What's Left of Me Read online

  Whoa! Not the question I was expecting next.

  “That’s a personal question. Last I checked, personal questions are not allowed during interviews.”

  “This isn’t the typical interview. You’re already hired, and I think I’m entitled to that one.” His voice dips down to a barely audible whisper before he continues, “After all, you did sleep with me. I need to know who I’m up against … if anyone.”

  Just then, Shannon walks in, “How’s it going in he—”

  Saved by the bell! She stops mid-sentence when she sees Parker.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She doesn’t hide the humor in her voice, or the wiggling of her eyebrows as she backs out of the office.

  Before Parker or I can respond, she’s out the door.

  “Well, looks like our time is up. I gotta get finished up here before Jason gets back,” I tell him.

  Parker stands. He places both hands on the desk and leans over so he’s mere inches from my face. “This conversation isn’t finished.” He winks at me and turns away.

  I sink back into the chair, throwing my head back.

  I’m screwed.

  That evening, Jason is out for his volleyball league, so Genna and I decide to have ladies’ night. This usually includes wine, movies, and gossip, but tonight it consists of watching Genna eat ice cream, and lots of it.

  “You didn’t tell me about your day?” Genna asks from the opposite end of the couch. She has her back against the armrest and her legs resting on top of my thighs.

  “It was good. I just scanned charts. I didn’t get that many in, but Jason didn’t seem to mind.” I realize I didn’t feel tired once when I was talking with Parker me. It didn’t even faze me that my legs or arms didn’t feel like rubber. I felt good. Really good.

  Genna holds out her spoon full of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate syrup, gesturing for me to take a bite.

  I shake my head no. My mouth is still sore, and I don’t have much of an appetite. Not even for ice cream.

  “Well, from what I’ve heard, it’s taking everyone a long time to get those records transferred. Have you decided what you’re doing tomorrow yet?” she asks, taking the bite she offered me.

  “I think I might go in just for a half day. Jason said he’d bring me home after the morning. I didn’t see any of the other staff there besides Shannon or Parker, so it will be nice to see everyone before they get too busy.”

  “Parker, huh? How was he today?” she asks with glee.

  “He seemed … good. I mean … I didn’t really talk to him much.” I fumble for my words.

  “Interesting.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” I look up at her and see the smirk she’s hiding with the wine glass as she takes a sip. Yes, my sister is strange, having wine with ice cream but, as she says, “It’s called dessert wine. Ice cream is a dessert.”

  “Nothing. It just seems like maybe you’re into him.”

  “What! I am not.”

  “It’s okay if you are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay … but if you are, just know I will support you.”

  “I know.”

  “And, it’s okay to tell him about your cancer.”

  Why? So he can treat me like everyone else? As if I’m fragile?

  “Genna, I am not telling him, or anyone here who doesn’t know, about my cancer. Don’t you get that? I just want to be me.”

  “Aundrea, you will always be you.”

  “No, I won’t. I will always be known as the girl with cancer unless I make it clear beforehand that there is more to me.”

  “Aundrea, you don’t have to be scared to tell people about it.”

  “I’m not! Why does everyone always think I’m scared? Is it too much to ask to just be treated normally for once?”

  “Okay. I’ll drop it.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  As if someone’s ears were burning, my phone beeps with a Facebook friend request. Parker. I can’t accept it. I don’t want him reading the comments from my friends and family. My parents wanted me to start one of those blogs where I update my progress with my Hodgkin’s and where I’m at with treatment. It’s too depressing having to write out all the details, so I don’t. Instead, I get daily messages or posts asking how I’m doing.

  My inbox shows I have one new message.

  Parker: Are you going to ignore my request?

  Me: Were your ears burning?

  Parker: Are you thinking about me still?

  Me: No. Genna and I were just talking about you.

  I don’t get another message from him, so I go back to talking to Genna about her day and what her plans are for the rest of the week.

  My phone beeps again, but this time it’s a text from an unknown number.

  Unknown Number: I like to know I am the topic of discussion.

  Me: Who is this?

  Unknown Number: How many other men are you talking about tonight?

  It’s Parker, but I don’t recall giving him my number. I’m a little giddy that he found a way to get it.

  Me: Scott?

  Unknown Number: Who is Scott?

  Me: Mike?

  Unknown Number: Not funny

  I laugh at the idea of messing with him.

  Me: I thought so. How did you get my number?

  Unknown Number: I have my ways.

  I don’t see him going to Jason for it, so it must have been Shannon or the new-hire paperwork I filled out today.

  Adding him to my contacts, I tell Genna I’m tired and heading to bed. Really, I just don’t want her to see me blush over Parker.

  Me: Of course you do. What do you want, Parker?

  Tossing my phone onto the bed, I strip out of my clothes, putting on some shorts and a tank to sleep in. Once I’m changed, I take off my wig, then grab my phone to read his reply.

