As the meeting wraps up, Dr. Anderson walks us to the door and extends his hand to me.
“I don’t pretend to know everything, Liv,” he says. “But I can promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you live a long and healthy life.”
I thank him, and Dean and I leave the office. As we get into the car, I say, “I want him to be my doctor.”
Dean flips through the pages of his notebook. “There are still two we haven’t met with yet.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone else.” I pull on my seatbelt. “I want to get started with treatment, and I really like Dr. Anderson.”
“He’s been in practice for the least amount of time, compared to the others,” Dean says.
“I’m going with Dr. Anderson.” I throw him an irritated glance. “Did you not like him?”
“I liked him, sure. But Dr. Lincoln has twenty more years of experience.”
“Dr. Lincoln also spent most of our meeting talking to you rather than me.”
“Dr. Mitchell is the director of the oncology board,” Dean says. “Dr. Graves does breast surgeries every week, and she’s worked on numerous clinical trials.”
“I don’t want a doctor whose last name is Graves.”
“Liv.” Dean pushes the key into the ignition and turns to face me. Lines of stress bracket his mouth. “You can’t reject a doctor based on her name.”
My jaw tightens. “I can reject or choose a doctor based on whatever criteria I want. I’m the one with the goddamned tumor.”
He holds up his hands. “Okay. If you’re comfortable with Dr. Anderson, that’s fine.”
“I’m not asking for your approval.”
“I wasn’t—” Dean stops, turning his attention to backing out of the parking space.
We’re both silent the entire drive home. We stop to pick up Bella from preschool, though for the first time ever the sight of our daughter doesn’t soothe my prickliness.
I hug her tightly, rubbing my cheek against her silky hair. I can’t stop what’s happening to me, but I can pray that the effect on this beautiful girl is minimal.
“Did you have a good day?” I ask.
She nods, pointing to her purple butterfly backpack. “Matthew is having birthday.”
“Really? Lucky Matthew.”
Bella digs into her backpack and produces a crumpled invitation, which spells out the details of Matthew’s party at the children’s museum. Even something so simple makes my stomach tighten with anxiety, as I think of Nicholas and Bella’s many birthdays to come.
The three of us head home together. Nicholas is going to his friend Henry’s house after school, so Dean sits at the sunroom table to draw with Bella while I get dinner started. I try to channel my irritability into cooking, flipping through my cookbooks to concoct a menu of crispy pork and roasted vegetables.
I could die.
The thought simmers beneath everything I do, an underground river of fire. I dump the washed carrots onto the cutting board and start to slice them.
Though no day is promised to anyone, I’d expected—certainly hoped—to live a long time. And despite reassurances and statistics, the stark fact is that I am suddenly facing an illness that kills people, young and old, all the time.
All the fucking time.
A sharp pain shoots through my hand. I gasp and drop the knife. Blood swells from a cut on my finger.
Dean is at my side in an instant, reaching out to grasp my wrist and guide me over to the sink.
“Doesn’t look too bad.” He examines the cut and grabs a paper towel to press against it. “You okay?”
I laugh, a shrill, unnatural sound.
“Sure,” I say. “I’m just fine.”
A shadow darkens his expression. He concentrates on pressing the towel to my finger until the bleeding stops.
“Liv, what…” His throat works with a swallow. He tightens his grip on my wrist. “What do you need me to do? You know I’ll do anything.”
We look at each other. His gold-flecked brown eyes. His familiar, beautiful face. His thick, dark hair.
Pain fills my chest.
I’ve depended on Dean for so much over the years. I was so happy to simply be his wife, until I realized I also wanted to be more. That I could be more.
I’ve had to learn to stand on my own, and then to understand that I can be independent and still ask for his help. I’ve had to accept that being in control and fixing things is part of who Dean is, and that needing him is part of who I am.
And I know that my need for him, and his desire to take care of me, is important