Need Me (Mess with Me 3)

The next morning, I’m up before the alarm goes off. After a night of tossing and turning, there’s no point in pretending I can sleep anymore. With my erratic schedule insomnia is a constant friend but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep last night anyway.

I have to see my oncologist today. It’s the big one. The five-year follow-up appointment.

My mom never called me back last night. Maybe she had to get a later flight. I call her again but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Where are you, Mom?”

Maybe she got in really late and is still asleep. If there’s one thing Ingrid Larsson takes seriously, it’s beauty sleep.

I spend a little time scrolling on Instagram, looking at beautiful pictures of kitchen renovations and girls sharing coupon codes for various boutiques.

It’s perfectly mindless and exactly what I need right now. Anything to take my mind off the milestone today represents. Five years is a significant number for a lot of cancer survivors. As my oncologist likes to tell me, it doesn’t mean I’m “cured” but my chance of reoccurrence goes way down. I won’t have to come in to see her as often anymore.

For me, this appointment represents being able to live without feeling like I’m holding my breath the whole time.

I take a quick shower and then put on some comfy leggings and a long shirt. My appointments are usually scheduled for the morning just in case she wants to do any imaging. You can’t eat or drink anything before most of those tests. So I’ve gotten used to skipping breakfast on these days.

My phone still shows no unread emails, no calls and no new texts. I rub my face before calling my mom again. Maybe she’s in the shower right now and hasn’t seen my other calls. She knows what a big deal this is.

It goes straight to voicemail.

Pushing aside the disappointment, I grab my purse and stuff a water bottle in there since I’m usually thirsty afterward.

My car is parked two blocks away since parking in Adam’s Morgan is always terrible. A few years ago Dr. Rose moved her practice to the neighboring state of Virginia. It’s a bit of a drive but I don’t mind the trip. If there’s a chance that I might get bad news, I don’t want it from a stranger.

The traffic is relatively light since it’s a weekday and before long I’m cruising down I-95 with the windows down. It’s a nice day and that feels like an omen. I latch onto the feeling with everything I have. Today has to be good news.

The doctor’s office is in a large building that’s connected to a hospital. I see the sign first. Northern Virginia Oncology Partners.

It always amazes me when I come out to the suburbs and remember that I don’t have to fight for a parking space. I park right across from the front door under a tree bursting with vibrant pink flowers. I glance at the clock on the dash.

It’s almost time.

I call my mom again. When it goes to voicemail, I don’t bother leaving a message. Tears prick my eyes.

This is why you don’t get your hopes up, Ari. People disappoint you.

This time I thought she might actually come through for me. That she would show up when it was important. But I don’t have time for this. I can’t be late.

I grab my bag and lock the car behind me. As I approach the front door, I’m mentally preparing myself for what’s about to happen. The exam and blood work isn’t so bad. For me, the hardest part of coming here every few months is the awful sense of dread that haunts me for a week afterward until I get the all clear. Waiting to hear if you’re okay is excruciating and it hasn’t gotten much easier over the years. I just thought, this once, maybe I wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Once I reach the door, I suddenly can’t do it.

I put a hand to my throat and close my eyes. My breath is coming fast and hard. There’s a wooden bench to the left of the door so I walk to it and sink down gratefully. I keep my head tipped down so no one will see me crying.

Someone sits next to me and I look up, startled. Vin doesn’t look at me, keeping his eyes on something in the distance.

“How did you find me?”

“Maybe I have radar for when you need me.”

“Radar, huh? The kind that leads you to my exact location in another state?”

“Mmm, hmm.”

I swipe at the tears on my cheeks with the edge of my sleeve, wishing that for once I’d remembered to pack practical things in my purse instead of just lip gloss and junk food.

He finally glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Or maybe I’m a stalker who followed you from your apartment.”