Being There (22 page)

“Fine, but if I'm going with them, they're either coming back with me right away in the morning, or I'm calling a cab.”

“Thank you,” I say, blowing an air kiss to him. He just raises an eyebrow because we both know that if I were not in this bed, he would tease me for being a dork.

“So what do you need from your place?”

“I have a book in the bottom drawer next to my bed that I'd like to read, since I'm just laying here doing nothing. I tried reading it a few months ago, but I was too busy,” I pause trying to remember what else I want. “Oh! And can you get my pillow. I need
my
pillow, this one sucks.” I limply pat my hand at the stiff pillow beneath my head to make my point.

“Okay, is that all?” I look at him and realize he is writing my demands on his hand. This guy is pretty great.

“One more thing, can you find me something comfy to wear? Hospital chic isn't exactly my thing.”

“Alright. I'll be back first thing,” he says before he kisses my forehead. He moves his face to my ear, “I love you.”

I just smile, because those three amazing words, coming from him, mean everything to me.

The doctors have told me that we are pushing back my next treatment by a week or so, to make sure that I don't have any other complications. So far, this morning, I'm feeling significantly better, but I'd be much happier at home. During my treatments, or when I’m resting at home, at least I feel like myself, and I have everything I need at my disposal. Here I have nothing, and the realization is overwhelming in more ways than one. I have every belief that I’m going to beat all of it, but right now, my doubts and fears are taking hold. I’m giving myself permission to wallow in it because if I don’t give in and feel the despair that lurks beneath the surface, I might drown. My head is swimming with all the possible scenarios of how this ends up, but I have to snap myself out of it because Drew should be coming in with my parents soon, along with all of the things I asked him to bring to me.

Book, pillow, PJs
. I'm thinking to myself when I remember where I told Drew to find my pjs.
Shit
!

I was so tired last night, I think I told him where to find them, but that's not the problem, it's what else he might find when he looks in that drawer. No one, and I mean, no one, knows that I keep a journal, and like anyone, I would be mortified if anyone found it. But if Drew were to find it, I think I might actually find a hole to crawl into.

I'm startled from my thoughts when the door to my private room swings open and Drew walks in with a bag over his shoulder. I look past him, but don't see my parents following. "You didn't leave them behind did you?"

He laughs and shakes his head, “No, I just asked them to give us some time alone. I hope you don't mind.”

I really don't mind, but I can tell from his tone that he wants to talk about something. He drags a chair over to my bedside and takes a seat, placing the bag on his lap. He remains quiet as he pulls out the pillow and book that I asked him to bring. It's when he grabs for the clothing inside that my eyes grow wide with concern.

He found it.

“While I was in your room, I noticed that you had cleaned up your place from the other night,” he states easily. “I was looking for my stuff and noticed that you had moved my bag into your room.” I feel my cheeks flame and I wish that hole were here so I could climb inside and never come out.

“I'm sorry, I just wanted to move it out of the way,” I hope he buys it, but from the glint in his eyes, he's not.

“I was going through your drawer to get you some pjs which, by the way, are pretty damn ugly and I came across this.” He pulls out the journal that has his name scrawled across the front of it before he asks, “Can we talk about this?”

Son of a bitch
!

“Can we not?” I turn away from him, but he clears his throat and reaches for my hand.

“All this time,” he says in a whisper. “You missed me, and never reached out to me. Why? Did you hate me that much?”

“I'm guessing by your tone that you read it, then?”

“It had my name,” he at least looks embarrassed. “My curiosity got the best of me. So can you answer my question?”

“I didn't hate you, obviously,” I say, pointing to the journal, “but I was too hurt and humiliated to call you. And it's not like you were calling me either.”

“You're right. I was pissed at you for not letting me explain. I had every intention of calling you, but then days turned into weeks and eventually, too much time had passed and I figured there was no way to fix any of it. More than anything else, I missed you.”

