I guess everyone gets a little reflective on New Year’s Eve. They think about the ups and downs of the past year. They make resolutions for the new year.
After the year I’d had, my biggest resolution was just to stay alive.
It had been a long, hard year. It was crazy to think that in just twelve months, I’d split up with my girlfriend, gotten cancer, wrapped up a world tour, gone through a stem cell transplant, and ended up with a new girlfriend. After all that, no wonder I was exhausted. My life was an emotional rollercoaster, but I wasn’t ready to get off the ride just yet. I wanted to keep going, keep living, for as long as I could. That was the only reason I’d put myself through stem cell hell, to jack up my odds of survival.
I had a lot to live for. There was a lot I wanted to do in the new year. Release my solo album. Finish the tour. Record with the Boys. More than anything, I wanted to feel like my old self again. I wanted my old life back.
Things were getting better. I was feeling better – not a hundred percent, but at least halfway there. After spending Thanksgiving with Cary’s dad in Illinois, she and I had driven down to my house in Tennessee and stayed there for most of December. We flew back to LA once, a week before Christmas, for my three-month check-up with the transplant doctor. After an intense round of testing, the same old shit I’d gone through to get my original diagnosis, I got the good news I’d been hoping for: the tests were all clear, and I was still cancer-free. It was the best Christmas present I could have asked for.
After the appointment, Cary and I returned to Tennessee and drove north again for Christmas, stopping in Kentucky to visit Brian and Kevin’s family on our way up to Illinois. It was just like old times – spending Christmas with the guys and my girlfriend’s family, instead of my own. I couldn’t complain, though. My life was looking up, and I was looking forward to a new and better year.
We stayed in on New Year’s Eve. We had gone out to a nice dinner two nights earlier, to celebrate a hundred days post-transplant, the point at which my immune system was supposed to be recovered enough to eat in restaurants again and go out in public without a mask. But I was still pretty tired a lot of the time, so a New Year’s party was not in my plans. We kept things low-key instead: TV, take-out food, and a bottle of champagne were all we needed to ring in 2011 at home.
A warm front had rolled through, and even though it had rained for three days, the weather in Tennessee was balmy for December. It was still sixty degrees a couple of hours before midnight, so Cary and I took a break from watching Ryan Seacrest and went out onto the front porch. We wrapped ourselves in blankets and sat side by side in a pair of wooden rocking chairs, enjoying the fresh air.
We had been rocking away in silence for a few minutes, when Cary suddenly said, “What are we doing, Nick?”
I looked over at her, surprised by the question. “I dunno. Are you bored? We can go back in, if you want.”
“No, I didn’t mean literally, like, what we’re doing right this minute. I meant with our relationship. What are we doing? Where are we going with this?”
I got it that time, but I didn’t answer right away. Her question caught me off-guard; it reminded me of the kind of conversations Lauren kept wanting to have in the weeks before she dumped me. I understood now what I hadn’t then: Cary was looking for some kind of commitment from me, a sign that our relationship was going somewhere, that we might have a future together.
The trouble was, I was afraid of commitment. I didn’t know where our relationship was headed any more than she did, and my own future was still uncertain enough that it didn’t seem fair to predict or plan for a future together. “I don’t know,” I finally replied, being totally honest. “I’m still living my life one day at a time, Cary. I have no idea what’s in store for me tomorrow, let alone further down the road. Where do you see us going?” I turned the question back around on her, figuring it was my only way out. I knew I couldn’t give her the answer she wanted to hear.
“I don’t know either, Nick; that’s why I asked,” she asked, sounding slightly annoyed with me. “I mean, I get the living day-to-day thing, and I understand why you don’t want to plan too far ahead. But I just thought, now that the transplant is behind you and you know you’re still in remission, maybe you’d be ready to start moving forward again… and that maybe we’d move forward together.”
I frowned, wondering what she was asking of me. We were already living together and sleeping together. What was the next step? Marriage? Was that what she wanted from me, a marriage proposal? An engagement ring? I didn’t believe in marriage, and even if I did, I wasn’t anywhere near ready to take that plunge, with her or anyone. That was the reason Lauren and I had called it quits, and we’d been together a lot longer than Cary and I had. I tried to think of how I could explain that to her without pissing her off or hurting her feelings.
