Everyone’s afraid of rejection to some extent, but when you’re a transplant patient, it’s your absolute biggest fear. “Graph versus host disease” is the official name for it, the reaction you experience when your body decides to turn on the transplanted tissue that’s supposed to be saving its life. It can cause all kinds of nasty side effects. If left unchecked, it can kill you. If treated, an infection can come along and kill you just as easily.
That’s why a bone marrow transplant is kind of a big deal. I knew when I agreed to it that I might be signing my own death warrant, but I also knew if I didn’t, I was dead anyway. A transplant was the last resort, the last line of defense against the leukemic cells that were taking over my body. The atomic bomb of cancer treatments. I had always known it might be in the cards for me, especially after I relapsed, as it’s a common protocol when standard chemotherapy fails. Still, it came as a shock to hear that my treatment wasn’t working and that a bone marrow transplant was my only chance for survival.
I’ll never forget the appointment where Dr. Rodrigo told me. It was supposed to have been a regular check-up, a quick blood draw to make sure the chemo was killing the cancer cells and not wreaking too much havoc on the healthy ones. But when my bloodwork came back bad, she ordered a bone marrow biopsy, then called me into her office to go over the results. I can still remember her saying, “The bone marrow sample we took contained thirty-five percent blasts.” At my relapse, that number had been twenty-five percent, which was bad enough. Thirty-five percent meant that over a third of the blood cells being produced by my body were cancerous. I felt sick to my stomach imagining my bone marrow as a factory, churning out billions upon billions of sickly little leukemia cells. “I think, at this point,” Dr. Rodrigo added, “we need to proceed with a high-dose chemotherapy protocol, followed by a bone marrow transplant.”
So the last resort treatment I’d been hoping to avoid had become a reality. I’m not normally a crier, but I cried the whole way home from the hospital that day. I was scared… not so much of the treatment itself, but of what would happen if it didn’t work. I didn’t want to die. Life had been cruel to me the past three years, but I wasn’t ready to give up on it yet. I was only twenty-three; I had a lot of living left to do.
I couldn’t bring myself to call my parents until I had calmed down some, but I had to talk to someone, so I called Nick. It was the first time I’d really leaned on him, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He came right over and held me as I cried, and even though he was sick himself, he stayed with me until I was calm. Nick always knew how to make me feel better. I think it was then that I realized how special he was. Not many guys would do what he did. Jamie would have run screaming from the room. But Nick stayed.
When I checked back into the hospital, he came to visit me. I can only imagine how hard it must have been for him to see me like that and know it might be a preview of what was to come for him, if his own cancer relapsed. But he came anyway and never complained.
In the hospital, they put me through a bunch of tests to make sure my body could handle the high-dose chemo and its side effects. Luckily, I passed. The night before my treatment was supposed to begin, I was allowed to check out for a few hours and go out to dinner with my family. “The Last Supper,” I called it. Morbid, I know, but that was my mindset at the time. I knew it very well might be the last time I got to go out and do anything normal. The next day, my whole body would be irradiated, which would kill the cancer and take out my immune system, too. Until the transplant took, I would be like the Bubble Boy, locked up in an isolated room to hopefully prevent me from getting an infection. If it worked, I’d be out in a month. If it didn’t, I’d probably die in that room.
I invited Nick out to dinner with us. He wasn’t a part of the family, but I wanted him there with me, and I’d apparently talked so much about him lately that my parents wanted to meet him, too. They treated me to a fancy French restaurant, one of Tampa’s finest, and Nick agreed to meet us there. He showed up wearing a suit with a black skull cap, and I hoped my dad would have the good sense not to comment on it, knowing he must be bald underneath. Thankfully, Dad kept his comments to himself. I had dressed up, too, in a red halter dress with white polka dots, which would have clashed with my natural hair color. Luckily, I had a black bob wig that complimented the dress perfectly. Like I’ve said before, being bald has its perks.
Nick hardly recognized me, looking like a puffy-faced ‘fifties pin-up. “Claire!” he gasped, when the hostess brought him over. “Your hair!”
I smiled. “You like?” I asked, patting the side of my wig.
He smiled back. “Yeah, it looks awesome!” He would confess much later, when we were married, that he had lied through his teeth that night about liking the wig. I took it as a compliment that he preferred my natural hair color.
Once he sat down, I introduced him to my family. “So you’re going to be Claire’s donor?” he asked my brother as he shook his hand.