  Mr. Handsome: You

  Oh. Shit.

  It’s okay. Be calm. Act like his text doesn’t affect you at all. Does he want me to come over? Fuck, I am so screwed if he asks me to come over. Play it off, Aundrea.

  Mr. Handsome: Am I going to see you tomorrow?

  Me: I’m thinking about it.

  Mr. Handsome: Please.

  Me: Ohh … Begging are you.

  And now I’m flirting. Great.

  Mr. Handsome: No. But you will be.

  Oh boy.

  Me: I don’t beg.

  Mr. Handsome: Oh, I’ve heard you beg.

  Okay, this is not going in the direction I planned.

  Me: Yes. I will be there tomorrow, but only for the morning, and not because you’re asking. It’s because I don’t have anything else to do.

  Mr. Handsome: I have something for you to do.

  I bet you do.

  Me: Yes, I know. Scan charts.

  Mr. Handsome: Nope.

  Me: ???

  Mr. Handsome: Me.

  Fuck me …

  I stare at my phone. Who am I kidding? I know it will only be a matter of time before we sleep together again. Maybe I just need to get him out of my system. There is nothing wrong with two consenting adults ...

  Okay, on second thought, it’s not a good idea to get involved with him.

  Mr. Handsome: I don’t hear you saying no. See you tomorrow, Aundrea. *wink*

  Him and his damn winks! I fall back onto my bed, pulling my pillow over my face and letting out a muffled scream.

  Chapter Seven

  I’ve never understood why women spend so much time in the mornings putting on makeup, doing their hair, or picking out the right outfit, especially if it’s all for a guy, but here I am, standing in my closet for God knows how long looking for a shirt to wear. Since when did picking out clothes and accessories become so difficult?

  Picking out a simple yellow shirt with elbow-length sleeves and a lace back, I go for my signature black leggings and plain stud earrings. Now, I know leggings are not hot or attracti
ve, but they are so damn comfortable and that’s all I’m about these days. Comfort.

  After double-checking that my hair is in place, I make my way downstairs.

  “How did you sleep?” Jason asks, handing me a banana as I sit down at the table to join them.

  “Great! I couldn’t have slept better.”

  Jason gives a tiny nod before going back to reading the newspaper.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re back to sleeping through the night,” Genna says, beaming.

  I peel my banana and take a bite, noticing that my canker sores have already improved with the medication I’ve been taking.

  I want to tell Genna the truth. How I couldn’t shake the burning sensations in my feet and toes. How all night, it felt as if a thousand needles were poking me nonstop. How no matter what I tried the tingles would not go away, and this morning it’s as if the sensations never happened. But I can’t tell her. Because if I tell her, she’ll make me report my symptoms to Dr. Olson who will want to discuss changing my medication or dosages. I can’t go through a change in my drugs. I’m not a lab rat, and I hate feeling like one.

  Jason clears his throat. “I have some surgeries this afternoon, so I’ll drive you back here around 11:30 if that’s okay, Aundrea? Unless you,” he pauses, looking at Genna, “can pick her up?”

  Before I let Genna answer, I speak up, “Why don’t I just drive myself? I’m feeling well enough to drive. I’m tired, yes, but I’m feeling better. The medication I got is working.”

  They look back and forth at one another, and I can see the passing of silent words with their eyes. It pisses me off because they’re making me feel like a child who needs permission to do anything.

  Standing up abruptly from the table, I shove my chair back with my leg. “My God, I have cancer! I’m not disabled!”

  The day I learned I had cancer was the day my life changed. Not in the sense of facing death and learning about all that I would have to go through with the cancer. I’m talking about when my parents no longer looked at me like they had the morning before we left the house to go to the doctor. Or the way my sister would compliment me for no reason. Or how my friends wouldn’t give me shit over something stupid I did. I became known as the girl who has cancer.

  Leaving that doctor’s office not only changed me, but it changed the lives of those around me. My parents still look at me like I’m their little girl—their little miracle—but now they look at me as if I’m going to disappear right before their eyes. My sister’s compliments have turned into trying to make me feel better when I’m in a rut or when I’m feeling insecure over the way I look. With the exception of Jean, my friends no longer joke or pick on me, afraid they’ll say something that offends me.

  I know things will never go back to how they were, but it would be nice to wake up one morning and feel as if my life hasn’t changed. That having cancer doesn’t affect how people look at me or treat me. It’d just be nice to go back to how things were pre-Hodgkin’s. Even for just a day.

  I make my way out of the dining room and out the front door. I walk over to Jason’s black Altima and lean against the passenger door, waiting for him to join me.