While I was still contemplating this, she added quietly, “It’s just, you’re not the only one whose life has been put on hold. Mine has, too. I left my job, my family, my home, everything, to come to California and be with you. I mean, I was happy to do it; I don’t want you to think I’m complaining. You didn’t have a choice; I did. I don’t regret any of it, but… I guess I’m just starting to question things a bit.”
“Like what?” I asked, because I wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Like, when you go back… am I coming with you? Do you want me to come with you? You don’t need me anymore. You’re doing fine; you don’t need a nurse or a babysitter. A housekeeper, maybe,” she laughed, “but I’d like to think I’m more to you than that.”
“Of course you are,” I replied quickly, reaching out to grab her hand. “You’re… I…” I fumbled for words, finding it difficult to express what she meant to me.
It was complicated, the relationship we’d formed over the last few months. She’d gone from a stranger to a companion, a friend to a girlfriend, but somehow, that title of “girlfriend” had never really seemed to fit her. Maybe it was because we’d skipped right past the whole awkward dating part and gone straight to living together. Maybe it was because, although I liked her, I couldn’t say for sure that I loved her, and that made us less than lovers and more like fuck-buddies. Fuck-buddies who lived together and shared the same bed every night. I could see why she was confused. It was confusing to me, too.
“…I don’t know what we’re doing any more than you do, Cary,” I said finally. “I just know that I like you, and you’ve made the last few months bearable for me. I know it can’t have been much fun for you; I haven’t been much of a boyfriend. But now that I’m starting to get my life back, I feel like thing are gonna be better. I think we can make it work, if you want to.”
“Do you want to?”
Looking back, I should have said no. I could have cut her loose, right then and there, and freed her from being tied down to me. I’d been a burden on her, and she would have been better off without me. She could have gone back to her own life, to the career she’d had and the family she missed so much, and not had to deal with my baggage anymore.
But I was selfish. Maybe I wasn’t in love with Cary, but I did like her. She was pretty and sweet, and she had a way of making me feel better, not just physically, but emotionally, too. I didn’t feel so alone when I was with her. I didn’t get as scared, because I knew that no matter what happened to me, she would be there and know what to do. I trusted her, and she made me feel safe and taken care of. She was there when I wanted her, and she left me alone when I didn’t. She understood, and she never complained that I was using her. Being with her was comfortable; it was easy. It would have been harder to send her home and go back to dealing with everything on my own. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.
So I said, “Yeah… I do.”
And she smiled, looking relieved, and said, “Okay. Then I’ll come with you.”
She squeezed my hand, and I felt relieved, too, that I’d managed to talk myself out of an awkward conversation without saying something that would hurt her. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was hurt her; she didn’t deserve that.
What she did deserve was someone better than me. She deserved a man who would love her and marry her and give her the kind of life she was meant to have – not a life spent on the road or stuck in the hospital, but a normal life with a husband and kids and a house with a white picket fence. I knew that was life she’d pictured herself having, before she met me.
Cary was a total mother hen, the type of girl who was born to have a family. She’d make the perfect wife for some lucky guy, but I just didn’t know if I was that guy. Playing house with her all this time, letting her act like my wife, was a lot different than actually putting a ring on her finger, taking vows, and making a lifetime commitment out of it. Of course, after you’ve had cancer, the word “lifetime” doesn’t seem so long, but still, I wasn’t ready to settle down and start planning for a family and a future I might not have. I just wanted to finish my solo album, get back out on the road, and put cancer behind me.
“Things are gonna be different, though,” Cary was saying, and I snapped back to our conversation, realizing I’d let my mind wander. “I can’t keep hanging around your condo all day, doing nothing. It was fine while you were recovering and needed someone to be there, but now that you’re better, you’re going to be working again, and I’ll need something to do, too. So I’m going to look for a job. I can’t keep mooching off you, and I can’t afford to keep paying my rent without an income.”
It had never even crossed my mind that she was still paying rent on the apartment she was never at, thanks to me, but now it seemed obvious that she’d have to, since most of her stuff was still there. “Hey, if you’d cashed that check I gave you, you wouldn’t have this problem,” I joked, then added, “Seriously, though, don’t worry about the money; I’ll pay your rent. It’s the least I can do, after everything you’ve done for me.”
