The Day That Saved Us (36 page)

PEYTON SETS HER
hand on my knee. “You’re making me anxious. Stop it.” I hadn’t realized I was even bouncing my leg. We’ve been waiting for the doctor in a tiny treatment room with posters of lady parts and diagrams plastering the walls. It’s not that seeing the female organs makes me uncomfortable, but I’ve never seen them in so many different forms all in one place.

“Sorry.”
Hold it together, Brodee. You’re supposed to be the rock for her, not the other way around.

I know we’ve probably only been waiting for five minutes, but I swear it’s been hours.

There’s finally a knock at the door, and a man with salt and pepper hair walks inside.

“Peyton,” he greets and shakes her hand. “How are we doing today?”

“Doin’ good!” An automatic response, of course.
How do you think she’s doing, Doc?

“And you are?” Dr. Levanstine—as I read from his white coat—looks to me.

“I’m her best—” I say at the same time that Peyton says, “This is my brother, Brodee.” She’s never referred to me as that before. It sounds so wrong coming out of her mouth. I want to take the words and burn them to ashes.

“Oh, wow. You must take after different parents. You look nothing alike.”

Ha. You could say that. “Well, we’re
step
siblings,” I say, correcting Peyton.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “then, that explains it.”

They talk a little about her medical history. It’s weird the things you can learn about a person during a doctor’s appointment, things I probably could’ve gone my whole life without needing to know.

Dr. Levanstine states, “Right now, in order to see how far the cancer has spread, I’ll need to go in and take a look. If the cancer is confined to one ovary, we’ll be able to do a unilateral salpingo-oopherectomy, which essentially means I’ll remove one ovary and one fallopian tube. If the cancer is confined to one ovary, I’ll be able to harvest your eggs from the other one.”

He carries on, giving Peyton all the different surgery and treatment options. I try to take it all in, to understand what it will mean for her. Everything is starting clog up my thought process.

“And there’s a possibility that it hasn’t spread far enough that I’ll need a hysterectomy?” she asks.

He pauses. “Yes, there is a strong possibility. As far as your tests have shown, you’re in stage 1, but I won’t know the severity of the cancer until I get in there. It’s likely we’ll be able to avoid it.”

“And what if it hasn’t spread that far? Would you still suggest a hysterectomy?” she asks.

The look on his face tells me he hates answering this question with patients. “You’re so young, Peyton. I’d hate to suggest something that’s so permanent, irreversible. It’s your body. Cancer can be aggressive. Even if you think you have it all, it could come back. It could be lurking in places you don’t suspect.” He sets his gaze on her. “Ultimately, it’s your decision. Only you can decide what is best for you.”

Wait. Hold on. What did I miss? Why are we talking hysterectomies?

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Do what you need to do,” she says. “Take the eggs from the other ovary and get rid of everything else if it becomes necessary. Better to be safe than sorry.”

I don’t know how she’s acting so brave. I feel my emotions getting the best of me, and she’s not even mine. It’s not my children she might not be able to carry.

“There’s always adoption, right?” she says, a sad smile tugging on her lips. I take her hand and squeeze. She’s not being optimistic enough. She won’t need to adopt because everything is going to work out. Dr. Levanstine will take care of everything. I push my positive thoughts through my fingers, hoping they’ll infuse into her skin.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take some time to think about this?” I ask. She made that decision without nearly any thought. Maybe she’s in shock. “That’s a huge decision, Pete.”

“I’ve done my research, Brodee. My aunt had ovarian cancer. I don’t want to go through what she did. I’ll do whatever I can to nip it in the bud.”

I nod, trying to accept her answer, but I feel like there has to be another way.

“I promise I will do everything in my power so it doesn’t come to that,” Dr. Levanstine says.

After they set up everything for the procedure, we walk to my car in silence. She doesn’t speak when I start the engine or when I stop for gas. She doesn’t sing or hum along to my radio. She doesn’t say anything until we’re five minutes from home. Even then it’s not words.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Peyton’s head bow, and a gasp is yanked from her lungs. Like she feels the grief deep in her bones, she curls in on herself. I pull over onto the side of the road and stop the car. I don’t think. I take her into my arms, pulling her across the console to hold her in my lap. To hell with her fiancé, she’ll always be my best friend. Her face presses against my shoulder, and her fingers dig into my back. I feel her tears on my neck as she sobs.

“I’ll never be a mom,” her muffled voice cries.

“Peyton, yes you will.” I run my hand over the back of her head. “He said there’s a high chance one of your ovaries can be saved. That’s positive. We need to be positive.”

“But if it can’t…” her voice fades.

