He nods in understanding and releases his hold on me. “Good. At least one of us needs to be with you at each appointment.”
It’s surreal to me that just three days ago, I never even knew what an oncologist was. Never heard the term before. As I sat in my primary care doctor’s office and listened to him go over the results of the biopsy that was done on the lymph node in my neck, he had said, “We’ll need to get you in to an oncologist to start treatment.”
Despite the angry buzzing noise that had started in my ears when I first heard the word cancer, I did hear him say that, and I stupidly asked, “What’s an oncologist?”
My doctor gave me an indulgent smile and said, “That will be your cancer doctor. He or she will direct and perform any nonsurgical treatment you need.”
So I sat in my doctor’s office and started contemplating all kinds of stupid stuff. I watched his mouth opening and closing with words that I seemed not to be able to hear after that, and all I could think about was who would help Stevie out at Fleurish when I died.
Practically a zombie, I drove straight to the shop because I needed my bestie at that moment. Stevie was behind the counter, going over receipts, and his head popped up as the little brass bell above the door tinkled when I opened it. He took one look at me and came flying around the counter. “What’s wrong?” he practically screeched.
“I have cancer,” I told him, my voice wobbly and foreign-sounding.
Then I collapsed into a puddle of snotty tears, right on the floor. Stevie immediately jumped into action, throwing the CLOSED sign on the door and locking it. He whipped his iPhone out and called Sutton. I could hear him murmuring urgently to her for a few minutes, and then he was sitting on the floor with me and hugging me tight while I cried.
Sutton arrived in thirty minutes flat, which meant she had to have been breaking the sound barrier on the highway. By then Stevie had me off the floor and had brought me back into his office and gently lowered me into his big, cushy chair behind his desk, then promptly plied me with hot herbal tea.
I recounted to them as best I could what I had been told so far, which was practically nothing. Stevie and Sutton were amazing…going above and beyond to bolster my confidence and reinvigorate my strength. Not a one of us knew what the future held for me, because we were sorely lacking in information at that point, but by the time they got done with me two hours later, I was convinced that I was going to whip this cancer’s ass straight into the depths of hell.
And for the next few days, I tried to push this ominous news to the back of my mind and not obsess too much about it. Which was practically impossible. Sutton even invited me over to the Cold Fury party, and whereas I’m usually content to stay at home and immerse myself in a good book, for some reason I felt the urgent need to get out and do something. To prove to myself that I still had a whole lot of living to do.
So I met Sutton and Alex over at the coach’s house in North Raleigh, and for the brief time I was there I had a lot of fun. Granted, my time was short, and granted, the fun that was had was in sparring verbally and flirting with Garrett Samuelson, but fun all the same.
Not just fun. Scintillating banter. Thrilling flirtation.
Damn, but Garrett is absolutely and devastatingly gorgeous. Of course, I’d heard enough about him from Sutton and Alex to know that he was not someone you gave your heart to, but I couldn’t deny the animal magnetism that threatened to pull me in. Even though I repeatedly denied his advances, every time my mouth opened up to say “No,” my body was screaming at me to say “Yes.” My brain was also chiming in, telling me that I needed to live life to the fullest…while I still had time, and to take advantage of a supremely attractive man wanting to have some mind-blowing sex.
Still, my common sense prevailed, but I’m not sure how much longer it would have had the fortitude to hold out. Had Sutton not come up and practically chased Garrett away from me, I have a feeling I would have capitulated, because my mind was all kinds of fucked up and twisted over the terrible thoughts that kept circulating through me.
But then I got the phone call from the oncologist’s office, offering me an early-morning appointment for the next day, and the reality of my world came crashing back down around me again. While I didn’t necessarily have to leave because it was late, I suddenly didn’t feel like being social anymore, and these bright, vibrant people surrounding me were a painful reminder of all I stood to lose.
“So, how was the party?” Stevie asks as he pulls out a large foam block circle mounted to a wire frame. He’s obviously going to work on a funeral arrangement, and I’m glad he took that order. I’m not as good at them as he is, as they require precision and balance. I do much better with the free-flowing types of arrangements.
“It was good,” I tell him, smiling internally over my conversation with Garrett.
“What?” Stevie exclaims. “What’s that look on your face?”
I blink at him in surprise as I wipe down the table so I can prepare to work on the next arrangement. “What look?”
“That little secretive, maybe even a little bit sensual, look on your face.”
“You’re crazy. Batshit crazy, in fact,” I scoff at him, even as my cheeks heat a little.
“Oh, hell, no,” Stevie says as he pushes the foam block farther back on the table before lunging at me. Grabbing my hands in his, he pulls me back over to my stool and pushes me down onto it. He then hops on the other stool across from me, crosses one leg over the other, and clasps his hands together. Looking at me expectantly, he says, “Dish. You have something juicy to tell, and you better spill every bit of it to me.”
