“Yeah. I know.”
Tearing their absent gazes away from the TV screen, Brian and Nick exchanged glances. Offering Nick a shrug, Brian added, “I was gonna call them after you called me... but then I thought it would be better get here first and talk to you, then fill them in.”
Nick nodded. “So you didn’t call anyone then?”
“Well, I... uh, no. Didn’t call anyone.”
Nick nodded again, sliding his eyes back to the television screen. Brian had been there for several hours now, and after their initial conversation and tears, they had fallen into an awkward silence, finally turning on the TV to relieve it. They had been sitting there all afternoon, watching countless reruns of early 90’s sitcoms and lame game shows. It was now after six, and Nick’s attention was drawn away from “The Simpsons” when he heard Brian’s stomach growl.
“I got plenty of food; help yourself,” he muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of the kitchen.
“Okay.” Brian stood up. “You hungry?”
Nick looked at him pointedly and replied, “What do you think?”
Brian offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “Sorry. But you should probably eat something... you haven’t eaten all day, have you?”
Nick shook his head slightly.
“Come on. I’ll make you something to eat. Whatever you want,” Brian offered, as if he expected Nick to jump for joy at this prospect.
“Ha... you? Cook?” Nick snorted derisively.
“Hey, I can cook!” Brian insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, a smug grin on his face. “Who do you think makes dinner when Leighanne’s busy with the baby?”
“Kraft Easy Mac doesn’t count as dinner, Bri.”
“And why not? It’s food, isn’t it? And it’s good stuff! You want me to make you macaroni?”
“I told you, I’m not hungry,” muttered Nick, his voice flattening, the sarcasm quickly replaced with just plain sullenness.
“Okay, how about some toast then? Just toast. Or some crackers?” He waited for Nick to say something, which he didn’t. “Come on, Nick,” Brian pleaded after a moment. “You need to eat. Don’t make this any worse by starving yourself. What can I fix you?”
It was obvious that Brian wasn’t about to back down, so Nick surrendered. “Fine. Toast.”
“Toast it is then,” Brian said cheerfully. “You want butter on that?”
“Sure.”
“Alrighty. You coming to keep me company, or are you going to just wait here?”
“Here.” He never tore his gaze from the TV.
“Okay. I’ll be back in a few.” Brian disappeared into the kitchen, and Nick let out a soft sigh. Brian was so good to him, such a great friend. He had been there for Nick through thick and thin, seen him through everything in the past eleven years, from homesickness on the road to fights with his dysfunctional family, from teenage crushes to painful breakups, from infinite colds and flu bugs to the devastation of cancer...
Out of nowhere, Nick felt the familiar prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes and quickly swallowed back tears. What was wrong with him? He was acting worse than a pregnant woman with all the mood swings and crying outbursts. Maybe soon he’d start craving pickle-flavored ice cream or something equally screwed up and disgusting. That is, if he ever worked up an appetite again.
Vaguely, he wondered when he had last eaten anything. Nothing yet today... the morning had been spent crying. Lunchtime? Crying. Now it was time for dinner, and he had just been struggling not to break down into tears yet again. And as far as the day before went... he’d been too nervous about the doctor’s appointment to eat breakfast, and after that, he’d been too upset for lunch or dinner. So that would put the last time he’d eaten at about... nine o’clock on Friday night? If he remembered correctly, he’d had a bowl of ice cream then. Okay, two bowls. Pig.
It didn’t matter though... who cared if he got fat from his bad eating habits? If he lost his leg, it wouldn’t matter whether he was trim and toned or morbidly obese. Either way, he’d still be a freak.
Freak...
The word bounced around in his mind like a voice echoing off canyon walls, interrupted finally by the ring of the doorbell. Startled, Nick sat up straighter, his brow furrowing. Who would be at his door now? He considered going to look out the peephole and see for himself, but the walk to the door looked much too far, and he was more content to just sit there until whoever it was gave up and went away.
But that person was more stubborn than Nick gave him or her credit for. The bell sounded again and again, and when he still made no move to get up, he heard a muffled, yet familiar voice calling his name from outside the house.
“Nick! Nick! Nickolas, open up this door right now!”
Nick froze. Oh God... he knew that voice... all too well.
“Mom.” His lips formed the dreaded word, yet no sound escaped them.
“Nickolas! I know you’re there; now let me in!”
She was still bellowing at him, probably making a big scene outside. Sooner or later, he was going to have to open up and let her in because if there was one thing Jane Carter was not lacking in, it was determination. He had inherited his stubborn streak from her and knew full well she wouldn’t back down without a fight. He had no choice but to invite her in before the whole spread-out neighborhood knew that she was back in town.
