Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
There’s a small knock behind me and I turn my head slightly, but not enough to see who it is. I know it’s Elle by the lightness in the way she tapped her knuckles against the glass. She takes the seat next to me and sighs. The sun is starting to take a bit longer to set these days. Back when I chased after Elle, this was my favorite time of the year, when the sun would stay out as long as possible. I always felt like once I went to sleep, my quest to make her mine would have to start all over again, like that movie 50 First Dates with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore. Adam’s character, Henry, was in love with Drew’s character Lucy, only she had a traumatic brain injury and her memory reset every day. Each day, Henry would reintroduce himself to Lucy and try to win her over. That’s how I felt about Elle. Each day was a new challenge, and once she realized she was in love with me, I never wanted to let her go.
I reach for her hand and intertwine our fingers together. I love her but haven’t told her in a while. Those words don’t seem to hold the weight they used to or maybe it’s vice versa. Now, if I tell her, it’ll be because I feel like I’m dying. I’m not as optimistic as she is. I can’t manifest happiness. Right now, everything is gloom. My world is gray. It’s bleak. I know I’ll get worse before I get better, but I don’t know how much more I can take. My body hurts. I’ve lost weight, my hair is falling out, I can’t eat because food is disgusting, and when I shower, I can’t help but touch the part of me that’s missing. My sack is empty and that makes me feel meaningless, like I’m no longer a man.
“Do you want to go for a walk?”
I shake my head. “I’m not feeling very well,” I tell her. This isn’t an excuse, but fact. I feel warm, but I’m freezing. It’s eighty out and I should be sweating, but my teeth chatter instead.
“Is everything okay . . . besides the obvious?” I huff at the last part of her statement. She started adding this after I vomited my guts out for the first time. Of course, her handy dandy cleaner was right behind me, sterilizing the bathroom.
“I don’t know. I feel off.”
“What can I do to help?” she asks, but I just shake my head. “Ice cream? There’s a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer with our names on it.”
“What kind?”
“Chocolate chip cookie dough.”
“Okay.” The sound of ice cream actually sounds good right now, even though I’m cold. Elle tells me she’ll be right back and when she returns, she has two bowls in her hands and gives me one of them. Before cancer, we’d share the pint, but now I have to be careful about bodily fluids. Before cancer, we’d eat the entire pint in one sitting, but now I get a scoop. If I finish it, I’ll be happy.
“Did you know Ben & Jerry’s came out with cookie dough bites? You can get them in the freezer section of the store. They make for a great snack on a road trip or something to have around the house when you want something sweet, but don’t want to bake cookies.”
“When’s the last time you baked cookies?”
Elle laughs. “Christmas, I guess.”
“Sorry I wasn’t there.”
“It’s okay. Maybe we’ll go back this year.”
“It’s not okay, Elle. None of this is okay. I don’t know why you’re even here. I wouldn’t be if I were you.”
“Where’s all of this coming from, Ben?”
I set my barely eaten ice cream onto the table between us. “I treated you like shit, and you’re here, taking care of me. I’ve said some really mean things to you, and yet you never gave up.”
“Ben?”
“I’m dying, Elle. I can feel it. I’m supposed to remain positive and have a sunny outlook about this situation, but I don’t. I picture the cancer ravishing my body and taking over like the parasite it is. I can’t stop thinking the worst is going to happen. I can’t help but think that if I had gone on the trip to Vermont, none of this would’ve happened to me.”
“You think this is some type of karma?” she asks.
I nod. “If I wasn’t so selfish and demanding—”
“You stop that right now, Benjamin Miller. This pity party for one doesn’t have a reservation. You didn’t get cancer because of karma or because you didn’t go on the Christmas trip. You got cancer because of who knows what. Not because you didn’t take a trip or because you called off our wedding. You were right to do that, Ben. I was putting my career before everything. My desire to build a successful business and the fear of letting people down blinded me from what was most important—you. I’m not going to make that mistake ever again.”