It was hard being back home again, after spending the better part of the year in LA or on the road with Nick. I missed both. I missed Nick. But I had also missed my Dad and my pig and my apartment when I was away from them, so I tried to enjoy being back in familiar territory, with my family and friends.
I didn’t go back to work right away, though I didn’t cash the check from Nick, either. I tucked it into a desk drawer, planning to forget about it, and there it sat, while I eased back into the rest of my old life. I spent the first week at home just catching up with the people I hadn’t seen in awhile. I spent time with my dad, Jessica, and my other friends. I spent time alone, too, just me and Hambelina, hanging out at home.
At first, it was nice to not be on the go all the time, to take some time off for myself. I needed it. I felt a little disoriented, like I’d lost sense of my place in life. Before American Idol and all the craziness that had come after it, I’d been happy here, living where I did and working where I worked. But after a few days at home, I started getting restless. I wanted to be on the road again, seeing a different city every day, performing on a stage every night. And I wanted to be around Nick.
I thought of him constantly, and I missed him like crazy. Every day, I fought the urge to call him and wished instead that he would call me. But he didn’t call, not on the Fourth of July or on my birthday, nor after we’d both been home a few days. I hadn’t heard from him since the day we’d left Vegas, when he had replied to my text letting him know I’d made it home safely to tell me he had, too. I had wondered about him every day since. What was he doing? How was he doing? But I was determined not to be one of those clingy girls and take advantage of the fact that I had his phone number. He had mine, too, I reminded myself, and if he wanted to talk to me, he’d call.
I got my hopes up every time my cell phone rang, but it was always someone else. Finally, I got tired of feeling disappointed and set a special ring tone just for him, so I’d know it was him the minute he called. I made it “Evergreen,” the song he’d sung to me over the phone the first time he had called me. But even after I did that, I always forgot I had and still got excited when I got a phone call.
One evening, the phone rang, and it was my dad. Recovering quickly from my disappointment, I made my voice sound bright and perky as I answered, “Hi, Dad!”
“Hey, honey,” came my father’s voice. We made the usual small talk, and then he got to the point of why he’d called. “I just wanted to remind you of the schedule for Friday…”
Like he thought I’d forget? I glanced at my Anne Taintor wall calendar, where I’d written in the squares for July sixteenth and seventeenth with a purple pen. That coming Friday was our county’s Relay for Life, an annual fundraising event for the American Cancer Society. My dad had headed a team for as long as Relay had been around, in honor of my mother. It was made up of friends and neighbors, people who had known her or had come to know my dad and me since her passing. Every year, we raised money and walked the twenty-four-hour relay to celebrate survivors of cancer and remember victims of it, like my mom. It was important to me and even more important to my dad, which explained the unnecessary phone call. He always wanted to make sure everything went off without a hitch.
“I know, Dad… kick-off at four, opening ceremony and survivor lap at six, I’m on at seven, and the Luminaria ceremony’s at nine.” Pacing my kitchen, I rattled off the events in quick succession, so he’d know I had them straight. It had been March, right after my elimination from Idol, when I’d been invited to sing as part of the entertainment lineup at Relay, but I hadn’t forgotten. I was honored just to have been asked, and I was looking forward to it. Even if the Relayers weren’t exactly like the American Idol audience or the crowd at a Backstreet Boys concert, it would be nice to be back on a stage, no matter how small. At least my set would be bigger, a mix of my own material and covers, crowd-pleasers. It was going to be fun.
“You got it. And don’t forget, we’re signed up to walk the zombie shift,” my dad added.
I laughed, leaning over the countertop. “Better bring lots of caffeine so you can stay awake, old man.” The two of us always volunteered to walk in the middle of the night. I’m sort of a night owl, so it’s no trouble for me, but my dad’s asleep by eight p.m. on a normal night. It was always a bit of a stretch for him to stay up and walk into the wee hours.
“Oh, I’m counting on you to keep me awake, kiddo,” he said.
