confusion I felt must have registered on my face, because she said, “The MRI is to find out if the treatment is working. If my tumor has shrunk.” Stepping back, she ran a hand through her hair. Now it practically stuck straight up. I watched as it eventually fell back into place. “I’ve been feeling better, and so I’ve started to tell myself that it’s because I am getting better. That the tumor is shrinking. But tomorrow is the moment of truth. I’ll know for sure. So if it’s not shrinking, I’ll have to face it. I won’t be able to live in blissful ignorance anymore.”
“Yeah.” I reached for her, tugging her back to me. “But if it has shrunk, then you’ll know for sure that you’re getting better.”
“True.” Her lips wavered. “I know it doesn’t seem rational, but I was just overcome with fear tonight. I couldn’t shake it. I was just sitting in my room at home, feeling so anxious and overwhelmed. It was the same way I felt when I first found out about the cancer.” She shook her head. “It was so weird because I haven’t felt that way for so long.”
“What changed now?’
Her gaze crashed into mine. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” She rested a hand on the edge of my waist. “You’ve given me something to live for. You’ve given me hope.”
My insides warmed. Drawing her close, I wrapped my arms around her.
“Can I stay here tonight,” she murmured into my chest. “I don’t wanna be alone.”
Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded, my chin rubbing against the crown of her head.
“Thank you,” she responded in that soft, lyrical voice of hers. She pulled back, wiping her eyes. A yawn escaped through her heart-shaped lips.
I wasn’t ready for her to go to bed. I wanted more time with her. “Wanna watch some TV?”
“Sure.”
Together we made our way to the couch. I plunked down, reaching the remote. Lennie sat on the other side, tucking her legs up under her body. I flicked on the television, and it roared to life. The commercial blared so loudly, I hurriedly turned down the volume. Why did commercials always have to be so much louder than the actual show? Not knowing what she liked, I held the remote out to her.
“Here. You pick something.”
She grinned, tentatively taking the remote. “Wow. Rob never let me have the remote. He was scared I’d choose some mindless sitcom, or even worse, a reality show.”
The more she talked about this guy, the more I disliked him. “I’m good with whatever you choose.”
Settling back against the couch cushions, she flipped through the cable menu before choosing a rerun of Friends. “Is this okay?”
Not that she needed my approval. I meant what I said. She could watch whatever she wanted. But I knew that wouldn’t be good enough for her, so I nodded. Holding the remote in her hands, she looked at me with a quizzical expression. “Do you need to work?”
“What?” The question came out of left field.
“It seemed like when I got here that maybe you’d been writing beforehand. I don’t want to take you away from your writing time. You can go work on it if you need to.”
I glanced back at my laptop, the lid securely closed. Guilt racked me at the memory of what I was actually doing when she got here. Not that it was wrong. Researching a successful treatment for Lennie was nothing to be ashamed of. But the truth was, that I hadn’t really been working on my book lately. It had taken a backseat to Lennie and her disease. I had gotten so far in the book, but the last week or so I’d been distracted.
However, tonight wasn’t about my book. It was about Lennie.
“No, I don’t have to write,” I answered her.
Wearing a satisfied grin, she leaned forward and set the remote down on the coffee table in front of us. It was then that I realized how cluttered it was. Magazines, empty soda cans and crumpled up pieces of paper were strewn across the glass top. My face heated up with embarrassment. I was about to
“Yeah.” I reached for her, tugging her back to me. “But if it has shrunk, then you’ll know for sure that you’re getting better.”
“True.” Her lips wavered. “I know it doesn’t seem rational, but I was just overcome with fear tonight. I couldn’t shake it. I was just sitting in my room at home, feeling so anxious and overwhelmed. It was the same way I felt when I first found out about the cancer.” She shook her head. “It was so weird because I haven’t felt that way for so long.”
“What changed now?’
Her gaze crashed into mine. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” She rested a hand on the edge of my waist. “You’ve given me something to live for. You’ve given me hope.”
My insides warmed. Drawing her close, I wrapped my arms around her.
“Can I stay here tonight,” she murmured into my chest. “I don’t wanna be alone.”
Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded, my chin rubbing against the crown of her head.
“Thank you,” she responded in that soft, lyrical voice of hers. She pulled back, wiping her eyes. A yawn escaped through her heart-shaped lips.
I wasn’t ready for her to go to bed. I wanted more time with her. “Wanna watch some TV?”
“Sure.”
Together we made our way to the couch. I plunked down, reaching the remote. Lennie sat on the other side, tucking her legs up under her body. I flicked on the television, and it roared to life. The commercial blared so loudly, I hurriedly turned down the volume. Why did commercials always have to be so much louder than the actual show? Not knowing what she liked, I held the remote out to her.
“Here. You pick something.”
She grinned, tentatively taking the remote. “Wow. Rob never let me have the remote. He was scared I’d choose some mindless sitcom, or even worse, a reality show.”
The more she talked about this guy, the more I disliked him. “I’m good with whatever you choose.”
Settling back against the couch cushions, she flipped through the cable menu before choosing a rerun of Friends. “Is this okay?”
Not that she needed my approval. I meant what I said. She could watch whatever she wanted. But I knew that wouldn’t be good enough for her, so I nodded. Holding the remote in her hands, she looked at me with a quizzical expression. “Do you need to work?”
“What?” The question came out of left field.
“It seemed like when I got here that maybe you’d been writing beforehand. I don’t want to take you away from your writing time. You can go work on it if you need to.”
I glanced back at my laptop, the lid securely closed. Guilt racked me at the memory of what I was actually doing when she got here. Not that it was wrong. Researching a successful treatment for Lennie was nothing to be ashamed of. But the truth was, that I hadn’t really been working on my book lately. It had taken a backseat to Lennie and her disease. I had gotten so far in the book, but the last week or so I’d been distracted.
However, tonight wasn’t about my book. It was about Lennie.
“No, I don’t have to write,” I answered her.
Wearing a satisfied grin, she leaned forward and set the remote down on the coffee table in front of us. It was then that I realized how cluttered it was. Magazines, empty soda cans and crumpled up pieces of paper were strewn across the glass top. My face heated up with embarrassment. I was about to
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