My parents have been gone for four hours. We’re finishing our second movie, during which I dozed off several times, and I’m enjoying how comfortable it is being with her. She’s relaxed in a way that no other woman I know is. You’d think with her being a doctor she’d be uptight and controlling, and she may be about certain things, but not in general and I’m enjoying her company immensely. I tried to be sly at one point, but don’t think I succeeded as I was checking her out.

She has her hair all piled on top of her head in a messy bun-looking thing with just a few pieces of hair falling down around her face and neck, one of which is curled up tight. I have an overwhelming urge to tug on it and watch it spring back into place just for the hell of it. Her eyelashes are long and darker than her hair and fan out nicely along the smooth skin around her eyes. When she’s not smiling there’s not a wrinkle in sight, but when she does there are a bunch of little laugh lines that show up around her eyes and a dimple that sits high on her right cheek. I’ve never seen one like it and I love that she has it. It adds a youthfulness to her that you don’t expect every time she laughs or smiles. I find myself trying to find things to draw that dimple out so I can see it more.

When the movie ends she helps me to the bathroom and waits outside while I go. After that we have the soup my mom left for dinner and start another movie. Around 8:30 she gets a call from Thea and takes it to the kitchen. I love the tenderness in her voice when she talks to, and about, her daughter, and for a split second I wish that I’d been the one able to give her the gift of her child because I know it’s the most precious thing in her life, one she’ll never take for granted. She seems to have the same sense of family as I do even though mine is so big and overwhelming, and it makes me curious about what hers is like.

When she returns, I ask, “When I’m feeling better do you think I can meet Thea? Maybe you can bring her to Saturday dinner. My mother would love it and Thea might enjoy it.”

The dimple comes back. “I’d love to bring her. I told her all about the last one you invited me to and she had a million questions. I’m sure she’d enjoy herself. She loves Mexican food and dancing almost as much as me.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes when she finally asks, “Why didn’t you have kids? You’re wonderful with them. Your nieces and nephews adore you and Eddie worships the ground you walk on.”

“I wanted them, but I waited too long and the chemo left me sterile. I was engaged when I was diagnosed the first time and when I realized that the recurrence rate was so high with this type of cancer, I broke it off. I couldn’t imagine a wife and children having to worry with me every time I went to the doctor so I gave up on that dream.”

“What was her name?” her voice is gentle when she asks.

I never talk about Rena, not to anyone. Pushing her away was the hardest thing I’ve had to do and I hate to relive it, but for some reason I want to tell Valerie. Maybe as a warning, a reason not to get too close. There’s something that’s sitting below the surface between us, that tries to bubble to life when we’re in each other’s orbit. Something besides the insane chemistry we have. Maybe that will die if she knows what kind of heartbreak I’m capable of.

“Rena Mendoza. We met before I deployed to Afghanistan, and we hit it off. She’s the same age as me, beautiful and smart, but not strong. Rena’s not made of warrior material. She’s soft and sweet, the kind you want to protect from the world. I knew she’d never survive a life with me fluctuating between remission and chemo, not without it breaking her.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“It’s been about two years. She saw me toward the end of my last round of chemo and wasn’t good about hiding the horror she felt when she saw me. I was pretty sickly looking and was less than kind, hoping she’d stay away. It was too hard to see what I’d lost by letting her go, so it was better for her to stay gone. My cousin Antonio saw her at Dante’s about a year ago and she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. I thought about reaching out, but realized that nothing had really changed. Besides, she wouldn’t like all the hair I’ve got going on these days. She always loved that clean-cut military look.”

“Now that I know some of your history, the beard and hair make sense. I never thought it quite suited you, but I’m guessing you lost all your hair during chemo and when it came back you were excited to have it.”

“Pretty much.” She must sense the sadness that accompanies this topic because she ends the questioning.

“Time for your medication. You ready?” And just like that we’ve moved on.

The next day when my parents arrive I’m sad to see her go. I wish I could ask her to stay longer. It’s been such a nice change from having my family hovering. Other than the few minutes of talk about Rena and what could’ve been, I loved the time she was here with me. There were a lot of little things to enjoy about her. I love the way she crosses her legs at her ankles and props her wine glass on her thigh because she doesn’t want to set the glass down. I love the way that one chunk of hair falls out of the knot on her head and curls up tight, even right after she pulls it up. I love the way she seems to know when to change the subject or even stay quiet. Above all of it, I love the magic dimple in her cheek and I’m so glad we’ve stayed friends long enough for me to see it in full force. When we first met I got a hint of it, but I didn’t get a full dose until things with Ron settled down and she and Thea were off of rocky ground. Who knew that she’d end up operating on me and saving my life? Life’s full of interesting little twists and turns and although I fucking hate what I’m dealing with now, I’m glad I got a little bit more of her out of the deal.

