Page 18 of The Last Love Story
When my dad finishes reading the letter, he hands it back to me. I pace the apartment, reading the letter over and over while I’m on hold. Dad tries to busy himself unloading and loading the dishwasher, but I can feel his eyes on me.
There’s all kinds of stupid medical and legal jargon that don’t make any sense to me.
I pay this company thousands of dollars a year, and they aren’t covering this?
No. This has to be wrong. I need this surgery. Do they think Ijust want to do it for fun? Because not being able to use my dominant hand for over a month doesn’t sound fun to me.
When the line finally connects, I force myself to be calm, willing my voice not to shake, and reminding myself not to yell at the person on the phone because it’s not their fault.
The woman is deeply apologetic as she does her best to explain the letter. It’s clear she disagrees with their decision. She tells me seeing another specialist, going through what I’ve already done to try to prevent surgery again, and then scheduling a surgery with a different doctor is my only hope, but even then, it’s unlikely. And it would take too long. Who knows how much more I would suffer in that time.
A mix of fury and sadness wars within me as I hang up the phone. Grabbing my laptop, I sit down on my couch and do some rage researching.
Six to eightthousanddollars. That’s how much the surgery will cost out of pocket, and that doesn’t include any extra little things they might try to charge me for. It doesn’t include any of my follow-ups or therapy which will be thousands of dollars more.
I jump over to my bank account and look through all my finances. The monthly income I give myself won’t cover that. Not by a longshot. Then I look at the one account I don’t want to touch. The one for my audiobook savings. This would be anywhere from a quarter to a third of that. Assuming everything goes okay.
“Honey,” Dad whispers, sitting down next to me as I sniffle. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. We could do one of those online fundraiser things.”
I slowly shake my head at that. “We don’t have that much reach that it’ll make a difference. And I am not asking my readers for this. There’s something inherently wrong about that to me. It’s not like I’m dying. I’ll just have to figure it out.”
Audiobooks will have to wait.
That gutsme, but it is what it is.
If I can’t type without horrible pain, I can’t keep doing this anyway. There’s no other choice, no matter what my insurance company thinks.
Now I have to hope that this doesn’t completely derail my career and force me to burn through even more of the money I’ve been saving up.
CHAPTER SIX
JADE
A nice shower,curling my hair, and doing my makeup fixes almost any problem I have.
Maybe notfixes, but it wraps a bandage around the wound.
When I get dolled up and dressed up, I end up feeling better. Dress for the attitude I want, not the attitude I have. It’s silly, but it’s always worked for me.
I remember the first time I told Zoey that. She thought I was crazy. But she rarely wears makeup and is one of those people who can wake up with her hair looking perfect. She’s also a mom of two boys who run her ragged, so comfort makes her feel best.
I love that for her, and I love that it makes her feel sexy and confident.
That’s the same vibe I need tonight. It’s about feeling cute and flirty and having fun to take my mind off all the other bullshit in life.
Zoey, Trish, and I landed in Las Vegasalmost two hours ago, and in a few minutes, I’m going to meet Justin. I haven’t mentioned that to them yet. I’m a little worried I’m making it more of a thing than it needs to be. For all I know, he’ll show up in exercise shorts and an undershirt and be a total tool.
Somehow I doubt it, though.
I went radio silent after getting that letter from my insurance company. I put do not disturb mode on and ignored the world for a while because I can’t process shit when I feel like there’s something I’m supposed to be doing, or someone I’m supposed to be talking to. Instead, after my dad left, I finished packing, dug a piece of frozen raspberry chocolate tart from my freezer, warmed it up, and enjoyed every sinful bite, then I went to my room, got out a couple of my favorite toys and had two killer orgasms. It’s hard to be upset about anything when you’re too blissed out to move.
When I finally remembered to turn do not disturb mode off late last night, I had a bunch of texts from Justin checking in. I didn’t say much back, and he continued to check in today. None of it felt pushy, but rather like genuine concern. I reassured him I was okay, and I was looking forward to meeting up with him tonight.
Which I am.
I think he’ll pass the vibe check, but I’m not sure what to expect from this. A friendly hang out? A cute dinner date? A hookup?
Would I hook up with him?
