The ICU only allowed visitors who weren’t family during specific hours and, no thanks to my work schedule, I missed most of them. It wasn’t until Sean’s dad called in a favor from his friends on the hospital board that we were able to spend time in Sean’s room. Apparently, as Mrs. Alexander relayed the message, Mr. Alexander and some members of the hospital’s board of directors go back to his days in medical school, and they easily exchanged favors. So some rules were bent for Sean’s friends, no big deal.
Sean’s brother and their dad hadn’t arrived. Was his dad even coming? His youngest son was resigned to a medically induced coma, lifeless and pale, after surgery to remove the cancerous tumors this wicked hand of life dealt. We could tell there was significant tension between Sean’s parents whenever Mr. Alexander was mentioned, but all we could interpret as we read between the lines was that Sean’s dad was too occupied in Europe, serving as the chief of neonatal surgery at a teaching hospital, where even the mere thought of his family back home was forbidden due to work obligations and duties.
I barely felt the tickle of Mrs. Alexander’s bony fingers as she stroked my cheek. Her fingertips were cold but gentle. “Avery, dear,” she cooed, “it’s five in the morning. You have to get ready for work.”
Her face was so close to mine that the diamond planets studded in her earlobe blinded me when I slowly peeled open my eyes. Her smile was warm and deceptively optimistic. I could tell she’d been crying because her blush was faded over her cheekbones and her mascara was clumpy. Her green eyes still glowed with an enigmatic flame like Sean’s.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” I groggily whispered, lifting myself upright in the uncomfortable chair at the foot of Sean’s bed. His mom stepped away from me and squeezed Sean’s limp feet as she returned to her recliner at his side.
He looked the same today as he did yesterday: lifeless and empty, but peaceful and calm. It was a disturbing mix of possible expressions and emotions that I could pretend he resembled. Mrs. Alexander was wearing all red today, from the cashmere turtleneck to her suede boots. Even her hair was pulled back with a bejeweled pin, most likely covered in rubies or something extravagantly ostentatious. However supremely wealthy, Sean’s mom would be the first person to give something, anything, to one in need. She had a warm heart, and she demonstrated that to us on several occasions. I studied her as I woke, watching the way her red finger nails stroked Sean’s forearm back and forth like a mother does to their baby, a small gesture filled with so much affection. She wiped his forehead with a washcloth and attempted to style his cropped hair. She turned to smile at me when I stood.
“Thank you for waking me.”
“Thank you for being here for him.” Her red lips stretched to her eyes as she flashed me a most genuine smile. I stepped toward her and, as she sat with her hands clenching Sean’s, I wrapped my arms around her as tight as they could hold. She giggled, releasing one hand from Sean and placing it around my back.
“I’ll come back after work,” I assured her. She nodded, wiping the errant tear from my eye, and returned to holding Sean’s hands. The machines beeped, buzzed, and clicked. It was our soundtrack.
Work felt impossible, but somehow I managed. The week was about to close, and Andrew and I collaborated to finish a proposal before our deadline, much to Lindsay’s pleasure. It was dark and lonely when I would leave at night, the winter sun setting at four and taking no prisoners in its cold absence.
The bus ride from work to the hospital was brief, but waiting for the bus wasn’t always as pleasant. I think my fingers froze and thawed on a nightly basis now. I finished work at half past six on Friday evening, one of the last to leave the building. Andrew and Stephanie left around five, heading to some noisy bar somewhere. I was waiting for the bus so I could head to a sterile hospital room where I would watch my sleeping friend cling to his life. It was sobering.
When I finally returned to the hospital, there was less traffic than usual in the hall outside of Sean’s room. I slowly peeked inside before entering, noticing Mrs. Alexander and her fur coat were nowhere to be seen. I started unbundling my layers of warm protection. The machines hummed and beeped, a now comforting melody.
“Hi.” Sean’s voice brought tears to my eyes, flooding and unrelenting tears, as I stood in the doorway of his room, gaping at him.
