Page 25 of Lovesick
I released Marty to hug his mother and smiled sadly at his father, who had both come with their son for support and to see where he would be staying for the near future. His mother’s face had traces of tears, but she seemed to realize, like me, that crying would help no one and probably just hurt Marty when he needed to be strong. We all needed to be strong.
I held Marty’s hand as we went to speak to Dr. Richards. Sick as he looked, the callouses on his hands were the same, and his grip still squeezed mine back with a strength that would get him through this. All through the process of explaining different treatments, their effectiveness and the particular chemotherapy treatment Dr. Richards wanted to start Marty with, I kept ahold of his hand, and his father left a hand on his shoulder. Marty didn’t say much - just nodded or mumbled his agreement once or twice - but I could feel his hand tighten around mine at the wordscancer, treatmentand especiallychemotherapy.
No one likes it, Marty. No one wants to do it or even hear it. But it’ll help you get better. It’ll help you get back to your life. To me.
Here, holding his hand and trying my best to comfort him through the doctor’s sympathetic but serious explanations, I wondered how I had ever let him go. Let him stay in Lafayette, without me. Or how I had left him, maybe. I didn’t quite know how it had happened, or which of us had let it happen, or both of us - but I knew now that I couldn’t part from him again. I needed him in my life, and I was determined to show him that. I would start right here with simple hand holding, just so he would know he wasn’t alone.
Eventually, the doctor finished talking, and his mother, father and I had to go back to the waiting room so Marty could be prepared for treatments, which would start right away. The doctor stepped out of the room with us and briefly told us she was very hopeful and that the cancer wasn’t too advanced. “I have high hopes that chemotherapy will prove very effective in Marty’s case. He’ll need to stay here in our care for a week to two weeks, just so we can make sure there will be no side effects to the chemo, but after that, he can be moved somewhere else to continue treatments.”
Marty’s mom thanked Dr. Richards. I didn’t say anything, feeling a little out of place - this was such an incredibly hard time for his family, and I had only just reconnected with Marty. But his mom pulled me into another big hug, finally breaking down into tears and thanking me for being there for her son.
Of course, I couldn’t hold back my own tears now, so we both sat down and hugged and cried for a few minutes. I hadn’t let myself really cry since I found out, and it felt good to stop holding back my feelings, if only for a moment.
* * *
Since Marty was staying in the cancer center where I was finishing up my last rotation in nursing school, I was able to see him every day because he was right there when I finished my shift.
His mother and father went home the day after Marty started treatments, and his mother told me - crying again - that the only reason she felt like she could leave and open the shop again was that I was here, watching out for Marty and staying with him whenever I could.
And I did. When I finished my job for the day, I changed out of my scrubs and headed up to his room to sit by his bedside. We talked about anything and everything and binge-watched TV shows together. More than once, Marty fell asleep during a conversation or an episode, his hand in mine or holding my hand to his chest.
One time, after I had gotten up particularly early and slept particularly poorly the night before, I fell asleep with my head on the bed next to Marty. I woke up to find his fingers tangled in my hair like he had been combing his fingers through it while I slept. He was asleep now, so I carefully untangled each finger and went to get a coffee - after I wrote him a quick note so he wouldn’t think I had gone home without saying goodbye.
Usually, I brought a book or two and read them on and off at his bedside. Sometimes he would ask about them, and we amused ourselves by me reading out medical terms and him guessing what they meant. Marty noted that a lot of the terms sounded like they could be the official names of flowers, which made sense - many of both were derived from Latin roots.
One topic we continually bounced back to was old times. Those were some of the best memories we had together, and they reminded us both of our innocence - a time when Marty wasn’t sick, and I hadn’t gone off to school yet.
I mentioned this, intending it to be amusing - a joke, or a fond memory or something like that.
“I was so happy for you when you got accepted into nursing school,” Marty admitted. “I knew I couldn’t stand in the way of the life you wanted to build for yourself, though.”
“Well…it was the same for me, too. You were invested in the family business, and I knew I couldn’t pull you away from that. But, I…” I crossed my legs on the plastic chair beside his bed to give myself a little more time to finish. “I missed you for a long time after I left. I think I never really stopped missing you.” Neither of us really knew what to say, so we sat there until I noticed how late it was. “I guess I’d better be getting home, huh?” I started to get up.
Marty’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me back into my seat. “Sorry,” he said after a moment, and let go. “Can you stay a little longer?”
It wasn’t the first time he had asked me to stay, but I’d never seen that uncertain flash behind his eyes. “Yeah, I can stay a little longer.” No college to get to right this second, no seemingly permanent goodbye to endure.
“I never wanted you to leave,” Marty said softly. “After high school, I even thought about going with you - knowing I wouldn’t have gotten accepted. I thought about moving here to New Orleans and finding a job and an apartment near Tulane. I’ve always loved the Garden District… It’s so beautiful and full of lots of history.”
My heart skipped several beats. I leaned closer. “And I daydreamed sometimes,” I told him. “Before I left. I dreamed that you were coming too, and we could build our relationship while I was in college, stay together, come hell or high water.”
“And then you left.” His voice was sad, but not hurt. He knew why I had gone. Marty cleared his throat and looked away. “It was a little over a year after you left when I started dating Sarah. One thing led to another, and we started having sex…”
“Marty. You don’t have to explain…”
He turned to face me. “I want you to know everything about me.”
“Okay.” I patted his hand.
“And… well… After a few months, she suggested we get married. At first, I thought maybe she was pregnant… but that wasn’t it. As it turned out, she just wanted to get married, I guess… like her two sisters. So,” he shrugged, “I went along with it.”
“Why did you break up?”
“We really weren’t right for each other. After the turn-on over having sex started to fade, she went to visit her sisters in Indiana… and never came back. Then one day, I was working in the shop when a deputy from the sheriff’s office came in and served me with divorce papers. After I signed them, I never saw her or heard from her again. Sarah was gone… poof…. out of my life.”
My breath hitched. Now, I wanted him why that was not going to happen to us… not this time. “I’m not leaving you… not again,” I told him, pressing his hand. “Ever. I…I love you. I’ve loved you ever since that summer.”
“And I love you. So much, Maggie.” He grabbed both my hands, and for a moment, he looked like he always had, working around the shop - strong, sure of himself, and in control - and I knew everything would be all right. We had each other, and we would get through this. He leaned his head back and laughed. “Damn, I wish I could get up and swing you around and hug you right now.”