“Yeah, okay… you’ll probably still sneak naps while I’m out on the track.” We could have gone on ribbing each other like that for awhile, but all of a sudden, my phone beeped. I lowered it quickly to see that I had another call… from Nick. “Hey, Dad?” I said, jamming the phone back up to my ear. “I gotta go; Nick’s trying to call me.” My dad didn’t know what was going on with him, but he did know Nick meant a lot to me. I knew he would understand.
“Okay, sweetheart; I’ll talk to you later,” he said, and I switched to the other call.
“Hello? Nick?” My heart was already pounding hard; I knew he had to be calling with news from his appointment, and I immediately started to worry. What if it was bad?
“Hey, Cary,” his voice rumbled in my ear. It always sounded lower on the phone than it seemed in person, but I liked it that way; it was sexy, the way he said my name.
“Hey!” I squeaked, just the opposite – my voice always went higher, especially when I was talking to him. “What’s up?”
“Not too much…” He paused. “Just chillin’ in the hospital, waitin’ for the rest of my chemo to finish. How ‘bout you?”
It was hard to translate the emotion in his voice, since he kept it pretty monotone. He sounded casual, but then, he always seemed to play it cool and act like things were okay when they weren’t. If he wasn’t going to come out and say it, I’d have to ask. “Well… just wondering how things went with your tests. Any updates for me?” I sank down into a kitchen chair, trying to prepare myself for the worst.
“May-be,” he sing-songed, and I felt myself start to smile. It had to be good news… right? He wouldn’t mess with me if it were bad.
“So…?” I felt impatient. “What’s the deal?”
Even though I couldn’t see him, I could tell he was grinning ear to ear when he finally said, “So… I’m in remission.”
I probably pierced his ear drum squealing over the phone. I just couldn’t contain it. “Really??” I gushed, pressing the phone tight to my ear. “Oh Nick, that is so amazing! That’s such a relief!”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m pretty relieved. The doctor said it was a complete remission. The tumor in my chest is gone.”
“That’s awesome news. I’m so happy for you!”
“Me too.”
We were both silent for a few seconds, while I soaked up the good news that the chemo had worked, that Nick was getting better. Still, even though the tumor was gone, I knew he wasn’t completely in the clear yet. My mom had been in remission almost four years when her cancer came back. She died less than a year later. A relapse is almost always harder to put back into remission.
Lost in my thoughts, I’d almost forgotten I was still on the phone until I heard Nick’s voice in my ear, saying, “So my doctor wants me to decide what kind of treatment to do next. She said there’s, like, a maintenance chemo that is basically just a bunch of pills I’d have to take, not a big deal, but she also talked about a stem cell transplant…? She gave me a bunch of shit to read and said I should make the decision, but hell, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
I could hear the relief in his voice turn to frustration, and my heart went out to him. As a medical professional myself, I knew it was important to give patients a say in their own treatment plan, but with plenty of support and guidance, too. The way Nick talked, I imagined his oncologist dumping a pile of pamphlets in his lap and walking out, leaving him to muddle through them by himself. I knew that probably wasn’t exactly how it had gone down; surely, she had asked if he had questions first, and maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he just hadn’t known what to ask.
“It’s okay,” I said reassuringly. “You don’t have to decide anything today. You need time to talk it over and get answers to your questions, so you can make an informed decision.”
“What would you do?” he asked, and I realize he hadn’t just called to tell me his good news, but to ask my advice.
I was no expert, but then, I did have more experience than him. I thought back to what I’d read about his disease after he’d first told me the diagnosis. “Well…” I said slowly, thinking out loud. “The type of lymphoma you have is similar to a form of leukemia, so the treatment is similar, too. A stem cell or bone marrow transplant is a pretty standard course of action for leukemia that has relapsed or is likely to; I saw quite a few kids go through it when I was working in pedes oncology.”
“You think I should do that?” Nick asked, his voice flat. I could tell that wasn’t what he wanted to hear me say. It wasn’t at all what I was saying, either.