“My mom told me you’ve been here a lot.”
“Yes.” I was only producing single syllables between gasps of air.
“Like every day.” A smile parted his chapped lips. I nodded, covering my mouth in disbelief. Part of me felt overjoyed and relieved he was awake, but the thought of his next battle against his cancer kicked me so hard in the stomach that I lost my breath. I hesitantly walked further into his room, trying to accept the fact he was awake.
“Sit here.” He stiffly nodded toward the recliner that practically memorized Mrs. Alexander’s figure. His voice wasn’t the seductively smooth song it was before he was brought there. It was raspier; he sounded helpless. The oxygen tubes were removed from his nose, and he was only attached to two IVs instead of five. His skin was gray, not the caramel glow of his recent time in Miami, but that of a patient. Sean was a patient, his freedom held prisoner by his illness. His hand fell on mine as it rested on the edge of his mattress.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” I was hoping my inquiry wouldn’t disturb him too much.
He laughed, and the piercing pain tightened his eyes and forced his hands to grasp his chest until he was calm. “Ouch. I remember my mom in here this morning when I woke up.”
“She was here every day and every night.”
“So were you, Ave.” His eyes met mine, slits of exhausted green between heavy eyelids.
“That I was, when I could be.”
He reached for my hands, looking at me and holding me prisoner in his faded green gaze. “Will you come lay with me? I won’t bite. I promise. No funny business.”
I hesitated. “You’re in the intensive care unit. Your nurses will walk in, and you’ll be in trouble.”
“What’s your point?”
I rolled my eyes at Sean and carefully mounted his bed to rest on my left side, facing him. Sean’s cold, shaky arm clung to my back and shoulder as I delicately placed my right hand on his stomach. I felt his body sink as air left his body in a healing sigh. I closed my eyes, happily drifting off while the soundtrack of machines and Sean’s shallow breathing purred behind me.
“I remember something else,” his scratchy whisper woke me.
“Hmm?”
“You haven’t answered my proposal.”
“You need to shave,” I whispered, nuzzling his jaw. My nose felt strangely warm against his skin as I squeezed my face next to his neck, quickly kissing his cheek.
“I love you, you weirdo.”
“I love you too,” I could hear his smile, “but you still haven’t answered me.”
“Mr. Alexander,” a male voice interrupted our moment, “you’ve not been awake for twelve hours, and you’ve already persuaded a woman to get in your bed? Seems like you’re back to your old habits quite a bit sooner than I’d anticipated.”
“Ave…” Sean chuckled, clutching his chest as he coughed. “This is my oncologist. Doctor Kennedy, this is Avery.” My cheeks burned as I slid from the mattress and returned to the recliner. Doctor Kennedy was young, maybe in his forties, and he had a chiseled face with dark features.
He stepped around the bed, reaching for my hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you.” He smiled at me before checking Sean’s vitals. While he held the cold stethoscope to Sean’s bare chest, I glanced at him.
“Finally?” I mouthed, receiving Sean’s playful shrug and smile in return. I couldn’t resist the urge to grin with playful indulgence. I rolled my eyes and fished through my bag, immediately texting our friends that Sean was awake. Doctor Kennedy reviewed some details with Sean about what happened, the latest results of the scans, and what he felt the next steps would be now that Sean underwent a surgery separate from his cancer.
“Sean tells me he’s been hunting you down for three years,” Doctor Kennedy mused while typing notes into the laptop next to Sean’s bed. I could only imagine the color of my cheeks as my heart thumped out of my chest. Sean reassuringly squeezed my hand while watching Doctor Kennedy’s fingers speed along the keyboard. I felt mortified but also relieved. Three years?
As the day progressed, Sean’s room overflowed with affection. It was crowded, love breaking the seams, as his mom and some family members shared the space with Jesse, Ella, Lizzie, and me. I slowly backed to the door, hoping to step away unnoticed, but Lizzie followed me.