  After a long, uncomfortably quiet drive, Jason and I are the first to arrive. I make my way to the back where the overnight animals are and feed them. There is an entire wall covered in metal cages filled with cats, kittens, and small dogs. Off this room is a smaller room with only six kennels to hold large dogs. Only one is occupied, by a large dog and her puppies. Seeing that, I make a mental note to call my parents later. It’s been a few days since I’ve talked with them. I try to call every day, but I missed the last couple nights.

  As I make my way into the break room to wash my hands, I spot Shannon talking with another girl I’ve never met before.

  “Hi, Aundrea! This is Bryn.”

  I take Bryn’s hand and shake it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  She’s tall. Maybe my height. Beautiful thick brown hair with caramel highlights curls to frame her face. Her green eyes give me a once-over. It’s not a nice look, either. It’s a full, head to toe let-me-check-out-the-new-girl look.

  “You too.” I’m sure it is. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  My eyes shift from Bryn’s to Shannon’s. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” I make my words come out as a joke, but stern enough to get the point across. I’m not sure what she’s been told, but the last thing I need is for her to know about my health.

  It’s not a secret, but having Hodgkin’s isn’t something I proudly state every time I meet someone, or something I want others to share about me. I’d rather things like my poor athletic ability, interest in constellations, or personality be the topic at hand if someone wishes to share anything about me. And, yes, my poor athletic ability is a topic in and of itself. I can’t shoot a basketball for the life of me. Truth be told, that’s why I was a cheerleader. Those who can’t play, cheer.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  We all turn to watch Parker make his way over to the counter where the coffee is brewing.

  “Good morning,” both Shannon and Bryn say cheerfully.

  I don’t say anything. I just watch him stroll through the break room, unaffected by all of us drooling over him.

  “Morning, Aundrea. You look like you slept well.” There’s amusement in his voice that makes me think about how he ended our conversation last night.

  Instead of responding, I glare at him before turning my attention back to Shannon. He chuckles softly, which causes Shannon to furrow her eyebrows in a silent question. I just roll my eyes and shrug, but not before I take one last, hopefully stealthy, glance in his direction.

  He has on black dress pants, a long-sleeved gray button-down, and a black tie. The suit showcases every curve of his muscles as he moves to grab a coffee mug. His hair is lightly gelled, and the smell of aftershave fills the room. He looks edible.

  I don’t realize I’m staring at him until an elbow jabs me in the side.

  Shannon is shaking her head and giving me an annoying smirk. I raise my eyebrows, silently asking what the jab was for.

  “Ah, you like him,” she whispers, motioning toward Parker as she nudges her shoulder into mine. She moves past me, toward the lobby desk.

  “Parker, what are you doing Saturday?” Bryn asks, looking up at him. “I’m having a get-together at my place. Nothing big; just a small group of friends for drinks and a bonfire. You’re more than welcome to come if you’d like. You too, Aundrea.” Geez, thanks!

  She gives me the briefest of glances when she invites me, then quickly turns her attention back to Parker. If Shannon thought I had it bad, this woman has it crazy bad. She’s not even trying to hide her interest.

  “Thanks for the invite, but Aundrea and I actually already have plans.”

  “You do?” she asks in surprise, looking at me.

  “We do?” I ask in the same tone as Bryn.

  Parker fills his coffee mug, then grabs mine out of my hands to fill it for me. “Yes, we do.” I add my own cream and sugar.

  “Well, if you both want to come, you’re more than welcome to,” she says, then leaves in the same direction Shannon did, leaving the two of us alone.

  “If you didn’t want to go to her party, you didn’t need to use me as your excuse.”

  “I don’t want to go, and I didn’t use you. We have plans Saturday night.”

  “What if I already had plans Saturday?” Sitting at home on the couch with re-runs of Dexter counts as plans, right?

  “Cancel them.”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “Because I got two scrimmage tickets for the Wild on Saturday.”

  The scrimmage games are free and open to the public, but I don’t burst his bubble by letting him know I’m aware of that fact.

  “The scrimmage is at three; that doesn’t count as plans for Saturday night. Besides, isn’t it against some work policy to go out with the employees?”


  “Are you saying you count this as a date?”

  “No! Definitely not a date.”

  “It could be.”

  “No. Not a date.”

  “Okay, then, no. It is not against any policy to go out with your co-workers as friends. Also, while we’re on this subject of friends: friends need to eat, so, yes, to answer your question; our plans would also entail Saturday night. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you ate dinner?”

  While I stand there and ponder what he said, he starts to back away toward the door. “I’ll pick you up around eleven on Saturday. It’s almost a two hour drive to the stadium.” He gives me one of his famous winks before turning and leaving me by myself, staring blankly at the doorway.

  “Cocky much?” I call after him, but all I get in a response is another chuckle.

  The week continues in this fashion. I ride in with Jason, and Parker gives me his charming smiles and winks. We don’t talk much aside from him continually reminding me about Saturday. I finally tell him to stop reminding me or I won’t go. That shuts him up real fast.