Before Kyle could get a word out, I jumped in. “Yes, but we’re not going to talk about that tonight,” I said and reached for my menu. That night, I wanted to focus on French food and family and forget all about the misery that awaited me in the coming weeks at the hospital. My brother didn’t say so, but I’m sure he appreciated me changing the subject. I knew he must be nervous about going under the knife to donate his bone marrow to me, even though he’d never in a million years admit it. I’d had a similar operation a few days previously, to extract some of my bone marrow to save in case his didn’t take, and I’d been trying to hide how much it hurt so he wouldn’t get too freaked out. He could still back out, although, of course, I knew he wouldn’t.
After a fancy, four-course steak dinner, I was feeling uncomfortably full and stiff from sitting in a straight-backed chair for too long. My back was still really sore from the bone marrow harvest, and I needed to either lie down or stand up. Since curling up on the floor of a classy restaurant didn’t seem like a good choice, I leaned over to Nick and whispered, “You wanna walk outside?”
“Sure,” he agreed.
He had to help me up like I was an old lady, and I felt like one as I hobbled out of the restaurant. I felt better once we were outside, away from the scrutiny of my overprotective parents and the stares of the other restaurant patrons. “Phew, that’s better,” I said, as we wandered down the sidewalk. It was a nice night, warm, but not overly hot, now that the sun was setting. I looked to the west, where the sun sat on the horizon, casting streaks of pink and gold across the evening sky. It was gorgeous. “Look at the sky,” I pointed out.
“It’s pretty,” Nick agreed softly. “Sometimes I take my boat out at night… you can really see the stars when you’re out on the ocean, away from the city and the lights and everything… they’re beautiful.”
“I’d love to see that,” I sighed. It sounded so much better than the view from my hospital room.
“I’ll take you sometime,” he promised.
Take me now, I thought. How tempting it was just to say “Screw it all” and sail off into the sunset with him, live off the sea until I died. At least my last days would be worth living. But I knew I couldn’t do that, if only because I’d be letting down everyone who loved me, so all I said was, “Okay.” There was so much more I wanted to tell him, though, and time was running out. Spotting a stone bench a ways down the sidewalk, I pointed and added, “Hey, mind if we sit down up here?”
“No, sounds good to me.” He put his arm around me, supporting my back as I gingerly sat down. “Here,” he said after a moment, slinging one leg over the backless bench so that he was straddling it. “Turn this way and put your feet up.” I smiled at him gratefully as I stretched out across the bench, reclining against his chest. “Is that better?” he whispered, his breath fluttering on the back of my neck.
“Much.” I tipped my head back to look up at him. “You’re good to me, you know that?”
“Well, you’re good to me too. That’s what friends are for, right? Cheesy, you know, but true…”
I laughed. “Sure.” But in my head, I was thinking, I don’t want to just be friends anymore. At some point over the past few weeks, I had fallen in love with him. And even though the timing couldn’t have been worse, I wanted him to know. If I didn’t take advantage of the romantic evening and the glass of champagne I’d had before dinner, I worried I’d never have another opportunity to tell him. So I sucked in a deep breath and said, “Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking…” I started and then trailed off. My mouth was dry, and my heart was hammering in my throat. It was like junior prom all over again.
“About?” He sounded amused.
Tell him, I urged myself. Tell him before you lose your nerve! Sighing, I sat up and slowly turned around so I could see his face. “I don’t know if it’s the right time to say this,” I admitted, biting down on my bottom lip as I tried to smile. “But I just feel like… if I don’t say it tonight, I might not have another chance.”
He was staring at me with one brow cocked in confusion. “So say it.”
I swallowed hard and stammered, “Nick, I… I think I’m falling in love with you.”
It was the wrong time. I knew it as soon as I saw the look on his face. It was that deer-in-the-headlights look, same as Jamie, only Nick didn’t recover from it by kissing me. Instead, he just went on looking mortified, and in his stunned silence, I knew. I knew he didn’t feel the same way. “That’s what I thought,” I whispered and looked away, so he wouldn’t see my crestfallen face.
“Claire-” I heard him say, but I shook my head.
“No, don’t. It’s okay, Nick, really. I… I probably shouldn’t have even said it, but I just… had to. Just… just in case. I’m sorry.” It was starting to sink in just how badly I’d messed things up, and I felt mortified myself. We’d had such a good thing going. Why had I gone and made things awkward? I wished I could relive the last minute of my life so I could take back what I’d said.
“Claire,” he said again, then sighed. I could tell he was struggling to find the right words. “Claire, I don’t know what to say. I do love you, Claire… but not in that way… I… I…”
“You love me like a friend,” I finished flatly.