“You should go home. Take a shower, eat a real meal,” she encouraged. “He’ll be fine.” I didn’t want to leave. The last time I did…But I would kill for a shower. I accepted Lizzie’s orders and asked that she tell Sean I would be back. I didn’t want to interrupt the attention and affection that poured over him.
Being in my apartment was a strange mix of relief and guilt. My laundry pile was an overflowing heap, my dishes were a disaster, and I’d left my television on. Sorry, planet. Sorry, neighbors. I added my clothes to the laundry mountain and let the hot water scald my skin as I closed my eyes and began to sob.
***
The oncologist and Sean’s team of surgeons presented their conclusions of both operations while Jesse and I lingered in the hall outside of his room. I could hear the sound of Mrs. Alexander’s heeled boots clicking against the floor in Sean’s room as she paced. Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted as he leaned against the wall across from me.
“How’s wedding planning?”
“You mean spending every night listening to Ella in person and my stepmom on the phone complaining about what the other one wants?” Jesse grumbled. “It’s paradise.”
“Yikes. So not very well at all?”
He shook his head but then began to smile. “It’s taken a back seat, though, to all of this. How are you doing?”
Before I could respond, the door to Sean’s room opened, revealing two nurses in green scrubs. They nodded impassively at Jesse and me as they exited and walked toward the nurses’ station down the hall. I eyed them, unaware of Jesse’s tug on my arm. I looked up at him, his expression expectant, and he guided me into the hospital room at his side.
Jesse’s arm latched protectively around my waist. Sean was sitting on the edge of his bed, long legs dangling so far from the mattress that his bare feet nearly scraped the floor. He clung tightly to the side rail and plastic mattress. His scruffy hair was matted in the back and over his ears. The daily stubble was beginning to thicken; a densely dark splattering of a beard was beginning to grow. Forgetting the circumstances, it took all my internal strength not to join Sean on the bed. The soft glow of his eyes was powerful, even after multiple surgeries.
“Mom,” he sternly repeated as his head hung beneath his shoulders in exhaustion, “I’m not going to do radiation and chemotherapy. Do you want me to die now or later?”
“Sean Aidan Alexander,” she snapped in response. “Do you have any idea? We thought—”
“We thought we lost you, Sean,” I mumbled, hoping not to offend his mom by completing the overwhelming thought. Sean lifted his head, studying me cautiously before his eyes widened, and the too familiar grin spread across his gently face. His arms softly trembled, and his head sunk back behind his weakened shoulders. Doctor Kennedy and another doctor lunged to support Sean, casually guiding him back to the mattress. His mom pulled the rough covers over his bare legs, up to his chest. Doctor Kennedy bent over Sean, and I could hear the warm rumble of the doctor’s chuckle when he stood again.
“Avery,” he smiled at me, “he would like a word with you.”
I raised my eyebrows in alarm, unsure of the expectation. Can we just kick out his mom like that? Jesse read my mind and replaced me with Sean’s mom beneath his warm embrace. He guided her from the room, followed by the doctors and remaining nurse. It was quiet except for the steadying hum of Sean’s machines. My lungs vibrated as I exhaled; I wasn’t expecting to be so emotional. I felt stable enough in the hall with Jesse moments prior. Deep breaths, Avery.
“Hi,” Sean breathed, raising a cold hand to reach for me. I eagerly took it, kissing his knuckles and holding his fist to my chest.
“Hi,” I answered, smiling at his sparkling eyes. “You need a bath.”
His other hand ran along his cheek, tickling the growing stubble, and he laughed, a relaxing, innocent sound. “You don’t like the beard?”
“I think you look adorable,” I teased, sitting on the edge of his mattress. “How do you feel?”
“I think you look adorable too, Ave. The things I would like to do right now,” he flirted but winced when his laughter deepened. I put his hand down against my leg and stroked his cheek, respectfully ignoring his inappropriate humor.
