He flashes that smile. The one with the dimple. “Revenge body? Is that like murder?”
“No, I don’t really understand the premise. I mean murder might be more pleasant than riding that bike.”
“I’d rather ride a real bike. I can’t do treadmills or stationary bikes. They make me crazy. Why don’t you just jog? The Couch to 5K is a great program and it’s free.” He starts walking and I find myself following and suddenly we’re strolling together.
“Couch to 5K?” I wrinkle my nose, expecting a punchline.
“It’s a running program for beginners. You download the app to your phone and listen to the run and walk prompts on your headphones. It starts slow.” He nudges me, like it’s fifteen years ago and we’re crossing the quad. “You can do it.”
We walk to the front doors and he waves at Arthur. “See ya.”
“Yeah, have a good night. Nice meeting you, Lilly.” Arthur grins at us and I can’t stop seeing Joey.
“Do you want a ride?” I ask Sam and point to my car.
“That is not your car.” He stops and stares at Helen. “I saw that thing in the underground parking, and I honestly thought the guys stealing my TV left their vehicle behind.”
“She’s a classic.”
“This is Helen? This is the car you named after your favorite aunt?” He sounds stunned.
“Shut up!” I walk to the car and unlock it. “Are you coming or not?”
“Yes, but only because you might need help pushing it home when it dies.” He laughs harder. He entertains himself all the way to our building with old-car jokes. I’m proud of Helen for taking them so well. She drives like a dream. It’s my eyes that hurt from rolling them so much but the jovial energy between us is back.
When we reach the underground parking, he closes the door carefully. “You really should consider getting a new car.”
“I love this car.” I wrinkle my nose at him.
“It reminds me of that car I had when we were dating.” He sighs.
“Oh yeah, that was a real piece of shit,” I tease him as we walk to the elevator.
“Whatever. Anyway, if you want to do the Couch to 5K, I’d go with you,” he offers as we step into the elevator.
“You would?” I ask, not sure how else to respond. The small space shrinks in on us. He’s sweaty and muscled and so close I smell his deodorant in every inhale.
He turns to face me. It’s there again, that same steamy intensity burning in his eyes. The door opens on the main floor and an older lady climbs in with us. She has a mask on and offers us both the stink eye.
“Mrs. Weaver,” he greets her. “How are you?”
“Just fine, Dr. Christianson. I’m surprised you’re not wearing a mask,” she says bitterly.
“Right, yes.” He winces and steps closer to me, giving her space. He’s warm and we’re practically touching.
She sneers at us as she leaves the elevator. We follow hesitantly like scolded children. Evidently, she lives on the same floor as us.
When I get to my door, he pauses. He wants to say something else. And I’ll be damned if I don’t want him to say it.
My body is on fire imagining where this is going.
Sex with Sam.
I could go for that.
“Let me know if you want to run. I’m around tomorrow. I’ll be home after you get off work.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Goodnight,” he says, lingering.
Mrs. Weaver is outside her door, watching us with her evil hawk eyes.
“Goodnight,” I whisper back and turn for the door, unlocking it and stepping inside. We stare at each other in the gap as I close the door.
This is a conundrum.
Chapter 36
September 30
My doctor comes into the room with a soft smile. She’s been my family doctor for a couple of years. I like her. She doesn’t try to explain things to me with big words. She understands I don’t know anything about medicine. “Lilly, how are you?”
“I don’t know. How am I?” I ask what is likely the most cliché expression heard by doctors.
Her smile widens. “You are great. Actually. The MRI results have come back.” She sits on the stool and folds her arms. “You have a secondary arachnoid cyst on your brain. It’s a result of the accident I would wager. It’s not common but can happen. They’re fluid-filled sacks that need to be drained if they are causing problems by putting pressure on the brain, as yours obviously is.” She sounds like this is nothing.
“Is that done with brain surgery?” I ask, hearing only the word “drained” in that entire spiel.
“Not always, we have options. But I’m pleased that it’s a benign sack and not a brain tumor,” she adds as if this would make me feel better. “We’ll run some more tests. Figure out the best course of action. All in all, this is good news.”
“Okay.” I nod along but my mind is stuck on brain surgery.
“No driving or operating heavy equipment though. Alcohol and drug use should be avoided. The dizzy spells will likely be unpredictable, as they have been.” She runs through diet and sleep and images of the cyst and pressure on the brain. There is some talk of complications, but I’m not sure how much of the conversation I hear.
My mind is unable to move beyond brain surgery.
“I don’t want Sam to know,” I tell her, having already informed her that we’re sort of dating.
“Of course not. But he will know when your name lands on the surgery schedule.”
“Okay. Well, when we’re more certain of what we’re doing, I’ll tell him.” I get up and grab my jacket. “Thanks.”
“And expect the call for more appointments. We will be slow to get on this with the Covid situation. It’s delaying a lot of surgeries. But the referral to the specialists and surgeon will go out today.”
“Great. Thank you.” I leave and walk outside in a haze.
When I get out to the car where Dad is waiting for me, the only person I would allow to know because he has an innate ability to keep it together, I am numb.
“Well?” he asks.
“It’s a cyst from the concussion I had in the accident. They can drain it.”
“On your brain? Is it brain surgery?” He comes to that conclusion too.
“There are options. Something about draining it without surgery, like with a needle—” We both shudder, probably making the same face. “She’s referring me to specialists and surgeons.” This moment is the true meaning of surreal.
“Are you going to tell Sam?”
“No, I told him my doctor’s appointment was next week, which it was but she had an opening.”
My dad is the only person I have told.
And now I am not sure how to tell anyone else.
Brain surgery?
“I hate to say this aloud but an irrational part of me blames this all on Rod and wishes he would die of syphilis,” I mutter but my volume grows as my rage does. “I saved his job. Made sure he wouldn’t get fired. I’ve hardly said a single shitty thing about him or Elaine. I know it’s pathetic to say this, but I’m the victim of this story. Why do they get happily ever after and I get this? This bullshit!” Tears burst from my eyes. “He’s engaged and selling the house to buy some dream house with her. And I get fucking brain surgery and the inability to open up to the one guy I’ve always wanted to be with!”