“I don’t know… Honestly, it’s a pretty intense treatment…”
When I heard the words “stem cell transplant,” I pictured the little ones I’d cared for throughout the process – bald, weakened, deathly ill children, sealed off in sterile, isolated rooms because their immune systems had been completely wiped out. They were so susceptible to infection that anyone who entered the isolation unit – only immediate family and a select number of staff members – had to thoroughly wash their hands and gown up in full gloves, mask, cap, booties, and protective gown, as if they were scrubbing in to the OR. Any thing that entered the room, even a teddy bear, had to be carefully cleaned and disinfected first. Weeks would pass before they were well enough to leave after the transplant, assuming there were no complications, and even then, it took a long time for their immune systems to fully recover.
I knew if I told Nick all of that right then, I’d freak him out, so I chose my next words carefully. “The transplant procedure itself isn’t a big deal; it’s basically like a blood transfusion. It’s the high-dose chemo they do beforehand that is the rough part. The goal of it is to kill off any cancer cells left in your body, but it also destroys your bone marrow. That’s why you’re then given stem cells, so your body can start making healthy cells again. It’s sort of like wiping your whole hard drive to get rid of a computer virus. It’s extreme, but it works.” I figured the computer analogy was one he would understand. “The worst part is the side effects you’ll have from the chemo, and the hospital stay can be pretty lengthy, depending on which kind of transplant you do. It’s definitely not the easy way out, but at the same time, if it works, it could mean a longer remission or even a cure.”
“So… would you do it, or not?” Nick pressed.
I shook my head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I really don’t know. I can’t make that decision for you.” I knew he wanted me to tip the scale one way or the other for him, but it wasn’t my place to do so. In the end, this had to be his decision. To reassure him, I added, “I will say, you’re young and strong, and you tolerated chemo amazingly well. A stem cell transplant won’t be a walk in the park, but it’s something you can get through, if you want to go the aggressive route. But if you’d rather wait and go with the maintenance plan for now, no one would hold it against you. You have to do what feels right for you.”
He sighed into the phone. “That’s the thing, though, Cary. I have no fucking clue which one feels right. I mean, I know which one sounds easier, but that just makes me think it’s not the way to go. When has taking the easy way out ever paid off?”
I could hear his hesitation, his fear of choosing wrong. “You don’t have to decide today,” I reminded him. “Sleep on it tonight. Take a few days, if you need them. Talk to your doctor; ask her questions, and get some more information to help you decide. Ask her what she would do; she has more specifics about your case than I do. She’s the expert.”
He sighed again. “I know. You’re easier to talk to, though.”
That made me smile. A lot. “Well, thanks. I didn’t mean to pawn you off on someone else; you know I’m always here to talk if you want to. Just a phone call away.” Even though I wish I was closer, I added in my head. It had been just over a week since I’d hugged him goodbye in the airport, but I wished I could talk to him in person, give him another hug and see him through this. I hated being so far away.
“I know. I appreciate it,” Nick said. He sounded genuine, and that made me miss him even more.
It was tempting to tell him to screw the transplant and go with the maintenance chemo, so he could finish the tour, and I could go with him. But I wasn’t going to sway him to suit my own ulterior motives. His health was way more important than the tour or my feelings for him. For once, he had to put that first and make the decision that would offer him the best chance of beating his cancer.
In the lull that followed, my eyes wandered back up to my calendar. The picture for July was of a perfect forties housewife smiling down at her perfect little girl as she took a pie out of the oven. The typically snarky caption printed over it said, “Remember, sweetheart… mommy loves you, but she doesn’t have to like you.” It made me smile, but also put a lump in my throat, because with her dark curls and pretty, smiling face, the woman in the painting looked like my own mother, during the years when she wasn’t sick, when she was just a regular young mom who baked stuff with her daughter. I saw my own handwriting, the words “RELAY FOR LIFE” scrawled in purple pen across Friday and Saturday’s squares, and I got an idea.