“Ave…” Sean kissed my hand and placed it atop his chest, eyeing me seriously. “Who are we?” He swallowed; I could tell it was a weary response, and I felt the tremble of his fingertips around mine. The confident man who once consumed any room he entered, devoured the souls of any woman he mindlessly gazed upon, had gone through the doors of hell and came back to me with an uncertain heart.
I pondered the past. Three years. Sean’s eyes widened, gazing up at me while I replied. “We,” I lowered to nuzzle his cheek, “are partners, in this together…for life.” We were more than friends; we were together.
His lips turned inward as he considered my response, his features relaxing but not entirely sure of himself.
“How do you feel, Sean?” I repeated my earlier question.
“A little sad,” he admitted. “Frightened. They want me to do four weeks of radiation before more scans. My chest hurts. I’m bandaged. I hurt. A lot. Quite frankly, I feel a little lonely too.”
“Lonely? We’ve all been here, Sean. Night and day. I’m not leaving your side again. The last time I did, you almost…died.”
“Will you stay with me again?” He batted his lashes around his emerald eyes, a lovesick puppy taunting me, and I nestled at his side.
***
The first week of radiation was more difficult for me to watch than I expected. When we left Sean’s last session on Friday afternoon, I had the physical challenge of getting him into his apartment. His once-strong form hung nearly limp in my arms from exhaustion. He wasn’t sleeping through the night and hadn’t been since leaving the hospital the week prior. Sean’s demeanor changed: less wit, less charm, more lethargy. Jesse, Ella, and Lizzie were standing in the living room holding flowers and glasses of sparkling juice when I opened the door. They’re trying.
“Congratulations, Sean. One week down!” Lizzie hesitated to embrace him, afraid of breaking him.
“These are for you.” Ella wiggled the bouquet of lilies in her hands. “I’ll just put them in a vase for you. Congratulations, Sean!”
“Thanks.” Sean’s smile tightened. “I just want to go to bed.”
Jesse nodded at me, taking Sean’s weight from my arms. Sean’s head flopped onto Jesse’s shoulder, completely comfortable losing his pride in his best friend’s grasp. I quickly hugged Ella and Lizzie in greeting and followed Jesse into Sean’s room. He was guiding Sean onto the mattress as I stepped in, carrying Sean’s bag from radiation. His laptop and some books weighed a ton. Maybe it’s the fact I was carrying Sean’s radiation bag that weighed a ton. Jesse knelt to the ground and untied Sean’s shoes, delicately placing them together by Sean’s bedside.
“Thanks, Jess,” I whispered. A foreign, uncomfortable silence existed in the apartment. Was it awkwardness? Was it fear of harming Sean? I couldn’t quite figure it out, but it and everyone was different. We were all different.
“Hey!” Jesse called out while he reached for the trash bin as Sean’s breakfast emptied into it, followed by convulsions of dry heaving. My heart ached for him. The flirtatious, strong-minded friend I loved now seemed half his size, a fraction of his strength remained, and he was so unusually quiet. I didn’t know what to say, how to say it, and I think everyone else felt that way as well, which heightened the aroma of anxiety whenever Sean was around.
“I’ll get a washcloth.” I could hear Ella and Lizzie in the kitchen when I retrieved the cool, damp washcloth from the bathroom. I wanted to go talk with them, throw around some jokes or gossip, but my role in our family had quickly altered. Jesse was using a tissue to help Sean wipe his mouth when I returned.
“I got it, Jesse.” I smiled at him. “He’ll be fine.” Am I just telling myself this? Jesse’s expression was blank but appreciative and full of concern. It was an empty face that communicated so much to me in one glance. I waited for Jesse to compose himself and leave before I knelt next to Sean.
“First of all,” I murmured, not wanting to dwell on whatever exchange he and Jesse just had, “let’s get you out of these clothes and under the covers.”
“Thank you, Bean.” The sweet sound of his melodic voice finally broke through, albeit quietly.
