Hooked Page 8

  “I can’t believe you said ‘tits,’” I finally said. Really. I couldn’t.

  Her laughter was forced, like she was trying it on for size and only realized once she had it on that it didn’t quite fit right. “Someone had to lighten things up. Come on, where’s my funny, wise-ass daughter?”

  “Right here,” I said, leaning over to pull her into a hug. She resisted for only a second before she fell into my embrace in an armful of silent shudders. I could feel her warm tears gathering on the fabric of the back of my shirt and I didn’t let go until she managed to get her crying back under control. Maybe it was only a few minutes, maybe it was an hour. I didn’t seem to have a realistic grasp on time anymore. I felt like time was something we could never have enough of. We were barely holding on to the edge of hope.

  Tomorrow we would get the opportunity to speak to the doctor, get answers, and start treatment. Tomorrow seemed a lifetime away, yet at the same time, life seemed to be rushing forward too fast. I’d never had to worry about my mother’s future before, or the fact that there would be a future for me without her in it. But cancer changed everything. I was suddenly worried about just how much time we had left together. It was as if our months, weeks, days, minutes, and moments were already slipping through my fingers—gushing away like water through a broken dam.

  My mom finally pulled away and sat straight in her chair, patting my shoulder awkwardly.

  “Since you’re going with me tomorrow, you should just spend the night. Let’s go watch a movie in the great room,” she finally said. “I just had it redone. We should enjoy it together.” She didn’t add “before I’m gone” but it was implied. I choked back the sob that leapt into my chest and nodded since words seemed to be stuffed too far down my throat to bring to my lips.

  I felt guilty that I wanted to say no. All I wanted to do was be alone and process the emotional bomb she’d just dropped. But as much as I wanted to say no, I knew I couldn’t. I needed to be with her as much as she needed to be with me. She only had me and I only had her. It was just the two of us against her traitorous, asshole gallbladder.

  My mom led me into the redecorated great room. The walls were painted a soft rose color, the furniture was white and fluffy, and the curtains were a darker rose. There was so much pink I felt like I was in a Pepto Bismol commercial.

  “Mom, I hate to tell you this, but this room is hideous. You should get your money back.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think Jay has a very good return policy.”

  “Jay did this? And I thought he had such good taste. You should definitely get your money back.”

  She laughed again as she picked out a silly romantic comedy from her DVD collection. We snuggled up together on the big, white couch with fresh coffee and a huge plate of cookies. The crumbs fell between us as we leaned into one another and for once, my mother didn’t bat an eyelash that her perfect, beautiful decor was marred. After all, what did outward appearances matter when she was completely tarnished and rotting on the inside?

  ***

  The next morning I felt numb. And tired. I hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, my mother’s words echoed in my brain and I was trapped halfway between wakeful misery and sleeping nightmares. Last night after my mother had gone to bed, I was stupid enough to Google gallbladder cancer treatment and prognosis facts, which only confirmed what I’d already assumed. She had maybe a 1% chance of surviving. It wasn’t much. Even the eternal optimist in me couldn’t get excited over 1%.

  The drive to the hospital was an hour of clumsy attempts by both of us to pretend that we were going anywhere else other than to see an oncologist and get her diagnosis. My mother talked about the new exhibit in her gallery, knowing I wasn’t interested but still feeling the need to keep the car full of positive words and talk of the future. When she’d successfully worn that subject to pieces, she asked me about my life.

  “Did you do anything new and exciting this weekend?”

  “Jay and I hung out at Old Muscle Beach on Friday night.”

  “You need to take Jay out for some real fun and stop dragging him around to that playground all the time. He’s your best friend, you need to be kinder to him.”

  “Actually, I should punish him. He painted your living room pink. It’s like a six-year old girl’s wet dream.”

  “I don’t think six-year old girls have wet dreams,” my mother argued.

  “They would if they saw that horrible atrocity known as your living room.”

  My mother laughed—a genuine one. “Fair enough. So what did you do Saturday?”

  “I skateboarded in the morning and did a painting on the graffiti wall in the afternoon.”

  I couldn’t see my mother rolling her eyes, but I knew it was happening when she said, “You should get some new hobbies. That’s what you do every Saturday.”

  “Yes, but this Saturday I had some company. A boy.”

  “Brodi?”

  “No, a pretty boy.”

  “The only one of your male friends that is a pretty boy is Jay and I know he doesn’t go to the skate park.”

  “I know. It was a new pretty boy. One that likes girls. I had a date,” I teased her, dangling the spicy bit of info and loving the fact that she had to pull every tiny detail out of me.

  My mother turned in the passenger seat, tucking her leg underneath her so she could get a good look at me. “You went on a date?”

  “His name is Huck.”

  “What kind of name is Huck?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

  “What’s he like? Give me some details.”

  “He’s kind of a stalker. He likes to watch me.”

  “A stalker? Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

  “He likes to watch me on the Muscle Beach playground and skateboarding. He takes pictures of me.”

