Chapter Twenty-Seven

Georgina

 

 

Dad had almost closed his restaurant for the day to stay with me, but I’d sent him off to work. That suited all my plans, so I could cover my lies and mistakes.

I had the incredible luck that the pharmacist at the hospital was the same woman who had filled my scripts when I was getting treated five years ago. She was the sweetest woman who used to kneel down next to my lounge-chair while I was on my chemo drip and carefully talk me and Dad through the mountains of pills she was handing over.

I had walked down in my hospital gown, and explained to her why I was in—both the accident, and the tests that were booked for later that afternoon. I knew she’d seen the tears welling in my eyes when I told her about both, and it was also incredible luck that I didn’t break down again completely.

The loss of Julie still hit me harder than the impact of the pick-up truck had. I didn’t have the capacity to deal, to understand it all. I kept thinking she was waiting for me back at home. That she was in class, or at work—just out of sight. I couldn’t seem to comprehend that she was gone. And every time I tried to understand it, pain melted all rational thought into tears.

The pharmacist filled my request for the morning-after pill without a single question, and even offered me a prescription for the anti-anxiety tablets I used to get, which I accepted with gratitude. I had a feeling I was going to need them.

That was the first thing on my new list done. It was time for the next.

I knew I should just suck it up and deal with Blake in person, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his face and the look on it when we fought outside the police station. And now I would have to be harsh with him—too harsh. I had to make sure it was over. How I felt right now, having lost Julie—I couldn’t make Blake feel that way. I had to become just out of sight for him. I couldn’t be gone.

I called him, and he answered right away.

He started to apologize for the fight, but I spoke over him.

“I wanted to let you know I went and got tested. I got my results, and I’m all clear,” I told him. “I’m fine. The lump is benign.”

I hated continuing to lie to Blake, but I needed to leave so he felt no further responsibility for me.

“Wait, what? When?” Blake said.

“I got in quick, and they pushed my results through fast because of my medical history.”

“That’s amazing news.” The hope in his voice almost broke my will.

“There’s something else we need to talk about …”

That was when I hit him hard. I had rehearsed my speech so many times, I ran through the whole thing in a minute, not giving him a second to interrupt. I told him I had used him, that he was nothing to me but a body. That I was messed up and not thinking straight. That all I cared about was finishing The List, not him. I apologized for all of that, and it was some of the truest words I’d spoken for a long time.

Then, I twisted the knife. “Now I know I’m okay, I have to move on. The List, and us, are over, and I never want to see you again. Seeing you is nothing but a reminder of the darkest time in my life.”

“Georgie,” His voice was pleading. “Wait, Georg—”

I hung up on him. Then blocked his number.

I knew I had hurt him, but it had hurt me as well. Saying those things sent pain so deep into my chest that it felt like I had eaten glass and the pieces were grinding together in there, cutting me and making me bleed.

I wanted to take it back, but I couldn’t. I had lied. I didn’t want Blake out of my life—I wanted me out of his. I was the cancer in his life in more ways than one.

I remembered how fun and happy he’d been when we’d first met. So full of life. I had leached that from him. I had brought him so much pain, and would only bring more. I had used him terribly, and the chances of me living that down were slim. Even if I did live, there would be other reasons I wasn’t right for Blake. I might never have kids—I would run the risk of passing down my broken genes to them, and I couldn’t stand that idea. I might have a double mastectomy and even if I had reconstructive surgery, I would never have the same body as I did before, never be able to breastfeed my babies, never be whole again.

I wanted to look at all these lemons with appreciation, see their value and beauty, but I wasn’t quite there yet. Maybe I wasn’t whole already, and hadn’t been for a long time. I wondered if I ever would be whole, or if I’d die before I got there.

I changed into some leggings and a dress-length T-shirt Dad had brought in for me from home. Then I left my wing of the hospital and made the trek down to the breast cancer center to do the third thing on my list.

The waiting room was full of huge, fake sunflowers, but their happy yellow faces couldn’t warm the chill that settled into my bones.

“Georgina Stone,” I told the receptionist. Stone. That was what I could become. I might not be whole, my invisible armor might be shattered, but I could become stone. Hard and unbreakable.

The receptionist checked her computer and nodded. “Change rooms are just down the hall. Grab a gown and put it on with the opening to the front. Someone will call you in about five minutes.”

I moved on. I knew the drill.

Once I’d changed, I sat in the more private interior waiting room, filled with women in their gowns, front openings out, readjusting the ties to make sure we were covered despite knowing those gowns would be right off again in no time. Sometimes, I didn’t know why they even bothered making us put them on.

Most of the women were over fifty, at least. Some were hiding their bald heads under hats and wigs. They all turned to me as I walked in. I was used to the ‘what are you doing here?’ looks by now though.

I wasn’t used to finding someone else my age in the room, or two people.

The only seat left was to the side of two pretty, dark-skinned girls. One wore a robe, and the other didn’t, but other than that, they were identical. They looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

I didn’t want to stare, but it was like looking back into my own past. I could see the nervous fear all over the one wearing the gown. This was clearly her first time. She was so incredibly scared it made me realize just how calm I was. I was becoming stone already.

They caught me in the act of gawking.

“We’re identical twins,” said the nervous one.

“Yeah, I think she noticed already,” said the other. “Hey, you’re in my print layout class, aren’t you?”

So that’s where I knew her from. I felt bad I didn’t know her name. “I’m Georgina. I’ve missed a bunch of classes lately.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I’m Priya,” she said. “And this is Kaley.”

Kaley just jittered her legs some more. “Have you missed class because … because …”

“What my terrified sister is trying to ask is if you’ve missed class because you have cancer,” Priya said. “Which I think really isn’t our business, but I felt like I had to help her out finishing her sentence, since I’m here to support her today.”

I could feel the weight of both of their gazes taking in the empty space beside me. “I’m just getting tested.”

Kaley’s dark eyes lit up, glossy with tears. “You’re not scared? I am so freaking out right now. I’ve been freaking out since I found the lump. Do you have a lump, too? My GP said it will probably be fine, but still, AAAALL the freaking out is happening. But we’re too young for it to be cancer, right?”

“Sure,” I said. What a lie.

Priya elbowed Kaley softly. “Chill out. You'd think we haven't faced scarier things than cancer before.”

“Like what?” I asked, too fast. I knew lots of things could be scarier than cancer. Like knowing someone you loved could be taken from you any second.

Julie. I’m so sorry. You’d still be here if it wasn’t for me.

Priya pouted. “Never mind.”

The door to the waiting room swung open, and a pleasant-looking woman wearing scrubs covered with dancing bears holding balloons called my name.

Kaley reached out and snatched my hand, squeezing it for a split second. “Good luck.”

Priya waved at me as I walked away. “See you in class.”