“Um…” He sighed again. “Yeah.”
“It’s okay.” I knew that if I didn’t make it “okay,” I would lose him, so I forced myself to look at him again, hoping it was dark enough to disguise the tears in my eyes. “Friends are good. I love you like a friend, too, Nick. I always will. And I hope we can stay friends. Don’t let this make things weird between us, okay? I’m so sorry…”
It was pathetic, my pleading with him, but Nick played along. “Claire, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You can’t fake your feelings. It’s okay.” It was better than if he’d faked it because he felt sorry for me, anyway. At least he was being honest. I respected that.
“I… I still want to be friends,” he offered. “I really do care about you, Claire. I don’t know what I would do without you… I mean, how could I have gone through all this without you there with me? I just… I’m not ready for anything more than a friendship right now.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. “I know, Nick. And I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I just had to get this off my chest. And I did. So we’re cool now, right?”
“Yeah. We’re cool.”
“Good.” I forced a smile, then looked back at the restaurant, eager to get away from him. “Well, we should probably head back. I bet they’re about ready to leave now. Back to the hospital I go.”
I got up as quickly as I could, ignoring the helping hand he offered me. As we walked back in silence, he reached for me again, but I pulled away, embarrassed by his attempts to comfort me. His rejection stung far worse than the pain of a needle in my back.
The next morning, I woke up in the hospital, still mortified over what I had done. The start of high-dose chemo wasn’t much of a distraction, since it just gave me more time to sit and stew over how badly I’d screwed up. To make matters worse, I’d been moved into an isolation room, which meant I couldn’t leave and only a limited number of visitors could come in. Even if Nick was allowed to visit, I didn’t expect him to, not after how awkward I’d made him feel. So you can imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw him standing outside my window, all gowned up in sterile garb and holding a big bouquet of flowers.
I had to hand it to him - he did a great job acting like nothing had changed between us, like the previous night had never even happened. It would be months before he ever acknowledged that it had. But still, things were changing.
At first, I thought it would be okay, that any awkwardness left over from my pathetic declaration of love had passed. Nick came to see me every day that week, but as I got sicker, his visits got shorter and less frequent. This wasn’t entirely his fault; after the transplant, he wasn’t allowed to come into my room anymore and could only call or wave at me through the window, which wasn’t the same. The real turning point was the day he turned up outside my window, mouthing “I’m in remission!” I knew then that things were going to change.
I can’t blame him for not calling or coming to visit as often after that. For the time being, he was free and clear of cancer. Why would he want to stay in that world if he didn’t have to? While I was stuck in isolation limbo, he had the rest of his life to live. Places to go. Other people to see. I was happy for him, but I have to admit, a little part of me was jealous, too. Typical, I thought, as I watched him on TV from my hospital bed. He’s just like any other celebrity cancer whiz kid. One little bout with cancer, and he gets all this attention and adulation over how inspirational he is. Other than starting the inevitable charity, he’ll probably never have to deal with this again. Meanwhile, I can’t seem to get rid of it.
Horrible, I know. If I’d had any idea what he would be facing in a matter of months, I would have taken it back. But I was in a dark place, depressed and irritable. The constant fatigue had me feeling sorry for myself; I was sick of being sick. Then, as if things weren’t bad enough already, I spiked a fever. The infection was bad enough that it brought Nick rushing back from New York to be with me.
I only have vague memories of my days in a fever-induced fog. The clearest is of Nick singing to me. I think I may have fallen asleep in the middle, but I remember some of it, anyway. That serenade was one of the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Still, it wasn’t enough to salvage our friendship. Even as I recovered, we continued to drift apart.
While I was in the hospital, Nick had a one-night stand with an ex-girlfriend, who ended up getting pregnant. When I found out he was letting her live with him, I was livid. “You did what?!” I shouted at him over the phone. “You’re letting that ho come live with you? Nick! I thought you had more common sense than that! If you’re so sold on helping her out, why don’t you just give her some money, not offer up your home to her!”
“Jeez, forget I told you anything.” Nick sounded annoyed. “I can’t just pay her off and send her on her merry way; that’s not right. That’s my baby she’s carrying!”
I rolled my eyes. “So you’re gonna be Daddy Nick, now are you? What are you going to do when the kid’s born, marry her?”
“I don’t know.” Now he sounded defensive. “Maybe.”