“No, no, that’s not what I want,” she said quickly. “I need to earn my own money. My lease is going to be up soon, anyway, so maybe I just won’t re-sign… I could get my own place in LA, or…”
She trailed off, and I knew she waiting to hear what I would suggest. I smiled. “Yeah, it’d be stupid to re-sign it if you’re coming back to Cali with me. You know you’ve always got a place to stay. You and your pig.”
Even though it was dark, I could see her whole face light up. “Really, are you sure? You’d even let me bring Hambelina?”
“Sure, why not? I’ve been wanting another dog, but I guess a pig’s close enough, right?”
We both laughed.
“I’m serious about the job, though,” Cary said. “I still want to get one. Maybe just something part-time or with flexible hours, but I have to be doing something.”
I nodded. “That’d be cool. Whatever you wanna do.”
She didn’t say anything else, and neither did I. We just sat there, rocking, holding hands and enjoying the silence, until she finally admitted, “I’m getting kinda cold. Aren’t you cold?”
I shrugged. “I guess. Let’s go back in and get ready for that ball to drop.”
We relocated to the couch in the living room, where I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my blanket around us both. “Maybe this’ll warm you up,” I said, before kissing her. If I was going to spend New Year’s Eve at home, I at least wanted to ring in the new year by getting laid. We made out on the couch for awhile, then worked our way into the bedroom. This was where we’d slept together for the first time, I remembered, as I undressed and climbed into bed after her.
She looked beautiful, lying there in my bed, with her dark hair fanned out over the pillow, her hands folded modestly over her breasts. I felt gross by comparison, pale and mostly hairless, like a naked mole rat. For some reason, she still seemed to want me. “C’mere,” she whispered, throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me down on top of her. “And take off that hat in bed.” She snatched the knit cap off the top of my head and tossed it over the side of the bed.
“Careful, you might mistake me for one of your nursing home patients,” I teased, grinning down at her. In a wobbly old man’s voice, I wheezed, “Excuse me, missy, but I’m ready for my Viagra now. Will you bring me some with a glass of prune juice, please?”
“Ew, Nick!” she giggled, pushing me off her. “Way to kill the mood.”
“Aww, c’mon, you know you love your cute old men.” I snuggled up to her side, nuzzling her with my bald head.
“Not in that way. And you don’t look like an old man. You look more like a cute little boy with a buzz cut.” She giggled again and stroked my head with her hand. The hair was starting to grow back there, and it wasn’t coarse and stubbly like facial hair, but surprisingly soft and fuzzy, like down feathers.
“Ah, so you like sleeping with little boys instead?”
“No!” she shrieked. “Keep it up, and I won’t be sleeping with you at all.”
“Yes you will.” I tilted my head back and smirked. “You can’t resist me.”
She sighed. “You’re right… I can’t.” She rolled over and wrapped me up in her arms, kissing me deeply. “We’d better hurry,” she murmured against my lips. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Nick be nimble, Nick be quick,” I replied, reaching over to grope for the bedside table drawer where I kept my stash of condoms.
Ryan Seacrest was still yammering away on the TV behind me, as I climbed on top of her again, but I don’t think either of us paid attention to a word he said. We were too busy enjoying the festivities in my bed. But I didn’t have the stamina I used to, and by the time they started counting down to midnight on TV, we were lying side by side under the covers again, watching the giant ball drop.
“Happy New Year,” Cary said, as confetti rained down on the crowd singing “Auld Lang Syne” in Times Square.
“Happy New Year,” I repeated, leaning over to kiss her, so we could be like all the couples kissing for the camera. I would never be as carefree as they seemed, but at least I was cancer-free. The new year was off to a good start.
“We should have a toast. I’ll go get the champagne.” Cary rolled out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and padded out to the kitchen. I stretched out on my back and folded my hands behind my head, listening to the fridge open and shut and the clink of glasses.
I had never been so glad to put a year behind me. 2010 had been the hardest year of my life. I was hoping 2011 would be easier. “To a new and better year,” I toasted, raising the glass of champagne Cary handed me when she climbed back into bed.
“To health and happiness in 2011,” she added, raising her glass, too. We clinked them together, then drank.
Health and happiness… I couldn’t ask for anything more.
***
