What's Left Of Me Part 17

Parker motions for me to take a seat, but Jean tugs on my free hand. "Hey, we're going to go get drinks. Save our spot!" she yells over my shoulder to the guys.

Pulling me toward the bar, I yell, "I can't drink tonight, remember?" The music is blaring so loud I can't even hear my own thoughts.

"Why?" She still has my hand in hers, pulling me through the swarm of people.

I try yelling over the noise of the music and people but she doesn't hear me, so I wait until we reach the bar.

"I'm getting my drugs changed Wednesday for the last two rounds. I had specific instructions not to drink for at least five days prior."

"No s.h.i.+t?"

"You'll survive a night without me drinking." I laugh.

With a vodka cranberry, two beers, and water for me, we make our way back to the table. I slide into the chair next to Parker. His arm is resting on the back of my chair and once I'm seated he scoots his chair closer, bringing his other arm around my waist. I give him a smile and hand him a beer.

"Not drinking tonight?" He motions his beer toward the water bottle in front of me.

"Nah."

We chat, dance in our seats, and laugh about anything and everything. I've never seen Jean so into a guy. She is hanging on his every word like they're her lifeline, eventually making her way onto Tristan's lap.

Shortly after the band comes on, I overhear Tristan yell in Jean's ear that he wants to make his way down in front of the stage. Glancing in that direction, I see the mosh pit already forming. No way in h.e.l.l I'm doing that!

Parker nudges my side. "Doesn't that look like fun?"

"No!"

Laughing, he takes a swig of his beer. "Ah, come on, babe. Just think of how close our bodies will be down there. It will be like old times." He gives a slight wiggle to his eyebrows before rumbling out a deep laugh.

"Our bodies can be close right here." I scoot even closer to him, wrapping his arm back around my waist, putting my free hand in his, and clasping our fingers together. "See. We're close."

That causes him to laugh harder. Jean and Tristan stop mid-conversation to look at us.

"What's so funny?" Jean asks.

"Aundrea wants to go down in the mosh pit!" he yells between laughs.

"I do not!" I yell back over the music.

"Oh, come on, Dre! Think of how fun it will be." She beams.

"No." I don't feel like getting pushed around. It's not even the fact that I feel minor aches and pains in my joints. I can push through that, but I can see me slipping on someone's spilled beer and falling to my death in the middle of the sticky, dirty floor. No one will be paying attention because they'll be jumping and slamming to the music. I'll end up getting stomped on, kicked, and probably with someone's bodily fluids sprayed all over me. Or, worse, I'll be pushed and my wig will go flying to the ground. That does not sound like a good time to me.

"I think there's a small opening in the center we can squeeze our way into," Tristan points.

Or not.

Yeah. The center. Right in the middle of the action.

Parker and Jean both turn to get a better look. I take this opportunity to look for the nearest exit sign because I'll be using it a lot sooner than I intended. There is no way I am risking losing my hair over this.

Clapping her hands, Jean bounces in her seat like a five year old. "You're right! Come on, let's go. It will be so much better down there." She grabs Tristan's arm, pulling him away from the table.

Better? How is being pushed and shoved better? I need this explained to me.

"Come on, Aundrea," Parker says, standing.

He doesn't take my shaking head as an answer because he starts to pull me up from my chair.

"I'll keep my arm around you the entire time. I'll s.h.i.+eld you from harm's way," he says protectively, while winking.

We walk side by side to the floor where all the crazies have formed. Parker's arm remains tight around my waist. We stand in the back of the crowd away from the mosh pit.

Parker starts to dance and it's nothing like our dancing before. It's carefree. He's carefree. He throws his hands in the air, dancing and screaming with the crowd.

He looks so young, like he hasn't a care or worry in the world. He's free. He has the largest smile on his face, fist b.u.mping the air, splas.h.i.+ng beer out of the bottle, and trying to sing along to the lyrics.

In this moment, there is no fear.

No judgment.

No outsiders.

No cancer.

Everyone is equal.

It's about being free.

It's about letting it all go.

Moving closer to Parker, I throw my hands in the air and move gently on tiptoe with the beat of the drums. I'm worried about jumping too much and causing my wig to fall backward. I yell and cheer with everyone else, making the occasional discrete wig check.

I can see Parker watching me with a look of l.u.s.t. Closing my eyes, I let the music take over.