“Nick! That’s probably exactly what she wants!” I wondered why he couldn’t see this himself. She had to be really hot, the type that could blind a guy with her big boobs and blonde hair. “The little succubus… she’s already screwed you over once-”
“Twice,” corrected Nick in a dull voice.
“Twice?! Nickolas Gene Carter, are you a moron?!” I didn’t mean to insult him, but I couldn’t help it. He was acting like an impulsive idiot! “She’s probably just after your money or something! What if she’s not even pregnant?!”
“Well, gee, I think I’ll figure that one out soon enough then, Claire.” I could tell I had pissed him off, but I just didn’t know when to quit.
“Well, I would hope so, but after what I’ve just heard from you, maybe you would be stupid enough to-”
“Shut up!” Nick snapped, and I was temporarily stunned into silence. “Jesus, I didn’t call you so you could tell me how fucking stupid I am for trying to be a good person! You’re probably just jealous anyway, aren’t you?”
That struck a nerve, but I scoffed, “Jealous of what?”
“I dunno, jealous of the fact that I knocked up Leah and not you? Jealous that Leah’s coming to live with me and not you? Well, you know what, Claire, get over it! Leah needs me right now, and I’m going to be there for her and my baby, whether you like it or not!”
Ouch. That one really stung. But I wouldn’t feel the pain until later. In that instant, I just felt enraged. I sat in bed seething, so angry I was actually shaking. I had to take a few breaths before I replied, “I cannot believe you just said that to me. Are you that arrogant and stuck on yourself? Are you really so blind that you can’t see this for what it really is? Well then fine. You have a great time playing the part of the good boyfriend to your whore, and don’t you dare come crawling to me when it backfires on you.”
I expected him to apologize, but he didn’t. All he said was, “Yeah whatever, Claire. I’m not gonna go crawling anywhere. I don’t need you in my life if you’re gonna act like such a jealous bitch. It’ll be just me, Leah, and our baby. The perfect fucking little family.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I snorted, and then a sudden thought occurred to me. “Hey, wait a second… Nick, when did you say you slept with-?” But before I could get the rest of the question out, I heard a click and knew he’d hung up on me. Asshole, I thought. If you’re too stupid to stop and think how unlikely it is that you could have gotten a girl pregnant while on chemo, then you deserve to get played.
My own stubborn pride kept me from calling him back, and Nick was just as bad. He went about his business, and I went on with my life without him. After being discharged from the hospital, I spent a few weeks recuperating at my parents’ house, then moved back home. I didn’t talk to Nick all fall and most of the winter, though I thought of him often and wondered how he was doing. Every time I went to the cancer clinic for a checkup, I looked around expectantly, hoping I might see him, but I never did. I took this as a good sign that he was still in remission and tried not to worry about him. The thin thread of cancer that tied us together had been cut, and our lives were drifting in two different directions.
In January, the Backstreet Boys released a new album. I had never been a fan before, but I tuned in to watch all of their televised appearances, wanting to see how Nick was doing. He looked good. His hair had grown back, his face had filled out, and he’d gotten some color back in his cheeks. He seemed happy enough, though I noticed that he never once mentioned his pregnant girlfriend. I wondered what was going on with that. I had my suspicions, but they weren’t confirmed until he called me on Valentine’s Day.
“Um, look, Claire… I just wanna say… I’m sorry,” he apologized awkwardly over the phone. “You were right. Leah was just after my money. It was her rich, preppy boyfriend who got her pregnant, not me, but she told me the baby was mine to get me to take her in and marry her so she could inherit all my money when I die, which she apparently thinks will be not too far down the road. So you were right all along. Happy now?”
I was happy to hear from him, but not happy that he’d had his heart broken. I knew what that felt like. It hurt. So I didn’t say, “I told you so.” I just said, “Sorry, Nick.”
“Yeah… me too.”
Knowing what day it was, I should have realized why he was calling me. He was obviously lonely and looking for some companionship. Here was a guy who had no trouble getting laid even when he was sick and bald from chemo. He definitely wasn’t used to being alone on Valentine’s Day. Still, it came as a nice surprise when he asked if I had plans that night. Of course, I didn’t. Cancer had completely screwed up my love life; I hadn’t dated anyone in years. I was finally starting to look normal again, but with my immune system still recovering from the transplant, I didn’t leave my apartment unless I absolutely had to.
Correction: Cancer had completely screwed up my entire life.
Determined to get some semblance of it back that night, I met Nick at Leonardi’s. He hardly recognized me when I walked in with a full head of red hair. The look on his face when I slid into the booth beside him was priceless. Before I knew it, he was full-on checking me out. I couldn’t resist calling him out on it.
