Page 68 of When Stars Collide
“Mena, when you have a second, could you— Are you crying … again?” His tone softened, his voice lowering so that no one else could hear him. I looked up at him, allowing the tears to answer his question instead of words. Peering behind him to make certain no one noticed him, Phineas let himself inside, closing the door behind him. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“It would be easier to tell you what hasn’t happened.” I sighed, motioning for him to sit down in a chair in front of my desk. “My life has gone to shit in such a short period of time. You would think maybe life could ease us into all the shittiness—you know, prepare us a little. A little heads-up, maybe. But no, we’re blindsided by it.”
“You’re worrying me a little, Mena.”
“That’s good, because I’m worried, too. Misery loves company, you know.” I wiped the tears away from my eyes with the back of my hand. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. I have cancer.”
Phineas’s face fell, resembling what mine must have looked like the moment I began to comprehend my diagnosis. “Mena, I’m sorry. Wh-What kind of cancer?”
“Melanoma. Who would have thought a mole could take a person out.”
“Melanoma is serious. The wife of a former colleague of mine had it. She fought it for quite a while, until—” He stopped himself abruptly, deciding a little too late to shield me from the obvious.
“Until she died.” I didn’t need to look at his face for confirmation. I already knew that’s what he had been going to say.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t the best thing to tell you right now.”
“No, it’s exactly what you should be telling me. You know I don’t sugar coat anything. Besides, I’m stage two, and I may stay a stage two. I won’t know for certain until after surgery, of course, but I’m trying to stay optimistic. If anything is going to take me out, it’s going to involve a bottle of wine and a night of poor decisions, preferably involving Chris Hemsworth.”
“That could be any night.”
“Way to kick a girl while she’s down.”
“Am I wrong?”
“It’s noteverynight.”
Phineas chuckled. “Look, Mena, I don’t think I need to tell you that you have my support. If you need to take some extra time, take it. Your health is more important than anything going on here. In fact, I’m sure Peter’s beside himself right now. Why don’t you take a couple days off and arrange for him to come up here?”
With the mere mention of Peter, Phineas may just as well have punched me in the chest. “That’s not going to be happening.”
“Then why don’t you go down to Virginia?”
“No, no,” I sighed. The pain from our recent breakup was still fresh enough to bring about a dull ache that reverberated from my chest down into my stomach. “I won’t be seeing Peter at all. We broke up.”
“Oh.” I’d seen many facial expressions on Phineas’s face before, but never the one he was projecting now. “Christ, I’m batting a thousand today, aren’t I? When did you two break up?”
“The day after I spent the night at your place. You know, after getting blitzed on your rooftop.”
“Why-Why?” He was trying to toe the line between being a concerned friend and a professional in a position of authority, meaning he had to choose his words wisely. “I hope he wasn’t upset about your spending time with me.”
“No, he cut me off before I could tell him much of anything that happened, actually. I think he already had his mind made up before that night even happened, maybe even earlier. He just didn’t want to tell me beforehand, because he wanted me to enjoy myself and not sulk the entire night.”
A knock on my office door startled the both of us. Seconds later, Penelope poked her head inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Mr. Drake, you have a call from Nicole Casey, the author of that historical romance you reviewed.”
“Ah, yes, please tell Ms. Casey I’ll be right with her.”
“Sure thing.”
Phineas stood up. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”
“What about that tequila cooler I asked you to have installed in the break room months ago?”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” He paused in the doorway, uncertainty in his eyes. He looked like he was going to say something, but he changed his mind at the last second. Instead, he tapped his hand on the doorframe and walked back to his office.
*****
Two months. I had to wait two months for surgery. Two months of uncertainty. Two months of wondering whether my cancer had spread to other parts of my body. Whether I would be a stage two cancer patient with an eighty percent chance of survival, or a stage four cancer patient with a twenty-five percent chance of survival. To say I was going stir crazy would be an understatement; to say I was driving Jo crazy some days with my incessant pacing and stress cleaning was also an understatement.
