Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/n: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You guys are truly wonderful!
Perseus and Andromeda Up in the Sky
A story by Ryeloza
Chapter Six
It rained that morning.
Tom could hear the patter of water against the roof as he woke up, slowly opening his eyes to the dark gray light of the stormy dawn. He loved mornings like this. As rare as they were, each one felt like the perfect excuse to just be lazy, lounge in bed, and listen to the chaos of the world outside. Yawning, stretching, and shutting his eyes again, Tom rolled over like a slug and reached for his wife, determined to convince her that they could afford to sleep in—blatant lie though it might have been.
His arm skimmed a pillow, cool to the touch, and he reluctantly opened his eyes. Empty bed; empty room; it was only six o'clock, but she had clearly been up for awhile. As much as he wanted to curl up and fall back to sleep until she prodded him, he somehow found the willpower to climb out of bed and venture into the bathroom, barely registering surprise at the sight of his wife standing at the sink, staring at herself in the mirror.
"Hey," he yawned, coming up behind her. He patted her hips as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Come back to bed. We can be late just this once."
She stood quietly, unresponsive for a moment, not even sparing him a glance. Somehow, despite the fact that she was gazing at her own reflection, there was nothing vain about it. Whatever she saw, though, was a mystery to him, and it was too early for him to try to figure it out. Finally, just as he sank down on the toilet seat with a tired sigh, she spoke.
"Not today. My appointment is at eight, remember? We're barely going to have time to make sure my mom is up to get the kids off."
"Right." He shut his eyes and fought off a wave of nausea. Something—the rain, the bleak day, his exhaustion—had pushed his dread of this morning right out of his mind, and now it had returned tenfold. "Big fun," he joked lamely.
"Uh-huh."
Strangely disappointed that his quip hadn't evoked a response, he blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Well, as long as we're up, why don't I just go make sure your mom's up, and then you and I can sneak out to breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat. Doctor's orders."
"Tom…"
"Or I could make you oatmeal. It's a perfect day for oatmeal."
"Tom…"
"Cinnamon rolls? A bagel? English muffin?"
That, finally, drew her eyes away from the mirror. The tiniest spark of annoyance in her eyes made him smile. "Sweetie, I'm really not hungry."
Facing her exasperation with a frank, stern smile, he echoed her artificially saccharine tone: "Sweetie, I really don't care."
Her face registered the slightest surprise, but something in her eyes softened just a bit. "Fine," she said huffily. "But only toast."
"It's going to have jelly. And you're going to love it."
She smiled, bending and putting her hands on his cheeks, and gave him a gentle kiss.
June 4, 2008
Dear Lynette,
Can you tell I'm only pretending to be brave?
Funny, it's a question I can only ask you here, in a place where you'll never see it. You'd probably consider that alone cowardice; me running from confrontation as usual. But I see it as a cautionary approach. If you can't tell, then I really don't want you to know that I'm scared. I guess it's a catch-22, though; if I don't ask I won't know.
Maybe I don't want to know.
Maybe I already do.
The other night in the car, I could see the accusation in your eyes; the implication that I'm not being as strong as you need me to be right now. But admitting out loud that you could…
Even here, I can't write it.
Today, though, I tried so hard—harder than I've ever tried in my life to put on a brave face and pretend that everything is going to be okay. I smiled and held your hand and told stupid jokes and talked to your mother for over an hour just so you could have a break from her and helped the kids with their homework while you were napping. And I want to say that it was fine, that we're going to be able to get through this unscathed, but the truth is that I'm so exhausted tonight that I can't imagine doing this again two days from now. And again next week. And the week after that.
It doesn't mean that I won't. It doesn't mean that I don't want to. Just…
Just that this is going to be so much harder than I thought.
That sounds ridiculous. I mean, I knew going in that it was going to be hard, but all I was thinking about was the emotional fatigue and the fear and anxiety. I didn't think about everything else. I didn't realize just how much the chemo would really wipe you out. I didn't consider all the hundreds of little things that I've become so used to doing with a partner. And today it all just hit me like a ton of bricks.
How you're going to be tired all the time.
How somehow the cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping and dry cleaning are all still going to have to get done.
How the kids need their routine—need us one hundred percent, even if we don't feel like giving it.
How I'm still going to have to work…
How do people do this?
How am I going to be able to do this?
How am I going to be able to do this without letting you see how tired and stressed and scared I am?
Do you know the worst part? I want to say all of this to you: my partner and best friend and lover. You've always been the person I can talk to about anything.
But how can I complain when it's so much worse for you?
I miss you.
Tom