“Were you just staring at my boobs?”
He blushed and dropped his eyes down to his menu. “We have a lot to talk about,” was all he said. Way to avoid the question, Nick.
“You were! Nick Carter, you perv!” I teased him. “Don’t you get enough little fourteen-year-olds flashing you their boobies?”
“Could you say that any louder, Claire?” Nick asked, without looking up from his menu.
“Oh, probably. Anyway, looks like we need to hook you up with another stripper whore cause you’ve obviously been deprived if you’ve resorted to undressing me with your eyes.”
“Claire!” he hissed, his cheeks darkening to burgundy. “Jesus!”
Laughing, I realized how much I had missed messing with him like this. “You’re right, though; we do have a lot to talk about. Since you’ve ignored me for the past four months.”
“Hey, you didn’t call me either!” he retorted.
“No, but I also didn’t hang up on you,” I pointed out. “This one’s on you, buddy; I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
His mouth fell open, and for a few seconds, he just stared at me with this weird look on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was going to keep arguing with me or apologize, or if he was having some sort of “spell.”
“Nick?” I asked with mild concern.
He blinked. “Huh?”
“Are you okay? You just got this weird look.”
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” He paused, then said, “Claire… there’s something I need to tell you.”
I was instantly worried, fearing the worst. “What is it? Oh, Nick, you haven’t relap-?”
“No, no, it’s nothing bad!” he interrupted. “It’s a good thing.” Smiling, he scooted closer to me in the corner booth we’d claimed as our own.
“What are you doing?”
“Just listen, Claire.” He paused to take a breath. I didn’t have a clue what he was about to say next. “Um… you know how we went out to eat that time, with your family, right before your transplant?”
Inwardly, I cringed. “Yeah…”
“And how you told me that… that you were falling in love with me?”
I should have known he would bring up that night eventually. Blushing, I looked away. “Yeah…”
“Well… Claire, when you came in tonight, and I saw you for the first time in, what, four months? I… Claire, look at me.” Suddenly, his fingers were on my face. Cupping my chin, he forced me to look at him, like I was a small child. That annoyed me, but I didn’t pull away, waiting for him to continue. “Anyway, um… when you came in tonight, I hardly recognized you. You’re… you’re beautiful, Claire. And I… well, I realized that… that I feel the same way as you do.”
Bullshit, was my initial reaction. I didn’t believe him. Seriously, what a crock of shit, I thought. He didn’t love me. Either he felt bad and was trying to make it up to me, or he was letting his dick do all the talking. I was definitely a lot better-looking with hair and without all the steroid bloat, but I didn’t want to be liked only for my looks. If I wasn’t enough for him six months ago, I wasn’t right for him now. Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “I cannot believe you.”
“What?” Nick looked bewildered. “Can’t believe what? I’m serious, Claire!”
“No, you’re not. You’re full of crap, Nick, and I don’t appreciate you messing with me like that. If you really think you’ve all of a sudden fallen in love with me, then you’re thinking with your dick, not with your head. Or with your heart.” I shook my head. “I’m not stupid, Nick. I can see exactly where this is coming from. It’s been five months since I got out of the hospital, and in those five months, the side effects of the chemo drugs I was on have finally gone away. And now that I’m normal-looking and not all bloated and bald, you think you love me. Well, I’ll tell you, if you didn’t love me then, you don’t love me now. Love isn’t based on looks, Nick. You were sick and bald too when I thought I’d fallen in love with you.”
“You… you thought?”
“Yeah, I thought. But now I see that I was wrong. Must have just been the chemo fucking with my emotions, on top of everything else. I mean, honestly, how could I fall for such a shallow, arrogant asshole?” The truth was, my hormones were still pretty out of whack. Maybe that was why I reacted the way I did, or maybe I just felt like being a bitch that night.
“Claire!”
“You think the world revolves around you, Nick, and that just because you suddenly call me beautiful and say that you like me, I’ll fall at your feet and replace that stripper whore as your newest sex toy. Well, I don’t think so. I have more respect for myself than that.”
Yeah, I’m pretty sure I was just being a self-righteous bitch. We all have our moments.
“Claire…” He tried to put his arm around me, but I pushed him away. Now he could feel what it was like to be rejected. I wanted to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt me. Without another word, I got up and walked out, walked out of his life the same way he’d walked out of mine.
I should have known it would take another tragedy to bring me back into it.
***