Two Months Later

We’re barely in the door when the puking starts. In fact, I’m currently half-sitting in my own puke because I didn’t make it to the toilet and sent it flying across the bathroom. The nausea hit hard and fast on the way home and I wasn’t prepared. Mateo comes in behind me and I can hear him pulling out the cleaning supplies for when I’m done with this round. He apparently drew the short straw and got stuck with the first two days of sick-Javier duty. I wanted to hire a nurse to stay with me for the first couple of days after each treatment, but my family lost their minds. They said they’d throw her out if I tried it. Actually, it was Mamá who said it but even my brothers backed her up on that.

Valerie released me to the oncologist last week and we started today. I knew this round was going to be rough. The treatment is more aggressive this time since it’s a second occurrence, and for me it was the worst part last time. I’ve been dreading it probably more than anything ever before. I realize the chemo is poison designed to kill the cancer but last time I swore it was actually killing me. I’m not sure how I’ll survive a more aggressive round.

Recovering from the surgery wasn’t bad at all. My family was amazing and then every fourth or fifth day for the first month, Valerie showed up and kicked my parents or siblings out and spent the next 24 hours hanging out with me. Did I need someone 24/7 after the first two weeks? No, but they insisted on it so she continued to show up and hang out. I was tired of always having someone around. There was no quiet…ever, and Mamá moved all of my kitchen stuff around to the way she liked it. Now I can’t find shit and it’s driving me nuts.

Anyway, so now my journey into hell has begun and I can already tell by the way this is starting that I’m going to lose the positivity I spent the last two months building up if it’s like this after every treatment. I hate puking, I hate nausea and I hate the cold sweats. I can live with most of the other side effects, but those three I hate. I’m trying to pretend that the hair loss isn’t coming because I’m not ready to deal with that. Not that I mind being hairless, just that it’s an outward sign of the inward problem. A reason for people to feel sorry for me and I’m not a pity kind of person. Not to mention I get cold as hell without the hair and the beard. I should be living in Arizona or Florida. Getting the treatment somewhere like that would eliminate the cold issue for sure, but that’s not an option, and April in Colorado isn’t exactly warm.

The next 24 hours proceed with the extreme nausea and puking. Mateo is up with me the whole time, wiping my forehead with cool rags and bringing me water to rinse my mouth out. The anti-nausea medication doesn’t seem to kick in until the next morning, and when it does I pass out until late afternoon. When I finally wake back up, half-dehydrated and still groggy, it’s my sister’s voice I hear. I thought my mom was next on the take-care-of-Javie docket. I climb out of bed, shrug a shirt on over my head and switch my pajama pants for a pair I didn’t sweat straight through the night before. When I get to the kitchen, Adrianna is bent over a vat of what smells like chicken soup. She’s talking rapid-fire Spanish to what sounds like my papá and from what I can gather, my mom is sick.

When she lifts her head and sees me standing there she ends the conversation and smiles at me. “Hey, Javie.”

“Hey. Mamá’s sick?”

“Yes, she started with what is probably the flu yesterday afternoon so we wiggled some schedules and now you get me for the next 24 hours. How are you feeling?”

“You can’t stay here with me. You have a family to take care of. I’ll call the agency and they can send someone over.”

“No. Did you puke all your brain cells up yesterday? Our family doesn’t work that way. My kids are covered. Bruno can handle most of it and when he can’t, Tía Rosa is pitching in. No big deal. Now sit, you need to eat and take medication. Mateo said this anti-nausea is a necessity.”

* * *

Day three is rough and I remember why I always hated the third day. My whole body aches, I’m tired and I’m already dreading going back for round two. My mood hasn’t been this foul in years and I don’t know how Adrianna hasn’t killed me yet.

My mom’s still sick so Diego will be coming today to help. I heard Adrianna telling one of my aunts that they’ll need help tomorrow if Mamá’s still sick. I fucking hate being a burden and I hate feeling like shit. In the shower, I decide I’m calling the agency and my family is just going to have to deal with it. They have enough going on and don’t need my bullshit on top of it all. By the time my shower is over though, I’m so wiped out I decide to rest for a few minutes before I make the phone call.

* * *

When I wake up I realize I slept too long. It’s dark outside and the house is quiet. Damn it, I needed to call the agency and schedule someone to come out. I make my way to the living room slowly, the fatigue dragging me down, and find the whole house quiet. Where did Adrianna go? I wander toward the other master bedroom. The door is closed so I go back toward the kitchen, knowing it’s been far too long since I ate and drank anything. I haven’t forgotten the necessity of both even if I don’t want either.

When I reach the kitchen I see that the clock indicates it’s six in the morning. Holy shit! I must have slept over 12 hours. How did that happen? That explains why my sister’s door is shut, why it’s so dark and why it’s so quiet in here. I fix myself something to eat, careful not to make noise and wake her, grab a blanket and take it to the front porch to watch the sunrise.

After a couple of hours my sister wakes up and fills me in on what I’ve missed, which is that Mamá is still sick and has passed it to Papá. The cancer center called and asked how I was doing and all the cousins are texting her to find out how I am. By 9:30 I’m tired again so I go back to lie down. When I wake up again, it’s the afternoon.