"I can read." His voice was calm. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I rolled my eyes. "Look, I told you I was sick. I told you I had cancer. I told you I was dying in six months. What more was there to tell?"
"You're a coward."
I gasped.
"And no I won't apologize for telling you the damn truth. You're a coward, and you know it."
"Get out!" I yelled.
"No." He bared his teeth. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you could get a bone marrow transplant?"
I sighed and leaned back against the pillows. "Because I can't."
"You've tried everything but the transplant."
"I know."
"Why?"
"Just because you're my husband doesn't mean you have the right to demand answers out of me."
"Like hell it doesn't!" He slammed the chart onto the chair and faced me, his hands bracing the side of my bed. "Tell me why."
I felt my body hunch, almost like I was trying to crawl into myself. I hated feeling small, and in that moment with that large Italian man hovering over me, his face menacing, I felt small, not afraid, but small. Like maybe I did deserve his anger.
"Because it won't work," I whispered.
"And you know that how?"
"Because nothing else has!" I yelled. "Alright? Nothing has helped. I've had leukemia for years, Sergio, years! Doctors appointments, chemotherapy, radiation, pills, pills, and more pills. Nothing has worked. Nothing. Besides, I'm too far gone, the odds of a bone marrow transplant, the odds of someone else's blood working in my body? Slim to none."
"But there's still a chance."
"There's always a chance."
"So take it."
"You don't get it.
"Try me," he growled. "This isn't you, this scared little girl. It's not you."
"Oh, and you know me so well." I rolled my eyes. "Besides, this isn't your style, Sergio, you don't worry about people in hospitals. You freaking put them there!"
"You don't know shit!" His voice rose.
"I know you don't care!" I fired back. "So why start now?"
His eyes filled with tears. What the hell was wrong with him? "It's stupid, not to take a chance, regardless of how slim that chance, at life."
"What? So now you're preaching to me about living when a few days ago you wanted to put a bullet in my head?"
His eyes were shuttered again, no emotion showing through. "Not everyone gets the chance you're getting."
"Why can't you let me die happy?"
"So that's it? You're going to selfishly let yourself die when you could live, because you're afraid of something not working? So what? It doesn't work, then you still die, Andi. At least you tried. Not everyone who has cancer has options. You do."
"I've made my choice."
"Like I said…" He rose from the bed. "Coward."
"Get out!" I yelled, my voice hoarse.
"Like I would stay!" He basically stomped out of my room.
It wasn't more than three seconds before Nixon was in my doorway.
I glanced at him guiltily. "You heard?"
"Pretty sure the whole floor heard." He winced. "Kinda harsh, Andi."
"Not you too." I was too weak to argue more than I already had. "He doesn't get it."
"I think you'd be surprised what he does and doesn't get, especially when it comes to cancer."
My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Look…" Nixon sat on the edge of my bed. "…I'm only telling you this so you don't hate him more than you already do, or more than he already hates himself. His mom died of cancer. In this hospital. On this floor."
My stomach sunk.
"It was aggressive, so aggressive she literally had no options. It was like, one day she was fine and the next the doctors were telling the family she had weeks to live."
Tears welled in my eyes.
"So…" Nixon stood, his movements jerky. I could tell he wasn't used to talking about himself or about anything personal. Nixon was a lot like Sergio in that way; he kept pieces of himself hidden. "…Sergio was here every damn day. And in the end, when his mom died, he took the blame."
"But…" I shivered and pulled up the blankets. "..It's not his fault she got cancer."
Nixon let out a bitter chuckle. "His father thought otherwise… had Sergio been a better son, his mom wouldn't have been stressed, and the cancer wouldn't have been able to spread so quickly. Had Sergio watched his mother more carefully while his father was away doing business, they would have caught it in time. Really, take your pick. It was all Sergio's fault. What's worse? I think a part of Sergio believed him—Hell, I think he still believes him. His dad was a real piece of work. My father despised him, and that's really saying something, since my father considered torturing me an extracurricular activity."
"Nixon…" I blinked back tears. "…get my husband and send him back in here?"
"No." Nixon shook his head. "He doesn't deserve your pity, just like you don't deserve his. He hates it. He'll know I told you. And I didn't tell you so that you'd feel sorry for him. I told you so you'd understand why he's so pissed at you."