In the harsh light of day, I’m bombarded with doubt. I’ve always prided myself on being in control of my life, but for longer than I care to admit, that grip has been slipping away from me. I’m retracing every decision I made that has led me to where I am and I’m not sure how to feel about everything. It’s much deeper than the decisions of the past few months. I pull the covers tighter over my chest as I think about all the ways I failed Melanie when we were younger. The way I stopped caring what happened to me after she left. I was the king of assholes during that time in my life, using any woman I could get my hands on as a way to satisfy my primal urges without allowing myself to get close to anyone. I didn’t want intimacy. I couldn’t have the comfort of another human being because I knew, even though I wasn’t allowed to speak to her, that I had taken a piece of Melanie that was sacred.
Alyssa was originally one such arrangement. She was a decent enough person, but never the type of woman I would settle down with, even if I was looking for that. Her body was fit without looking like she obsessed over every calorie that passed her lips or how many minutes she spent in the gym daily. She was low maintenance and always up for a good time. By the time she showed up at my door, pregnant, I was growing bored with her. I was angry with her, accused her more than once of tampering with the condom, which is ludicrous seeing as I never trusted a woman to deal with the only barrier guarding my precious freedom.
No matter how much Alyssa told me she saw the changes in me after her first diagnosis, I’ve always wondered if I would have made them if not for the fact I thought she was going to die. The past few years have showed me that traumatic life changes make people do things they wouldn’t normally. The only thing I know right now is that I’m going to go insane if I don’t figure out a way to know, for myself, that I’m not making rash decisions right now. I owe that to everyone involved in this fucked up situation.
“What does this mean?” she asks the oncologist, who has just informed us that Alyssa has acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Up until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t even aware that there were different types of leukemia. “I mean, is there anything you can do? Jacob and Xavier need me, so I want to do whatever I can to fight this.”
For the past few months, I’ve watched Alyssa struggle to take care of the day-to-day needs of the house while battling persistent headaches. Instead of using Jacob’s nap times to catch up on housework, she has been curling up on the couch and going to sleep. And being the asshole that I am, I’ve spent three months in a state of constant annoyance at her laziness. I don’t require much from her in exchange for the luxury of being a stay-at-home mom, but I do expect her to do all of the things most mothers would do, including cooking and cleaning while I’m at work.
As I watch her pepper the doctor with questions, trying to find out how she can come through the other side of this as a cancer survivor, I’m struck by her strength. Not once during the time since she started to feel sick has she tried to make excuses for work not being done. She has simply apologized to me. That should have been a huge sign to me that something was off, but I was too self-absorbed to see it.
The oncologist sits talking about five-year survival rates and treatment options, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. I’m too busy watching Alyssa, admiring the determination in her features. It’s pretty twisted that it has taken something like this to open my eyes to the type of woman she truly is.
“Daddy, we made you breakfast!” I’m pulled from my thoughts by my son jumping onto my side of the bed. Behind him, Melanie is carrying a tray with coffee, eggs, toast and a bowl of grapes. “She spent the night! Do you know what that means?”
I look to Melanie and see the concern I feel mirrored back at me in her features. Even with a deeply furrowed brow and the corner of her lower lip drawn between her teeth, my breath catches at the sight of her. She’s always beautiful, but as Jacob just pointed out, this is the first time she’s spent the night in the same bed, and that somehow changes things. We all know it, but I’m most nervous about how Jacob thinks the relationship has changed.
“What does it mean, buddy?” I ask, settling him against my hip. Melanie leans down to place a chaste kiss on my lips as I take my breakfast from her. We both look to Jacob to see if he saw the brief exchange, but he seems unphased. “You didn’t have to do this,” I whisper, my already wandering mind recalling memories of mornings when she used to bring breakfast into the bedroom, giving us both the fuel we needed for a day filled with sex and other darker activities.
"I know,” she responds sweetly. She pushes her way onto the bed and I’m sandwiched between two of the most important people in my life. I won’t admit that there’s still a piece of me wishing it was Alyssa pressed against my side. “I’m sorry, Jacob, were you saying something?”