke us up before dinner. As per Browdy family tradition, we went out for Chinese on Christmas Eve night. After a little persuasion, kissing him repeatedly and shooting him my best puppy-dog face, Damian finally caved and agreed to join us. Once there, he ate pizza—uh-huh, pizza—off the buffet.
When we got home, Mom pulled out the exquisitely decorated cookies. We gathered around the dining room table and played Rook, not bothering to keep score. Everyone smiling, everyone laughing, and for a few minutes, surrounded by the people I loved most in the world, I felt truly happy.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked Damian as we stood by the front door at the end of the evening. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
“As of now, Dad’s not working. We usually spend Christmas Day with my mom’s folks here in town.”
He ran both his hands down the sides of my face, then leaned down, kissing me slowly. I held him close, memorizing the moment.
“Merry Christmas, Katie.”