“You said so yourself. There are other ways.”

“But they won’t be my blood.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve never thought of having children who weren’t my blood. It never occurred to me that I might not have children of my own. I doubt it’s a thought most men have. Has Tyler ever wondered about these things? Will he be supportive of her even if she can’t have his children?

As I rock her, there’s a part of me that mourns, too. If we were to ever have children, they might not have her face, her smile, or her laugh. What a tragedy that would be.

When her tears subside, she pulls away and apologizes about getting my shirt all wet as she tries to dab it out with her long sleeves.

“Stop it.” I grab her wrists. “I don’t care about some tears on my stupid shirt.”

She nods slightly as her eyes travel from my damp chest to meet mine. The sadness and vulnerability punctures my heart. There’s nothing in the world that I want more than to take away her pain. Even if it means I feel it for the rest of eternity, I’d take it on so she wouldn’t have to.

Her gaze drifts down to my mouth. And suddenly, I’m aware that we’re only separated by inches. It’s hard for me to breathe. Neither of us moves. My self-control is quickly depleting. Her hair made of coconut falls in her face. I’m instantly filled with nostalgia. I feel homesick, but that doesn’t even make sense. I am home.

Peyton can’t be immune to what’s building between us. Her body language and her eyes tell me her shield is down, if only for a few minutes. She’s been a bottle of sealed emotions for so long I nearly forgot what it feels like when she looks at me like she wants me. I let go of one of her wrists and grip the back of her shirt, then think better of it and latch onto my steering wheel. If I don’t hold onto something aside from her, I’ll do something she’ll later make me regret. I watch her swallow, then blink and quickly crawl out of my lap, sitting back in the passenger’s seat. I finally let out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” It’s a broken whisper.

“I don’t want you to ever apologize for suffering.” It comes out more harshly than I intend. I try to soften my tone. “There’s nothing wrong with letting yourself feel your emotions. It’s okay to be human. Let yourself be human.”

It takes her a minute, like she needs to let my words find a place to live, but she eventually says, “Okay,” and I start my car.

“HOW’D THE APPOINTMENT
go?” my mom asks when I walk in the front door. I know Peyton didn’t want me to say anything, but when she found me in my bedroom after Peyton broke the news, Mom wouldn’t let it go.

I drop my keys on the side table just inside the door and drag my hand through my hair.
How did the appointment go?
I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
Please don’t make me think about it.

“Brodee,” she presses.

“Everything the doctor said sounded promising. She has to have surgery, but he sounded optimistic.”

“Then why do you look like you just signed her death certificate?”

I bite my trembling lip and take a deep breath. “Peyton’s not taking it well. The doctor might have to do a hysterectomy. The thought of not being able to carry her own children is hitting her pretty hard.”

My mom rests her hand over her heart as a layer of tears covers her eyes. I can’t handle seeing her cry, too. One woman I love a day. That’s all my heart can handle.

“Oh, Peyton…She’ll never…I just…I thought…” I can tell she’s not finishing her sentences because she’s hiding her thoughts from me, not because she can’t put into words what she’s feeling.

“Just say it, Mom.”

Her lips quiver. “She’ll never be able to carry your babies.”

I know I’ve already had that thought, but hearing it said out loud somehow makes it worse. I bite back my sadness. “She was never going to carry my babies anyway, Mom. They’re going to be Tyler’s. It’s time we all accept that. And Dr. Levanstine said he might be able to save her eggs if one of the ovaries hasn’t been affected, but he’ll have to go in to see what’s going on first.”

She swallows, brushes away the wetness on her face, and folds her arms over her chest. “Well, at least there’s that.”

“Yeah.” Somehow it doesn’t make me feel better. “At least there’s that.”

I MADE RESERVATIONS
for fifteen at my mom’s favorite restaurant downtown called Poogan’s Porch. A couple of her close friends, as well as Carter, Peyton, Skylar, Harper, and Skylar’s parents were invited. I asked her if she wanted me to include Dad and Olivia, but as soon as she hesitated, I decided that it was a bad idea. It’s hard to decipher when it’s right and when it’s not with her, but I figured it was better that I decide not to include them rather than her.

Poogan’s Porch is in an old, yellow restored Victorian house on Queen Street. When my mom and I get there, Peyton is laughing with Carter on the sidewalk in front of the house, this morning’s appointment washed away from her features. When she sees us she smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear, and waves. Peyton is wearing a cream sweater over a long, light blue dress that brings out her eyes. It’s like she’s trying to torture me. Stay in love with me, she says. Never lose sight of what we had. I should be yours.
Shut up, brain.