With a shuddering sigh, he rose unsteadily and limped to the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it and found him face to face with his estranged mother. Having no urge to speak, he simply stared, his eyes boring into hers. She shied away from his gaze, her eyes flickering downward, traveling the length of his left leg. When she finally met his eyes again, he saw that hers were covered by a sheen of tears, and he drew back, shaken.
She knows.
But how could she have known?
Unless...
“BRIAN!”
Slamming the door shut, not caring that his mother stood just outside it, Nick stomped across the foyer, through the spacious living room, and into the kitchen, his sudden burst of rage deadening the pain that coursed through his left shin with each pounding step.
Brian turned away from the counter, a piece of slightly-burnt toast in one hand, his face a mask of innocence. “Nick? What? What’s wrong?”
“You called her! You fucking called her, didn’t you?!” Nick demanded angrily.
The mask instantly melted, revealing a face of guilt. “Jane’s here?” Brian queried, shifting his weight uncomfortably.
“Damn right she’s here! Didn’t you hear the doorbell? I can’t believe you called my fucking mother!”
“I’m sorry, Nick,” Brian apologized sincerely. “I just thought you needed your mom... I mean, if it were me, I would want my m-“
“That’s because your mom is what a mother should be!” Nick countered, feeling a drop of envy blend with the fury that pumped through his veins. “Why didn’t you just call her to come comfort me? That would have been better!”
“Do you want me to?” Brian asked seriously. “She’d be down here in a heartbeat if she knew; I just didn’t think-“
“No! All I wanted was for you to come; I called you and you only for a reason, Brian. Why did you have to go fuck things up?”
Brian opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Nick saw his gaze flicker to something over his shoulder. He spun around to find Jane Carter tentatively creeping across the living room. She froze as soon as he caught sight of her and hung back uncertainly, waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t. What was there to say?
“Nicky?” Realizing he had forfeited his turn, Jane took hers instead. “Baby, please,” she sniveled. “Don’t push me away.”
“You made me push you away,” Nick muttered under his breath as he turned his back, refusing to look at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Nick...” He sensed her coming closer and instinctively stepped forward, away from her. “Nicky, let me help you.”
“You can’t help me. No one can help me, unless by ‘helping me,’ they mean cutting off my fucking leg!” he spat bitterly, turning back just in time to see her recoil at his words.
“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I’m not going to let them do that. They are not amputating your leg, no way in hell!”
“It’s my choice to make, not yours,” he muttered.
“Well, you shouldn’t have to make a choice like that at all.” Jane’s voice was filled with contempt. “You’re still seeing the same doctor you were before, right? That woman... King something, wasn’t it?”
“Kingsbury,” he corrected automatically.
“Kingsbury, right. Well, Nick, that’s just one doctor working in a public hospital. There are plenty more specialists out there who know what they’re talking about, and we need to get a second opinion. Maybe a third. Or a fourth, if that’s what it takes.” Nick rolled his eyes, and she continued ardently, “The point is, if I’d known what was going on right after you were diagnosed, I would have made sure you went to the finest cancer specialists out there. You deserve the best medical care and the best treatments, and now I know that’s not what you’re getting. There is no way I’m going to let some lowlife quack cut off my son’s leg and ruin his life when there are other doctors and other treatments available!”
Nick bit his lip, feeling torn. Part of him hated her and wanted to ignore everything she told him... yet he longed for what she said to be the truth, that there really were other options, other treatments that would get rid of his cancer once and for all without taking his leg in the process.
“Nick, maybe she’s right,” Brian advised quietly. “Maybe you should consider going to another specialist for a second opinion.”
Nick turned angry eyes upon his friend once again. “And what do you know? A few hours ago, you were telling me to go through with it! To let them chop off my leg!”
“I-I know. And maybe that’s still the case. But... but I think you need to check with some other people first, just to be sure. Isn’t that what you want?”
It was what he wanted. More than anything, he wanted to be told that Dr. Kingsbury was wrong. And yet, he trusted Dr. Kingsbury. She was a good doctor. She couldn’t be wrong, could she? He simply did not want to believe that all he had been put through was for nothing, that the whole time, he could have sought out a better doctor who would have cured his cancer on the first try, not put him through countless rounds of chemo and radiation, only to tell him that he would need his leg amputated to have a decent shot at survival.
But he had to find out. Because if he went through with the amputation and later found out it was for nothing, he would never forgive himself for being so naïve and stupid.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I guess I’ll go see someone else.”
“Wonderful,” Jane beamed. “I’ll do some research and make all the arrangements. Don’t you worry, sweetheart, everything is going to be okay.”
Everything is going to be okay...
He wanted to believe her so badly. But then why did he have so many doubts?
***