I forget about yesterday.

I don't think about tomorrow.

I'm just Aundrea.

I'm free.

Chapter Twelve.

I hate small talk. Talking about the weather, school, local events ... it's all boring. It's information to pa.s.s the time. I'd rather say, "Hi, I'm fine, thanks, bye." But I can't do that with my parents. Especially my mom.

"School is fine, Mom. I have a laid back instructor who lets us work at our own pace."

"Your own pace? What kind of cla.s.s is this?"

"It's online, Mom. The first day he posted the schedule and a.s.signments, allowing us to work ahead if we want."

"Work ahead? So you're teaching yourself? What kind of school is this?"

"Mom, it's fine. A lot of online cla.s.ses are more chill. It's why we take them." Hey, I'm only being honest. Everyone is a procrastinator from time to time. That's why online cla.s.ses are so great.

"Well, I don't like it. I'm thinking about the loans you'll have and for what? For a cla.s.s where the teacher doesn't even teach?"

"Mom, he does. He still posts lectures that we have to listen to in order to get the credit. It's fine. I a.s.sure you."

"If you say so. How is everything else going? Jason's not overworking you is he? Because I can have your dad talk to him."

"No, he's fine. I'm barely there, to be honest."

"And you're feeling better?"

Feeling better? Am I?

"Yeah, of course. Everything is good." I can see my reflection in the sliding gla.s.s doors off the patio. There are dark purple bags under my eyes from the lack of sleep. I get maybe three hours a night. The pain in my joints is becoming too uncomfortable, and the pain medication isn't helping. I try to m.u.f.fle my cries with my pillow, but I have a feeling Genna hears them.

"Good. I'm glad, honey. Dad and I took a couple weeks off, so we can be with you for your last two treatments." My parents tried to make it up on the weekends, like we talked about, but the timing never worked.

"Sounds good." What else am I supposed to say? Great! Let's make it a party!

"What else is new? I feel like I haven't talked to you in weeks."

Days. It's been two days.

"Nothing is new, Mom."

"Did you tell her about Parker? Tell her about Parker!" Genna calls from somewhere in the house. I'm sitting on the chaise lounge outside on the new patio Jason made for her. It's beautiful: dark red brick with red-cus.h.i.+oned furniture, a small outdoor fireplace, and a built in grill. He even had a canopy custom-made to cover the entire patio so they could sit outside in the shade. It's beautiful. I could sit out here all day in the peace and quiet.

"Who's Parker?" my mom asks. Her voice has lifted, and I can hear her shuffling in her seat. My guess is to get comfortable.

A crisp breeze washes over me and I s.h.i.+ver. I love this weather: cool, fresh, and calming. It's perfect sweats.h.i.+rt and sweatpants weather. For being the beginning of October, it's ideal.

"No one, Mom."

"He's not no one. Tell her," Genna says as she joins me. She shuffles her way next to me on the chaise, making me scoot over to the edge. I have a light blanket covering my lap and she snuggles right in, handing me a gla.s.s of hot chocolate with marshmallows.

"Aundrea! Who is he?" She's practically screaming at me through the phone.

Who is Parker? A friend.

A man I slept with once.

A man I'm spending time with.

A man I enjoy spending time with.

A man who makes me laugh.

A man who makes me feel alive.

A man who makes me forget about the s.h.i.+t I have going on.

"He's a guy I met. He works with Jason. We're just hanging out. It's no big deal." Keep telling yourself that.

"No big deal? I wouldn't call multiple dates no big deal." Genna pushes.

"Multiple?"

"You had the hockey game with dinner, dinner at his house, the rock show, and various lunches."

"The hockey scrimmage was just a friend thing. And his place wasn't a date."

"Right, okay. Well, you've gone out twice, talk every day, and see each other almost every day at the clinic."

"Aundrea! Stop talking to your sister and talk to me." My mom speaks into the phone.

Laughing, I apologize. I tell her a little about Parker, but make it very clear that we're nothing more than friends. The last thing I want is to get her hopes up about me dating.

When I hang up with my mom, Genna is staring at me.

"What?"

"You."

"What did I do?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

"What?" I ask again.

"Did you tell him about your cancer?"

Your? Like I own it?

"No. There's no reason to tell him right now. We're just hanging out and having a good time."

"Why do you do that?"