I helped Sean wiggle free from his socks, jeans, and white long-sleeve shirt. The shirt was the hardest, as I had to roll it while gliding it up his abdomen to keep the vomit from touching his skin. I couldn’t help but stare at the healing incisions and bandages still covering Sean’s molded body. I wanted to touch them, kiss them, and hold him. I settled for kissing his hands once I picked them up from his knees. A smile twitched on his lips. Good. He’s still in there.
“I wish I could do something or say something to make you feel better,” I told him, stroking my fingers along his hairline.
“You’re enough.”
“Lay back.” I pulled Sean’s feet over the edge and under the blankets, then covered him as his body began to shiver. “Are you okay?” He nodded in response, slowly turning on his left side and patting the mattress next to him. I peeled off my shoes and rested my head next to Sean, facing him. I held my hand to his cheek, scouring his eyes for some hidden information or a secret that would help me heal him.
“Can I stay with you?” he questioned, reaching for my hand against his skin.
“Of course you can. Like for the weekend?”
He shook his head. “Can I live with you?”
***
The second week was the week where all the symptoms started pouring from Sean’s body. His frame weakened with exhaustion as his sleep grew even more tormented with insomnia. The beautiful green glow I loved faded. Sean was running a fever most nights and would wake me up with his shivering. I woke one night to the cold sweat simmering from Sean’s chest, as I had fallen asleep against him in my bed. I took off work mid-week. I couldn’t stay awake behind my desk, and I couldn’t leave Sean to suffer. I didn’t mention to Sean that his hair was thinning. The cropped bronze glow that surrounded his beautiful face like a halo seemed lighter, beginning to dissipate. While he was physically drained, Sean seemed more willing to talk this week. We spent some of our insomnia evenings lying in bed, discussing topics that ranged from realistic to fantasy. I went to Sean’s apartment the previous Saturday afternoon and packed what I could of his most comfortable clothes. They occupied space in my closet, matching well with my pretty things.
Week three began the test of my physical strength. I took Sean to and from his radiation appointments, helping him climb into his Wrangler and up the steps to my apartment. He lost his appetite and would refuse most meals. I was able to bribe him into drinking smoothies, which I tried to fill with anything the internet suggested would support his immune system. Sean stopped his persistence about me marrying him. Perhaps he was comfortable living with me. Maybe he gave up. Maybe it was selfish of me to think anything of it. I was denying something; I missed his nagging.
The final week of Sean’s radiation was a blessing and a curse. Because there was an unfamiliar, frightening light at the end of the tunnel, it was difficult to get through his final treatments with a smile. We didn’t know if it worked. We didn’t know what to expect. However, Sean’s spirits lifted because it was coming to an end. His appetite all but disappeared, as did he. The ghost of muscles left a shadow on his now-meager frame, haunting him with memories of how hard he pushed himself in the past. Running around the isthmus twice per day was a vague memory. Our days consisted of the same routine; I would help Sean in the shower if he needed it, we would attempt breakfast, and I would drive him to the hospital for his treatment before going to work. While I tried to sit with him during his entire session, there were days that I could only go on my lunch break. We would come home, attempt an evening meal, and lie restlessly in bed before it began a few short hours later.
Sean was struggling with the side effects for two weeks after his final treatment. The nausea, fatigue, and weakness lingered the longest, prohibiting Sean from living, as he previously had with such buoyancy and haughtiness. Sean’s hair quickly grew back, a thicker mop that he refused to cut as frequently as before it fell out.
It was one week before Jesse and Ella’s wedding when Sean finally ate three meals each day. He began going for walks outside again, taking his time around the square twice. One night, he almost collapsed on the corner one block from us, and it took half an hour for his legs to function again. It didn’t stop him from walking the next day—twice. He began developing his sense of strength again, the strength that crumbled as he watched himself vanish in the mirror. His head held higher, his laughter erupted more loudly, and the way he held me was tighter.