Page 100 of Forever and Ever

“I know, it’s a hospital.” I’m not sure what he’s getting at.

“I’m not talking about the hospital,” he says. “I’m talking about with us, with our friends. You don’t have to always be on the defense. It’s okay to let others in and to let them take care of you sometimes.”

I want to believe that. And even more so, I want to allow it to happen. But there’s something that’s always lived deep that resists the hands reaching for me when I’m drowning, and I can’t help but cling to that.

“What did the doctor say?” I ask, changing the subject.

Noah’s jaw tenses, and I know he wants me to be open and raw with him right now, but I’m not like him. Being exposed doesn’t come naturally to me.

“Nothing yet.” Noah shakes his head.

“But you told them?”

“I explained the best I could, and they said they’d reach out to your doctor in Seattle to get more information.”

I look at the door, wishing they would come in already. I hate waiting and not knowing. Rip off the Band-Aid already and just tell me I need surgery.

“When you’re feeling up to it, call your sister,” Noah says, drawing my attention back to him.

“You talked to Monica?” I realize she must be who he was on the phone with.

“Hopefully you don’t mind that I went through your phone to get her number, but I figured you would want your family to know. And I wasn’t so sure about calling your parents—because, you know.”

“She’ll update them.”

It means a lot that he reached out to Monica, but I’m sure my family’s in a tailspin now worrying about what happened. Mom and Dad bugged me about having another surgery before I first joined the band on tour. But I was still hoping that more natural remedies would work, and the fibroids would shrink. The last surgery already did enough damage, I didn’t want to risk worse.

Maybe they were right. Not that I’m in the mood to say that to my parents.

Noah’s eyes skim my body, and he has a tense look on his face that matches how I’m feeling inside.

“Ms. Lopez,” the doctor says, coming into the room. “You’re awake.”

Noah jumps up and stands next to the bed, but doesn’t let go of my hand, which is really sweet and comforts me in a way I’m not sure he realizes.

The doctor walks around the other side of the bed to take a look at the readings on the machines, looking from them to her clipboard, before turning to me.

“I’m Dr. Cameron. How are you feeling?”

She’s strangely warm for a doctor. I’m used to the ones I’ve dealt with in Seattle who were cold and clinical. Maybe it’s the way the sun from the window catches on her honey brown hair, or maybe it’s the richness of her eyes, but she’s surprisingly comforting.

“Okay, I think. There’s still some cramping.” I move my free hand down my stomach, and I feel Noah tighten his grasp on my other one. “Do you know what happened?”

Dr. Cameron’s eyes dart from me to Noah, and then back again. “Would you like to talk in private or—”

“He can stay,” I say. “He’s my boyfriend.”

I’m not sure I’ve used that word out loud to describe Noah before, but it’s what he is. I wish today wasn’t the first time admitting that because there’s an uneasy feeling behind it, when I should be happy.

“Of course,” Dr. Cameron says, skimming her clipboard again, before tucking it against her chest and looking back at me. “Dr. Winters updated me on your fibroids, and I understand you’ve been going to him for treatment. It appears there has been some growth since the scans he took last year.”

I nod. It’s nothing I wasn’t expecting. The hormone treatments were only doing so much, but all roads led back here eventually.

“I’ve sent Dr. Winters my scans, but I’m confident he’s going to want to see you to discuss your options considering the size and the amount of bleeding.” She gives me a sympathetic look, but it doesn’t sit well because I know doctors deliver bad news all day and this is rehearsed for her. “Ms. Lopez, there’s something else.”

She peels the clipboard from her chest to look my chart over once more, and I get a bad feeling deep in my gut. I know she already knows what it says, which means there’s another reason she’s pausing.

The minute stretches on for what feels like hours before Dr. Cameron is looking back up at me.

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