“That doesn't excuse the fact that you read my journal,” I argue, bringing us back to the issue at hand.

“You're right, it doesn't. So I figured that it's only fair that since I read your stuff, you get to read mine.”

My brows furrow in shock, “You have a journal?”

“Not exactly," he says with a sly smile. “But this made for some great reading material. I was up all night, so I took the liberty of making a few notes of my own. I hope you don't mind.”

“Figures,” is all I say in response. He stands up and hands me the journal, baring his name in my handwriting. He leans over and kisses my head and starts to leave the room. “Wait,” I call after him. “Where are you going?”

“I'll be back in a little. Just read.”

I hold the worn out book in my hand and grow concerned with what I have written. When I started the damn thing, I made it a point to never go back and reread previous entries, basically treating it as a confessional of sorts. I certainly never imagined it would jump up and bite me on the ass and I'm scared to see what thoughts of mine he is now privy to. I take a deep steadying breath and open the first page, but it's not my writing, and it's not on one of my pages, it's a separate sheet that he placed inside, so I read it.

Cass,

Under any other circumstances, I wouldn't have done this, but it had my name on it. I'm an asshole because I had to know what this thing is about. I'm not going to apologize for reading it, but I will apologize for invading your privacy. There is so much here that I wish you would have told me, but the more I read, the more I understood. I figured it was only fair to share my thoughts with you. I love you, and I always will.

-D

I start at the beginning and read part of my first entry that he has highlighted.
Jerk
. I can't believe he not only read my innermost thoughts, but highlighted them as well!

…You're my best friend, and there are just some things that I can't tell you, because it's not my place. But I have to vent and get them out, so I don't run my mouth at inopportune times. I guess this is as good a place as any. So I'll start with Sage. I hate her! Okay, I don't hate her, but she walks all over you and treats you like crap, and c'mon!! She acts like an airhead. You can do so much better…

On the back of the blank page opposite my entry, he writes something to me:

“I was only with her because you didn't want to be with me. The reason she dumped me all those years ago was because she said she could see how I felt about you. All I ever wanted was you, but I had to let you go and be your “friend,” no matter how much I hated that word, because that’s what you wanted.”

I flip to another page from after we graduated and recall the feelings I had about the potential of losing him when we moved away. Granted Austin and College Station weren't on opposite ends of the world, it certainly felt like it at the time, and when I was just coming to terms with my own feelings for him, everything inside of me was a mess.

…We're each leaving in two weeks to go to different colleges and I'm so scared that we're going to grow apart. How am I going to survive without my best friend? I could kick myself for not telling you how I felt when I had the chance. I don't think I really knew what I was feeling, and now it's just too late. If I ever get the nerve to do it, I swear, I'm not letting you go…

I timidly turn the page to read his response and I close my eyes to brace myself for the words he leaves me with.

“I remember your concerns about us leaving, but you never said anything else. I waited and waited hoping that you would come to your senses, and tell me how you felt about me. It pisses me off because you did figure it out, but you never told me. You just moved on, so I followed your lead. But no matter what, you would always be my first choice.”

I close the book and hold it to my chest because I'm too hesitant to read further. I realize that he knows about that night when everything changed, and how it changed. I take a moment to gather my wits and turn to the entry from a week after we first slept together. That night was so amazing because we both admitted that we wanted the same thing and we were both so happy, but in the morning, everything turned to shit and I lost my best friend.

…
I hate you so much! You're a fucking asshole and I wish I could take everything back! I hate that I still love you, despite the fact that you just destroyed me by being a complete dick! Why couldn't you have just been honest with me? I would have waited for you to figure out what you wanted, but you weren't, and now I've lost my best friend. I've lost my best friend and that hurts me more than anything else. Our friendship was the sole reason I never wanted to pursue anything with you, and now I'm kicking myself because I should have listened to my gut. Part of me hopes there is something salvageable here, but considering that it's been a week with no contact, I think it's safe to say that there is nothing here, and probably never was...