On sudden impulse, I blurted, “Hey… not to change the subject, but I have a proposition for you.” I smiled to myself, remembering how he’d said the same thing to me the first time he had called, on that fateful day back in April. Then I backpedaled and added quickly, “I know you’re just finishing chemo, so if you don’t feel up to it, you can say no; it’s not a big deal, but…”
He laughed and interrupted, “What is it?”
“Well…” I cleared my throat, feeling like I had a lot of nerve just for asking him. But what the hell? I’d already started; I might as well spit out the rest. “I was just thinking… This Friday, I’m doing Relay for Life – I don’t know if you know what that is, but it’s an all-day walking event to raise money for the American Cancer Society-”
“I know,” he cut in again. “We almost performed at one of those one time. I think it was in Tennessee. We were supposed to, but our flight got cancelled. What, you want me to come and perform?”
Even though I was glad he knew something about Relay, I suddenly felt ridiculous for even thinking he might fly to Illinois to come to one. He had just gotten home; he had to be sick of traveling, and he was still in the hospital doing chemo, so he was probably sick from that, too. I was selfish and stupid for even bringing it up. Still, I babbled on, “Only if you want to. I’m singing, and I’m on a team, so I’ll be walking, too, but I just thought, maybe… well, if you’re not doing anything… maybe you’d wanna get away for a few days and come out. We could talk more, too, about… you know… your options. But I totally understand if you don’t feel like it. I’m sure you’re tired from the tour and all the tests and chemo and everything this week, so…” I trailed off awkwardly, glad he couldn’t see my red face for once.
But leave it to Nick to take me completely by surprise. “I’d love to,” he said, hardly missing a beat. “When is it again? This Friday?”
“Y-yeah,” I replied, my voice going high again. “Friday and Saturday… but most of the events are on Friday. Are you serious? You would come?” I was stunned by his response.
“Sure. It’s for a good cause, right?” I could tell he was smiling, that smirky half-smile of his.
“A very good cause,” I emphasized.
“Then I’m happy to do it.”
My heart soared, then sank, as another thought occurred to me. “You probably won’t get paid,” I warned him. “The American Cancer Society… everything’s volunteer-based.”
“Trust me; I have enough money,” he replied dryly. He was definitely smirking that time. “Besides, if I can help them raise more money by drawing a bigger crowd, some of that will go back to me, in a way. I mean, the research and stuff might help me out down the road.”
I smiled. “That’s a good way to look at it. Thanks, Nick… It means a lot to me, and I know the committee who’s organized the whole thing will be thrilled to get a big act.”
He chuckled. “I dunno how ‘big’ I am by myself, but I’m sure we can find some fans in the area to come. I’ll do some Backstreet songs, some solo stuff, some covers… It’ll be fun.”
“And we’ll talk,” I promised, “face to face. We’ll figure out a game plan for you to take back to Dr. Subramanien.”
“Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks, Cary.”
“Thank you, Nick. But seriously, if you don’t feel up to it at the end of the week…”
“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted, feeding me his usual line. “Anyway, I owe ya, for everything I put you through. And since I notice you haven’t cashed my check yet…” Once again, I was glad he couldn’t see me blushing. “…we’ll count this as part of me returning the favor.”
He owed me nothing, but I wasn’t going to try too hard to change his mind. We spent another ten minutes ironing out a few details, and he promised to call again the next day, once he was home and had gotten a chance to book his flight. I promised to have spoken with the head of the Relay committee, to get him on the entertainment lineup. The committee was going to be thrilled; they’d never had anyone famous perform at the event before, and while I may have been somewhat of a local celebrity since American Idol, Nick was famous on a global scale. I figured fans from all over the Midwest would make the drive just to see him in person.
When I said goodbye and got off the phone, I looked one more time at my calendar. Just three more days, and I would see him in person again, too.
I couldn’t wait.
***