  “Did you actually go on a date with him or did he just watch you? Maybe he’s a detective or something?” my mother hedged. “It doesn’t count as a date if you didn’t talk to him.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was joking. She was wary, which wasn’t unexpected. It had been a long time since I’d been on an actual date. Not that there was a lack of interested parties, I got asked out quite a bit around Venice Beach. It’s just that I was picky, and although the crowd I hung out with was fun, it wasn’t exactly full of dating material. Too many times I’d learned the harsh lesson that what I was usually attracted to wasn’t always in my best interest—which is why Huck had surprised me so much. Not only was I attracted to someone completely different than what normally got my attention, but he was interested in me, too, and I still wasn’t quite sure why.

  “He might be a detective,” I mused. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him what his job was. I don’t even know his last name to be honest with you. But, we did go on a date. Lunch, graffiti painting, dinner, and then he showed me his apartment.”

  “You can stop right there,” my mother said, putting up her hand. “I don’t want to know what you did with a boy whose name you don’t even know.”

  “I know his name. It’s Huck.”

  My mother sighed as she shook her head. “I know you don’t date much, honey, but knowing someone’s first and last name is one of the most important parts of the date.”

  “Really? I thought the goodnight kiss was the most important part,” I joked.

  She laughed. “Well, did you at least get one of those?”

  “I got a good morning one.”

  She slapped her hands over her ears. “Enough. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

  We laughed together for a few minutes until we realized that the GPS was leading us into the parking lot of the medical center where her appointment was located. As we searched for a parking spot and eventually made our way to the oncologist’s office, our laughter faded away until it seemed like it had never been there at all.

  ***

  Dr. Schuman was a short man with a receding hairline and abso
lutely no bedside manner. He wasn’t rude exactly, he just lacked the ability to deliver news gracefully. Or maybe he was so desensitized from delivering bad news over the years that he’d forgotten what despair and hopelessness looked like and how to approach it tenderly. We shook hands with him and took seats in an exam room.

  “As you know, Mrs. Durand—” Dr. Schuman started.

  “Ms. Durand,” my mother interrupted. “I was divorced years ago. It’s Ms. Durand.”

  Dr. Schuman barely even blinked at the interruption, but he corrected himself. “As you know, Ms. Durand, you have stage four gallbladder cancer.” The doctor turned to point to some films he had fastened over light boxes. “The cancer originated here in the gallbladder,” he said, pointing to a collection of gray blurs on the film. “This is the tumor in the gallbladder but the cancer has since spread to the liver, pancreas, and nearby lymph nodes.” Dr. Schuman pointed out the different spots on the films as he mentioned them. He turned back to face us. “My recommendation for treatment, Ms. Durand, is to sign up for a clinical trial that uses a chemoradiation therapy. We have one here that would be a very good fit for you.”

  “Okay,” my mother said. I couldn’t tell if she was agreeing to do the trial or acknowledging the information he’d just dumped in her lap.

  “And does this clinical trial have a good success rate?” I asked.

  Dr. Schuman turned his attention to me. “The radiation portion of the treatment is very successful as palliative therapy. It will relieve some of the pain and other symptoms your mother is having. The chemo may help shrink or slow the growth of the tumor. It could also help with the level of pain she is experiencing, but chemotherapy comes with its own set of side effects, so that should be taken into consideration.”

  I shook my head. “No. I want to know how successful the clinical trial treatments are in curing stage four gallbladder cancer.”

  Dr. Schuman cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. I thought that you understood. Your mother’s cancer is terminal. A clinical trial could buy her some time and some relief from pain, but there is no cure for her cancer at this advanced stage.”

  The floor fell out from underneath me. I was sure it had. I grasped my mother’s hand, but it still felt like we were both tumbling down the rabbit hole. My mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to get words out. I thought I’d known the truth—that she was dying—but hearing the doctor say it was more devastating than I had imagined.

  Finally, my mother gathered her courage. “Thank you for being so blunt, Dr. Schuman. How long do I have?”

  He turned his attention back to my mother, not a shred of pity or empathy anywhere to be seen. It was like he didn’t even see her as a person or us as a family. I wanted to rip out the little bit of hair he had left.

  “Without treatment, maybe three to four months,” Dr. Schuman stated. “With treatment, anywhere from four to six months. Maybe nine months if you’re lucky.”

  Those three small sentences engulfed me in a crushing panic. Theoretically, I knew before we even entered the room that her chance for survival was only about 1%. But when the word “terminal” passed through his lips, it effectively took that glimmering 1% of hope and shattered it into too many pieces to ever put together again. And to be given such a short amount of time was soul crushing. Less than a year? We only had months?

  My foundation was crumbling beneath me and the only thing keeping me from plummeting over the edge of anguish was the grip of my mother’s hand. She needed me to keep my shit together. But I needed her to keep on living.

  I fucking hated cancer.

  — HUCK —

  10. LATE NIGHT SWIM

  I dialed Jay’s number.

  “Huck, you asshole,” he answered groggily. “It’s only noon. No, I don’t have the estimate ready. I’m still in bed and haven’t even put underwear on yet.”

  Jay naked. Definitely not what I wanted to be thinking about right now. “Sorry, I’m just curious whether you’ve heard from Cat yet.”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know if I do.”

