Goodbye to You (14 page)

I’m going crazy. Given my family’s history of psychological disorders, it could happen.

Schizophrenia can surface in young adulthood as a result of trauma or the unprecedented stress of a radical life event.

These first weeks at NCU mark a sweeping change, and I must be hallucinating. Cause, meet effect.

I swear Thea’s everywhere I go. I’m disappointed when the short, curly-haired blond is not her. I shouldn’t expect to find her on a college campus. She’s not taking classes this semester, and she mentioned she was from Georgia, a few hours from here.

My internship interview with Dr. Sykes, head of neuropsych, is thirty minutes out, which is good because I’m confused about which elevator to take to get to her offices.

For a guy who can maneuver a boat in the dark, I suck at on-shore navigation. A woman is leaning one shoulder against the wall in the hallway, the purse weighing on her thin shoulder. Her bag is familiar.

I shake my head. Another crazy hallucination.

I walk up behind her.

And here come the olfactory hallucinations. She smells of raspberries.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for the neuropsych offices. Can you tell me how to get to that floor?” Her torso shoots from relaxed to ramrod straight.

I continue. “And the numbering of the floors here is confusing. I mean, what building has a floor zero?”

She’s mumbling something. Is it “No way, no way, no way?” Her head shakes, and she turns in slow motion.

She’s gaping at me.

“Oh fuck!” She spits the words out.

Yep. It’s Thea.

“Holy . . . what are you doing here?” I slide my finger into the collar of my dress shirt, which just shrunk two sizes on my neck.

She continues to stare at me, mouth open, cocking her head to the left, wrinkling her forehead.

I reach out to touch her. I want to make sure she’s real.

She flinches.

She’s real.

My hallucination wouldn’t shy away from my touch.

“Thea? Thea? Are you okay?” Her non-reaction concerns me.

“Oh, yeah, God yeah, I’m fine. A better question is what are you doing here?” Her eyes narrow and her jaw tightens.

“Um, med school? The group of buildings behind the hospital where they keep the cadavers and teach us how to stitch up people?”

“Here?” She points her free hand, the one not holding the enormous coffee cup, to the ground. “You’re attending NCU Medical School?”

“Uh-huh. What are you doing here?”

Her eyelid twitches and her forehead wrinkles again. “Meeting Leesh—Felicia—for lunch. She works here.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but I assume one thing: she lives nearby.

“You told me you lived in Georgia.” I rub the bridge of my nose.

“I told you I was
from
Georgia, which is true. You assumed the rest.”

Right. She never told me where she lived. But it’s here. Where I am.

On the outside, I remain calm and collected. On the inside, I’m doing the Snoopy dance.

A quick glance at her clothes tells me she fibbed earlier. Was she avoiding me? “There’s no interview, is there?”

“No.” She flushes bright red from her hairline to the exposed skin at her neckline. As usual, once my eyes find her breasts, I find it difficult to drag them away.

“But you do.”

“Sort of. An informal meeting about a possible internship.”

She nods.

My heart is in my throat, and before I’m rendered mute by excitement, I take a chance like I did that night weeks ago at Paddy’s.

“Go out with me tonight?”

She breathes, sighing loudly on the exhale.

I smile. She once told me she loved my smile.

She crosses her arms over her chest, her head moving from one side to the other.

Then she turns her head to the open door of the coffee shop, relaxes her arms, reaches into her purse, and pulls out her phone.

“All right. Here’s my address.” She furiously taps at the keyboard with her free hand and my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Meet me at seven.”

She darts off in a blur of swirling blond hair and twirling blue skirts, like a fairy flitting away or a gypsy on the run.

I grin as I punch the button on the elevator, hoping it’s the right one as I whistle a happy tune.

What. The. Fuck?

I’ve spent a month immersing myself in meaningless television and eschewed happy romance novels, which I love, for grotesque horror and true crime. All in the name of getting over the beautiful boy from the Keys.

Then he up and shows his face in my neck of the woods. Apparently for the next several years.

years.

I could have said no, lied like I lied about the job interview earlier via text.

When I stared into those honeyed hazel eyes, lying became impossible.

Saying I didn’t want to go on a date would be a whopper.

It’s one meal. After tonight, I’ll pack, break my lease, and move home to Daddy’s. Change my phone number and cut all ties.

Hmmm. It’s an awful lot of trouble to avoid the person I want to spend time with the most.

I still can’t forget the last thing we
almost
said to each other in Florida—and I’m positive he was going to tell me he loved me too.

Stars swirl around my head every time I think of him, and when I turned to find him behind me . . .

The shock about bowled me over.

I think Mama tried to send me a message from heaven when Shay asked me out. A moment after he asked, as I shook my head no, the music from the coffee shop answered the question on repeat in my head: should I say yes?

Fleetwood Mac’s “Over my Head.”