Apparently Drew didn't like that entry because his entry is pretty angry, but I'm glad to see it. I'm glad he didn't hold back because I'm sick or anything else:

“I hated you too. I was so fucking pissed that you wouldn't even hear me out! Seeing this, the fact that a week later you hoped to hear from me makes me think you were playing some sort of game. I tried to call you, I tried to text you, but you blew me off. What was I supposed to do? You cut me out of your life. The one person who knew me better than anyone else didn't give me the benefit of the doubt. You weren't the only one who lost something that night because I lost you. But the thing is, there is something here between us, and we're going to figure it out this time.”

After the last one I read, I haphazardly flip through the remaining pages, to find that he has written a response to all of them.
Every
.
Single
. Entry has a response. I have written in this thing over the years, and vented, bitched and celebrated the different things that I wanted to share with him and he's written on every monotonous stupid entry. He stayed up last night reading this entire thing and he's still here with me.
Holy shit!
That means he read my last entry I quickly flip to that a reread what I wrote the other morning after he left to get ready for our date:

This morning when I woke up with you next to me, it was something I have dreamed of for so long. It was, possibly, the happiest moment of my life. And, even though it's not the best of circumstances, the fact that you are here with me means more than I could ever tell you.

You probably don't know that you talk in your sleep. I’ve heard you on the couch sometimes mumbling things that I can’t make out. But last night, with you right next to me, I heard you loud and clear. But I'll never tell you that you said that you want to marry me. I'll let you say that when you are wide-awake and doing it properly. And if you never do, at least I'll always know that deep down, somewhere inside of you, that’s what you wanted.

I hate that we have been apart for so long, because being with you always brought me happiness. But the time apart has also helped me grow into the person I am now, which is someone who is so incredibly, deeply in love with you. I don’t know how much simpler I can put it. I love you so much that I'm not even sure I can ever explain to you how much.

There was a reason that I wouldn’t consider marrying Seth, and that's because as long as a part of me was still pinning for you, there was no room for him or anyone else in my heart. When I tried to picture walking down the aisle to meet him, I could never see his face because the figure was always faceless. And somehow, I could see you, you were there, waiting for me, and it was then I knew I was out. It wasn't fair to him.

There is something about you that brings out the best in me, which I think is important for a relationship. I love fighting with you, I love that things aren’t always easy, but it’s always been worth it. My biggest fear is that we won't have a chance to even start because of this damn cancer. But I plan on fighting like hell so we finally get our shot.

If, God forbid, things don’t turn out the way I want, you’ll probably find this journal anyway. So there are a few things I need you to know.

First, having you in my life has brought me more joy than any career or amount of money ever could. And even if it's only for a day, I will die happy because I have you in my life.

Second, I didn't fall for you the moment we met, because, as you know, I don't believe in love at first sight. Besides you were much too cocky for your own good and you know it. But I did fall for you the night you called me from my driveway and I fell a little more every day after. You became the ideal, by which all other guys were measured.

And last, I want you to be happy with or without me. (Preferably with me). I’m not being selfless; trust me, because I want you all to myself. But, if it’s not me, I want the most wonderful woman in the world (after me) to snatch you up and make lots of little Drews with you. I've had mine and every girl needs a "Drew" in her life.

In case you haven't figured it out, I'll spell it out. You are the love of my life and I am so grateful to have had you. I’ll love you. Forever. Until my last breath.

When I finish reading my note to him, new tears leave my eyes, and I notice the dried tear stains on the pages from when I originally wrote to him. I brace myself to turn the page and read his response, but when I turn the page, it's blank.
There's nothing there.
Does that mean he didn't read it?

He comes back into my room a few minutes later and takes a seat next to me, followed by my mom and dad. I search his face for some clue, but he gives nothing away, so I release a breath, and relax, knowing that those last thoughts in the journal were mine. Only now, I’m not so sure how I feel about it.