  “Maybe you could just give me her number and I can call her myself.”

  “Man, I’d love to, but I don’t feel like getting an ass-kicking today. That six pack and those shots are doing a fine job all by themselves. I’m under strict orders to never, under any circumstances, give out her number. Too many creepy skater assholes once upon a time and she had to change it. She keeps that shit on lockdown now.”

  “Come on, Jay. I’m not like that. I just want to talk to her.”

  “Hey, I know you’re cool,” he placated me. “But if she didn’t give it to you, then neither can I.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Can you just tell her to give me a call when she gets back?”

  “She doesn’t have your number,” Jay reminded me.

  I didn’t know if he was giving me a hard time on purpose or if he was just tired, but Jay was being completely exasperating. “I gave it to you last night and I give you permission to give it to her,” I said.

  “Right,” he said. “I’ll give it to her.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Oh hey,” he said before I could hang up the phone. “You busy tonight?”

  “That depends on whether Cat calls me back or not,” I reasoned.

  “I’ll do you a favor,” Jay promised. “Cat is supposed to go to a party at our buddy Tony’s house tonight. She didn’t tell me I wasn’t allowed to give that info out. Anyway, I’m inviting you. Now you can plan another one of your awkward non-date dates with her. She’ll be there around seven o’clock.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Can you give me the address?” I wrote down the information, realizing I had just weaseled my way into an invite to a party that Cat was planning to attend and that she hadn’t invited me to.

  ***

  Jay offered to let me ride with him, but I figured it was a good idea to drive myself just in case I wasn’t welcome at Tony’s, or if Cat didn’t end up showing. I had to admit either situation was a good possibility. Tony’s place was on Louella Avenue in the East of Lincoln neighborhood and wasn’t too far from where I lived. The party was at a small bungalow and when I drove past looking for a place to park, I could see that there were plenty of people loitering on the lawn, red cups in hand. One of the guys I recognized from the skate park was manning a charcoal grill on the sidewalk out in front of the house.

  I found a place to park and checked my watch as I walked toward the party. It was eight o’clock, so if Jay was right, Cat should have already arrived. I’d hoped that Jay would’ve given her my number and she would’ve called, but my phone had been relatively silent all day. The only personal message to come through was another unwelcome email from Bridget. That one went immediately to trash.

  Having seen on Saturday the type of people that Cat hung out with, I dressed casually in the hopes that I wouldn’t stick out. A few people looked my way as I walked through the front door, but no one stopped me.

  “Pretty Boy! You survived!”

  I turned in the direction of the voice to see the guy Cat had visited on Saturday to pick up her messenger bag after skateboarding. He waved me over to the small kitchen where he was standing next to the keg. He filled a red cup and handed it to me.

  “Brodi,” he said by way of greeting. “I saw you when you and Cat stopped by the Titanic Boutique on Saturday.”

  “Huck,” I replied, shaking his hand. “I remember, even though we weren’t introduced.”

  “I’m impressed,” he said. “Most guys would be halfway across the state after a date with our Cat. You’re not only still in town, but it looks like you’re still in one piece—and you came back for more!”

  I nodded. “Is she here yet?”

  Brodi hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s out back, but I wouldn’t go back there if I were you. She’s already pushed three idiots into the pool.”

  Instead of answering, I felt my eyebrows
lift in question.

  “She likes to toss the drunks in the pool. It’s like her super villain calling card. Some people have been here all day drinking and are stupid enough to go near her.”

  I smiled. “I think I’ll risk it.”

  “Here, give me that,” Brodi said, grabbing the cup of beer out of my hand. “It’s better to not give her a reason.”

  I thanked him and pushed my way through the crowded rooms until I found the back door. The yard behind the house was small and mostly dominated by a pool, but a speaker system had been set up along the left side of the property and music was blaring in the cramped space. Christmas lights had been strung along the fence and porch which gave the tiny, crowded area an intimate and festive atmosphere. Couples were dancing to the music while other groups stood around the pool talking loudly to be heard over the noise.

  I scanned the area and found Cat sitting along the edge of the pool with her feet dangling in the water, kicking them rhythmically, almost nervously. She was speaking to Jay and when he saw me, he excused himself, grabbed his shoes, and stood up.

  “I’m going to get something to drink, want anything?” he asked her. She shook her head “no.”

  “Hey, Huck, what’s up?” he asked as he passed me.

  “Not much, thanks for the invite,” I said.

  Cat looked up at the sound of my voice and I briefly saw a look on her face that was close to despair before it melted away into a smile.

  “You came.” She seemed genuinely happy to see me.

  “Someone told me you’d be here,” I admitted.

  Her smile lifted higher, finally reaching her eyes. “Come sit next to me.”

  “You’re not going to push me in are you?”

  “Who warned you?” She pouted—not in a girly way, but in a way that made it clear she didn’t enjoy having her fun ruined.

  “Brodi.”

  “Traitor. If he comes anywhere near me, he’s going in.”

  I laughed as I sat down next to her. “How’s your mom?” I asked.