So I agreed.

Seriously though, this is the end.

My boobs get cut out soon, and I can only focus on my recovery and spending time with Jen. She’s better after completing this round of chemo. Time for us to do those sisterly things we love: eat and shop.

Shay can’t take too much time for me anyway. Medical school. The one here is top in the state, renowned throughout the country, and he needs to devote his time to studying, and the internship, if he gets it.

One date will be harmless. Then we’re done. I’ll make that clear tonight.

Leesh comes bounding into the lobby, chattering when she’s still ten feet away from me, but her voice turns to white noise.

“Thea, did you hear me? I swear the hot boy from vacation was wandering around campus the other day. I must be mistaken, but Shay’s legs were memorable, and his ass was impressive if I remember correctly.”

She hushes when I shoot her the side eye.

Leesh vividly remembers the last day in Key West, how much I hurt. We hadn’t talked about it since, but my avoidance of the subject signaled the depths of my pain. The other things I don’t want to discuss are Mama’s death and Jen’s illness.

Unless you’ve watched someone you love wither and pass right before your eyes, you can’t understand. I pray every day for Jen’s recovery. I can’t lose her too, and those precious babies of hers need their mama.

While Bennie and Leesh have suffered break-ups, I think they understand how profound this one was for me. The last one before M-day. Once the boobs are gone, things can never be the same.

I’d thought it wouldn’t matter. My breasts don’t define me, but I fell for a guy who adores them.

My asshole ex-brother-in-law had the gall to tell my sister, when she found a lump, that if she got her “tit cut off she wouldn’t be a real woman.” He hinted he would leave her. She opted out of the mastectomy, and when she got sicker and sicker through her treatment, he walked away.

No one will dictate what I should or shouldn’t do with my body, and I am not putting off life-saving surgery for the sake of any guy.

I’d known Shay for a short time, but he didn’t strike me as just “any guy.” He’s one of the good ones.

Exceptional, even.

Still doesn’t change what I need to do.

Want
to do, I remind myself.

The constant clacking of trays sliding together in the cafeteria line and the lively chatter do nothing to distract me from
him
. I pick a pre-packaged salad from the cold case and grab a plastic bottle of pop.

We sit at a small table by the window, and I rip the sticker off the flimsy packaging and dig in. Well, not exactly.

Leesh clears her throat. “What’s wrong with you? You never get rabbit food, and you’re not even eating the yummy stuff.”

I push the turkey, ham, and croutons around with my fork.

I set the cutlery on the tray. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I’m not all here. I had an unsettling encounter today. Unexpected.”

Leesh sets the fork on her plate, leans her elbows on the table and folds her hands under her chin. “Ooooh. Intrigue. Do tell.”

“It’s possible you saw Shay. He’s here.” I twirl my hand in the air.

“Here?” Her nose crinkles.

“Yes. Here on campus. In this hospital. I talked to him right before you arrived.”

“Oh. My. Gawd.” Her round green eyes grow even wider. If her hair were blond, she’d be the cartoon Rapunzel’s twin, complete with her button nose. “Go on, go on. What did he say? Is he mad you didn’t call him back?”

“He didn’t even ask. Maybe he will tonight.”

She slaps at my hand. “Shut up! Are you going out tonight? What are you wearing? How did he ask? What did you say? Tell me everything!”

I hold my hand up to defend from her rapid-fire inquiry. “Whoa, wait, hold on. One, yes. Two, no idea what I’m wearing. Three, he blurted the invitation. Four, I said okay. I was shaking my head no, but Mama encouraged me to say yes.”

She takes another bite of chicken, chewing as she studies my face. “You believe that, don’t you?”

“I do.” My friends learned not to question me on this issue. They aren’t close to their parents, and if Mama were still alive, we’d be as tight as we were when I was sixteen.

“What was the sign this time?”

“A Fleetwood Mac song. ‘Over my Head.’”

Leesh screws up her face.

“Yeah, you’ve never heard the song.” It wasn’t “Landslide” or “Don’t Stop,” the most played on the radio, which is why it was weird to hear in the coffee shop.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I at least hope it’s a happy one, not one of their depressing ones about somebody cheating or somebody’s Daddy issues or something.” She slurps the last of her drink through the red straw.

My shoulders shake with laughter. If nothing else, I can count on Leesh to keep it real.

“What time is he getting you?”

“Around seven.”

She nods, her bright red hair grazing her shoulders. “Good. I’m off at five. I’ll be there after to help with wardrobe selection. Hold on a sec.”

She pulls her phone from her purse, thumbs flying across the virtual keyboard. Within fifteen seconds, her phone is beeping back. “Excellent. My stylist is free. He’s bringing the flat iron. He’s doing this because he wants to sleep with me. Maybe I’ll let him if he makes you look fabu!”