It’s surreal to me that just three days ago, I never even knew what an oncologist was. Never heard the term before. As I sat in my primary care doctor’s office and listened to him go over the results of the biopsy that was done on the lymph node in my neck, he had said, “We’ll need to get you in to an oncologist to start treatment.”
Despite the angry buzzing noise that had started in my ears when I first heard the word cancer, I did hear him say that, and I stupidly asked, “What’s an oncologist?”
My doctor gave me an indulgent smile and said, “That will be your cancer doctor. He or she will direct and perform any nonsurgical treatment you need.”
So I sat in my doctor’s office and started contemplating all kinds of stupid stuff. I watched his mouth opening and closing with words that I seemed not to be able to hear after that, and all I could think about was who would help Stevie out at Fleurish when I died.
Practically a zombie, I drove straight to the shop because I needed my bestie at that moment. Stevie was behind the counter, going over receipts, and his head popped up as the little brass bell above the door tinkled when I opened it. He took one look at me and came flying around the counter. “What’s wrong?” he practically screeched.
“I have cancer,” I told him, my voice wobbly and foreign-sounding.
Then I collapsed into a puddle of snotty tears, right on the floor. Stevie immediately jumped into action, throwing the CLOSED sign on the door and locking it. He whipped his iPhone out and called Sutton. I could hear him murmuring urgently to her for a few minutes, and then he was sitting on the floor with me and hugging me tight while I cried.
Sutton arrived in thirty minutes flat, which meant she had to have been breaking the sound barrier on the highway. By then Stevie had me off the floor and had brought me back into his office and gently lowered me into his big, cushy chair behind his desk, then promptly plied me with hot herbal tea.
I recounted to them as best I could what I had been told so far, which was practically nothing. Stevie and Sutton were amazing…going above and beyond to bolster my confidence and reinvigorate my strength. Not a one of us knew what the future held for me, because we were sorely lacking in information at that point, but by the time they got done with me two hours later, I was convinced that I was going to whip this cancer’s ass straight into the depths of hell.
And for the next few days, I tried to push this ominous news to the back of my mind and not obsess too much about it. Which was practically impossible. Sutton even invited me over to the Cold Fury party, and whereas I’m usually content to stay at home and immerse myself in a good book, for some reason I felt the urgent need to get out and do something. To prove to myself that I still had a whole lot of living to do.
So I met Sutton and Alex over at the coach’s house in North Raleigh, and for the brief time I was there I had a lot of fun. Granted, my time was short, and granted, the fun that was had was in sparring verbally and flirting with Garrett Samuelson, but fun all the same.
Not just fun. Scintillating banter. Thrilling flirtation.
Damn, but Garrett is absolutely and devastatingly gorgeous. Of course, I’d heard enough about him from Sutton and Alex to know that he was not someone you gave your heart to, but I couldn’t deny the animal magnetism that threatened to pull me in. Even though I repeatedly denied his advances, every time my mouth opened up to say “No,” my body was screaming at me to say “Yes.” My brain was also chiming in, telling me that I needed to live life to the fullest…while I still had time, and to take advantage of a supremely attractive man wanting to have some mind-blowing sex.
Still, my common sense prevailed, but I’m not sure how much longer it would have had the fortitude to hold out. Had Sutton not come up and practically chased Garrett away from me, I have a feeling I would have capitulated, because my mind was all kinds of fucked up and twisted over the terrible thoughts that kept circulating through me.
But then I got the phone call from the oncologist’s office, offering me an early-morning appointment for the next day, and the reality of my world came crashing back down around me again. While I didn’t necessarily have to leave because it was late, I suddenly didn’t feel like being social anymore, and these bright, vibrant people surrounding me were a painful reminder of all I stood to lose.
“So, how was the party?” Stevie asks as he pulls out a large foam block circle mounted to a wire frame. He’s obviously going to work on a funeral arrangement, and I’m glad he took that order. I’m not as good at them as he is, as they require precision and balance. I do much better with the free-flowing types of arrangements.
“It was good,” I tell him, smiling internally over my conversation with Garrett.
“What?” Stevie exclaims. “What’s that look on your face?”
I blink at him in surprise as I wipe down the table so I can prepare to work on the next arrangement. “What look?”
“That little secretive, maybe even a little bit sensual, look on your face.”
“You’re crazy. Batshit crazy, in fact,” I scoff at him, even as my cheeks heat a little.
“Oh, hell, no,” Stevie says as he pushes the foam block farther back on the table before lunging at me. Grabbing my hands in his, he pulls me back over to my stool and pushes me down onto it. He then hops on the other stool across from me, crosses one leg over the other, and clasps his hands together. Looking at me expectantly, he says, “Dish. You have something juicy to tell, and you better spill every bit of it to me.”
