Page 129 of Something Like Forever
Tim glanced at his phone,which sat on the small table in front of the sofa. His appointmentwith the surgeon was tomorrow. Twice he had picked up the phone andnearly called MD Anderson to cancel. He knew he didn’t want to gothrough with the surgery. He just wasn’t sure what his backup planwould be. Letting the cancer slowly kill him? That scared him too.More chemo perhaps. Dr. Staples had said that they could try ahigher dose. That meant even worse side effects, but he wouldrather have a super-powered flu from Hell than let someone cut himopen. Those horror movies Jason liked so much were nothing comparedto the photos Tim had discovered when researching lobectomies. Theprocedure might not be as gory, but seeing an open maw in the sideof someone’s torso…
Tim winced against themental imagery and wondered if he should try painting somethingsurgery-related to purge that fear from his system. He had hopedfor catharsis when coming out here to paint, but he had also hopedto escape the constant nightmare, not delve deeper into it. Timsighed, set down the paintbrush, and sat on the sofa. Then hegrabbed his phone. He would call and reschedule the surgery for afew weeks later. That was fair! He needed the time tothink.
Before he could, he heardthe sound of a car outside. He rose and went to the door, openingit in time to see Ben pulling a suitcase along behindhim.
Tim leaned against thedoorway, hoping he looked cool despite feeling like shit, and gavehis best, “Hey.”
Ben leapt in surprise, nothaving noticed him. Then he abandoned the suitcase, rushing over togive him a hug and a kiss. “How are you?” Ben asked, but notcasually. Whenever people spoke these words to Tim lately, eachsyllable was soaked with concern.
“Fine,” Tim said. “Justgetting some painting done.”
Ben brightened up, wellaware of his limited output since the diagnosis. “Oh! That’s great!Can I see?”
“Uh,”Tim said, wanting to say no. But he couldn’t. His art was toosynonymous with his feelings, and denying Ben either would hurthim, especially now. “Okay. There’s nothing to show. I just gotstarted.” Two hours ago.
He led Ben inside thestudio and gestured at the pathetic attempt. Ben considered it,struggling to find anything complimentary to say. “Well, I lookforward to seeing how it turns out.”
“Assuming I finish itbefore I croak,” Tim said. It was meant to be a joke. One of poortaste and timing, because it did more than bomb. It made Benexplode.
“What’s that supposed tomean?”
Tim blinked, surprised bythe anger. “I was just—”
“Do youwant to marry me?” Ben was scowling, arms crossed over his chest.Had he meant to say divorce instead? Because he didn’t lookhappy.
“Um… We’re alreadymarried?” he tried, hoping it was the right answer.
It wasn’t. “No, we’re not.Not legally. According to the law, I’ve never been married. Ever.”Ben took off the ring Tim had given him, and even more shockingly,did the same with Jace’s ring. Then he slammed them down on thetable. “If you want to be the first man—theonlyman—to have married me, thenyou need to keep your promise.”
“Benjamin, you know I want to, but—”
“I don’t need words from you,” Ben growled.“I need you to get better! Fight this. Beat it or die trying! Whenthe doctor says you’re in remission,thenI’ll marryyou. And when I do, I’ll only put one of those rings back on, andit won’t be Jace’s.” Ben stared right into his eyes, no doubtwanting Tim to know how serious he was, before he turned andstomped out of the studio.
Tim watched him go. Thenhe looked back at the canvas, and instead of seeing two lines, hesaw two people who couldn’t be more different, and yet, stillbelonged to each other. Tim walked over to the easel, picked up hispaintbrush, and started working.
* * * * *
The surgeon’s name was Dr.Jacob Bishop-Sanchez. That’s how he introduced himself. He lookedlike he was fresh out of college. His black hair was slicked back,and perhaps wanting to appear older, he wore smart dark-framedglasses that Tim was sure weren’t prescription. He was agood-looking guy. Or maybe he was really hot, because Ben keptgiggling, even when the doctor hadn’t made a joke.
Tim glared at his husband,then turned back to the doctor, who, for his own sanity and to savetime, he had decided to think of as Dr. Sanchez. “I’m going to needhelp before the surgery,” Tim told him. “Anxiety meds would begood. I didn’t take any for the chemo because I still wanted tofeel stuff, but for this, I don’t. I need to be completely numbemotionally or I’ll chicken out and won’t show up. Wait, can I getdrunk? I’d prefer that instead.”
“Youwant to be drunk in the days leading up to surgery,” Dr. Sanchezrepeated carefully. For whatever reason, Ben giggled. “It’s normalfor patients to have concerns before a procedure like this. Whydon’t you tell me yours?”
“The ribfracturing thing,” Tim said instantly. “Aside from how painful thatsounds, I don’t want a giant hole in me, even if I won’t beconscious for it.”
“Do youmean rib spreading?” Dr. Sanchez smiled, causing Ben to gasp. “Thatisn’t part of a video-assisted thoracotomy.”
Tim shook his head. “Awhat?”
“It’s aless intrusive way of performing a lobectomy. We make three smallincisions instead of a large one, as with a posterolateralthoracotomy. Rather than relying on direct visual contact, weutilize a camera to locate the offending lobeinstead.”
“I understood half ofthat,” Tim said, “but it sounded positive.”
“It is,”Dr. Sanchez said. “Take off your shirt for me.”
Ben giggledagain.
This time the doctorturned to him. “Are you all right?”
