Page 96 of Fearlessly Us

Now it’s Maya’s turn to snort. “Trust me. It may have been a good kiss, but it was the wrong guy. But you have the right guy, so tell me more about that. Especially the sexy parts.”

Laughing, I get ready to do exactly that when the door to the exam room eases open. I stiffen, anxiety whipping through me, but it’s not the doctor. It’s a nurse who sets down a metal tray with some tools on it and nods to us before leaving and closing the door behind her.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Maya says, taking my hand and leaning her head against mine.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, soaking in the comfort of having my friend next to me. “I’m not. I mean, I didn’t think I was. I shouldn’t be. I know what this is. At my first appointment with this doctor, she told me she was as sure as she could be that it’s endo and the surgery was just to confirm what she already knew. Then in the recovery room she told me what she found, and that they needed to confirm with pathology but she was sure then too. I’m not going to learn anything I don’t already know. None of this will be life changing.”

Maya squeezes my hand. “Maybe not, but it’s been a long road to get here, and even if all this does is confirm what you already knew to be true, it’s still a kind of validation you didn’t know you’d ever get. Validation a lot of women in your position never get to have. That’s not nothing, Cait. It’s a big fucking something.”

I feel an odd sort of satisfaction at Maya’s words. At the acknowledgement of everything I’ve been through and all the years I’ve spent asking questions I wondered if I would ever get the answers to. “I’m so sorry.” I’ve said those words before, but it feels good to say them again. “I know I’ve told you before, but I need to say it again. I should have told you years ago. All of you. I didn’t know how, and I felt like I should be able to handle it on my own the way I always did, but those are stupid excuses. I’m glad you know now, and I’m glad I don’t have to be here alone. Drew offered to come, and he would have dropped everything if I asked him to, but I’m happy it’s you.”

Maya wraps an arm around my shoulders in a side hug. “I’m glad it’s me too. And if it wasn’t me, it would be Maddy. Or Soph or Sarah or Emmy. What happened before doesn’t matter. Now is what matters. This. That we can be here for you today and for all the days that come after. You never have to do anything alone, Cait. Not if you don’t want to, and if you do want to, we’ll all convince you it’s a terrible idea. Smart bitches stick together. Oh my god!” she exclaims. “We should totally put that on a T-shirt!”

Laughing, I tug up the paper sheet that managed to slip down again. I really fucking hate these paper sheets.

“Fucking done,” Maya declares, whipping out her phone and unlocking it, like she’s about to design a mug sitting right here in this room. But before she can do anything, the door opens and this time it’s the doctor who walks in, smiling and radiating confidence as my anxiety spikes all over again.

“You’re not alone,” Maya says quietly, taking my hand again. “It’s going to be okay.”

And with one of my best friends next to me, knowing for one of the first times in my life the other four are just a phone call away and the man I love will be waiting for me at the end of the day, I let Maya’s words sink in, feeling like no matter what I’m about to learn, everything really will be okay.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

DREW

“Damn I’m good,” I mutter with a grin, whisking the bubbling cheese sauce on the stove. With my free hand, I shake more pepper into the sauce before flicking off the burner and dumping the cooked pasta into the pot, folding it all together. Blue boxed macaroni and cheese, I think with a snort as I pour the mixture into the casserole dish I have prepped on the counter and then slip it into the fridge to bake later, closer to dinner time.

As if I would let the most amazing woman on earth go to an important doctor’s appointment and not feed her the very best macaroni and cheese afterwards. Giving her a kind of comfort I suspect she’ll need after today.

Washing out the pots, I stick them in the dishwasher and wipe down the stovetop before taking my sourdough starter out of the fridge and grabbing a clean glass mason jar. With careful, practiced movements, I add the starter, flour, and water to the empty jar, stirring the mixture and setting it aside to rest until I make the dough tomorrow and putting the discard back in the fridge for the brownies I have planned for later.

With that done, I lean against the counter and survey the clean kitchen, satisfaction humming in my veins. Cooking and baking has always been a happy place for me, and it’s been a way to connect with the mom I lost when I was way too young to be able to process the enormity of that loss, especially without any kind of support system to help me through it.

And now, being able to cook for Caitlin—caring for someone I love in this way—adds another layer of complexity to the hobby that has saved me over and over again through the years. And using my mom’s sourdough starter I found in the fridge all those years ago feels like a way to introduce Caitlin to her, even though they’ll never know each other. A way to keep my mom’s memory alive for me and for the only other woman I’ve ever loved. Another way to say to Caitlin in a way I’ve never said to anyone before, This is me.

And this is me, I think. Loving Caitlin with the whole of me. Caring for her. Planning for a future I didn’t think I would get to have. I was hiding myself, but I think maybe now I’m the most me I’ve ever been because one night I won a Super Bowl and ran into a girl at a club with purple toenails and a look in her eyes like she was hiding who she was too. She gave me a second chance even though I really didn’t deserve it, and now we get to be ourselves together.

Almost ourselves, I think as I push off the countertop and suck in a breath at the sharp ache in my ribs from the hit I took during practice this morning. The other aches and pains that have settled into my bones from years of running fields and catching footballs and pushing my body to its absolute limits. But the thought of walking away from football and untangling my life from the sport that made me and saved me still makes my heart race and my palms sweat. Never taking the field with Cam again and what that might mean is something my brain still won’t let me process completely.

So I don’t. Not today. Because today is for me and for my girl and for the future I want to have with her. The one that’s so real, it’s like I can reach out and touch it.

The buzz of my phone on the counter breaks me out of my thoughts, and when I click it open, I wish fervently I hadn’t, my hands clasping the phone so tightly it’s a wonder the screen doesn’t shatter into a million pieces as I read the words.

Dad

I wish you would talk to me, son.

I miss you. I’ve been missing you for years.

I know I haven’t always been the best father, but I would really like a chance to make it up to you. Just a conversation is all I’m asking.

I drop the phone to the counter with a loud clatter and clasp the edge of the granite in a white-knuckled grasp. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shove air out of lungs that have forgotten how to work. Try to force good thoughts to cut through the terror trying to overtake my brain.

When my phone buzzes again, I shake my head, keeping my eyes tightly closed in an effort to ignore it, but my brain is a disloyal asshole. A glutton for punishment. Because my eyes drift open and slide to the phone anyway. But when they do, it’s not my dad at all. Snatching it up, my eyes move over the screen, every thought of my dad falling straight out of my head.

Maya

Are you home? Caitlin’s appointment is over and if you’re there, I’m going to drop her off at your house.