Now that I don’t have many calendar boxes left to check off, I’m left wondering if the boxes I had were full enough. And every time, I come up with the same answer: yes.
I haven’t written about this yet, maybe because I had to get to this point in order to look back clearly. Or maybe I didn’t want to risk anyone—Ryden especially—finding out while I was still healthy enough to get mad at. We’ve finally gotten back to us these last few months—no more fighting. It’s been really nice. But I’m out of time. I have to write it down, otherwise no one will ever know, and it will be like it never happened. And it did happen. And I don’t regret it one bit.
So here goes:
I got pregnant on purpose.
I’m sorry, what? WHAT?!?
There, I said it. Or wrote it. Whatever. Whoever’s reading this, please don’t hate me. Just listen. Or read, I guess.
I didn’t even know if it would work, to be honest. I’d already done one round of chemo, and Dr. Maldonado said chemo can mess with your reproductive system. I wanted to try anyway. Because I knew when I got my diagnosis that I was going to die. Dr. Maldonado doesn’t sugarcoat this stuff. The cancer was advanced. It had spread. The odds were not good. Yes, there was a small amount of shrinkage after the first round of chemo, but not enough to matter. It’s my body, and I know it well. I’ve known from the beginning I was going to end up here, staring at an empty calendar. It sucks, but it’s the truth.
I wanted to take the time I had and really do something with it. I wanted to make my life matter, to leave behind a legacy. And after Alan said I should “live my life” that day in his room, it all clicked. I’m not an artist or a filmmaker or even a very good writer, but there was something I could create that would be important and make a difference in the world. A baby. I could use what was left of my life to give life to someone else. Like magic. And I actually had a boyfriend for the first time in my life. An amazing boyfriend who I wanted to be with on every possible level. It couldn’t have been more perfect.
So we did it. We had sex. And then we did it a few more times. We never used a condom, because as far as Ryden knew, I was on the pill, though I’ve never taken the pill in my life.
Ryden would never talk to me again if he knew I got pregnant on purpose. He didn’t want to keep the baby. I hate that I’ve been lying to him, but I can’t lose him. I need him. I love him so much. And I love our baby so much, even though I haven’t met her yet.
There are only three truly important things left in my life: My baby. Ryden. And the cancer. We’re all so intertwined that I can’t imagine any of them without the others.
Because even before the pregnancy, even before Ryden and I were together, he was part of it.
I liked him so much freshman and sophomore years that I couldn’t concentrate. I could barely sleep. I didn’t have an appetite. All I ever thought about was Ryden and how utterly convinced I was that we were meant to be together. Even when I started feeling really terrible midway through sophomore year with the fatigue, the unexplained bruising, the constant feeling that I couldn’t get enough air, Ryden was still the primary occupant of my thoughts.
As this is the time for the truth, there’s something else I want to get out there, something else I’ve never told anyone: while I sat there in that oversized chair during my first chemotherapy treatment, shivering and sick, I wondered if maybe I would have picked up on the warning signs earlier if I hadn’t been so infatuated with Ryden. Turns out the symptoms of an unchecked melanoma that has metastasized to your liver, gallbladder, and kidneys are remarkably similar to those of lovelornness.
Would things have been different if I hadn’t had a crush on him? Would I have noticed that the mole on my leg, the one that had been there as long as I could remember, had changed? Would I have gone to the doctor sooner? Would I be less sick now?
I don’t have answers to these questions, and I never will.
But I don’t care.
I got to be with the guy I love, against all the odds. And he loves me too. And I get to take all that love and energy and joy and pass it on to my daughter. My legacy.
Though I may not have many boxes left, the ones I have are pretty damn perfect.
Chapter 28
“Pretty damn perfect?!” I slam the book against the face of the locker across from me. The sound of my voice reverberates down the empty hallway. I thrust my hands through my hair, pulling hard, feeling the skin of my scalp tugging away from my skull, and let out the longest, loudest scream I can.
Full sentences are beyond me right now. All I’ve got are words. Tiny phrases. Like my head is one giant keyword infographic.
On purpose.
Legacy.
Love.
Lying to him.
Need.
Perfect.
Symptoms.
Lovelornness.
Blame.
My fault.
Her fault.
On. Fucking. Purpose.