What's Left of Me (2 page)

Letting out a sigh of defeat, I respond, a little annoyed.
 
“Just because it stretches”—I stretch the dress in the air like she did—“doesn’t mean it will fit me the same as you.
 
You do realize I have seven inches on you?”

Standing at five foot nine, I’m the tallest of my friends.
 
It doesn’t help that my best friend and sister are both five-two, so when I stand next to them, especially if I’m wearing heels, I look like a giraffe.

“So?
 
It will be a little short.
 
You’ll fit right in!”
 
She puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a slight push toward the bathroom.
 
“Stop being over-dramatic.
 
You have a great ass, Aundrea.
 
If you happen to show a little cheek, you’ll be doing everyone a favor.
 
Trust me.
 
Now hurry!
 
I told Shannon we’d be there at nine and it’s quarter to, so chop chop!”
 
She spanks me on the ass when she says the last part.

Groaning in defeat, I stomp into the bathroom to put on the shortest black dress I will ever wear in this lifetime.
 
And, let it be known, it will be the last.

Speaking through the closed door, I ask, “We’re meeting Shannon?”

“Yeah!
 
Hope that’s okay.
 
I thought it might be fun to make it a girls’ night.
 
She wants to see you too.”

Shannon works for my brother in law, Jason.
 
He owns his own Veterinary Clinic here in Rochester.
 
She’s one of the three vet techs in the small clinic.
 
I’ve known her for a while, but we’re not close.
 
Jean and I came to visit Genna for a weekend earlier this summer and the four of us went out a couple times.
 
We got along well, but she clicked with Jean right away.

“Sure.
 
That should be fun.”

I walk out of the bathroom and Jean’s face instantly brightens.
 
“Aundrea, you look so good!
 
Freaking hot!
 
If someone doesn’t try to pick you up tonight, I will … but you need a strapless bra.
 
You can’t go out with your straps hanging out like that.”

“I figured I’d tuck them in.
 
I don’t think I brought any strapless bras from home.
 
Besides, I don’t think I’d find one in those boxes even if I did.”

“I have a few.”

“Yeah, like those will fit me!
 
I’ll be busting out all over the place.”

“Even better.”

I roll my eyes at her back.

Jean tosses me a black strapless bra.
 
Instead of going back into the bathroom, I turn around and face the wall to lower the dress to my waist.
 
Unsnapping my bra, I drop it to the floor while glancing down at her 32-B cup.
 
This is supposed to cover my 34-C cup?
 
This will never work.

Just as I’m pulling the dress back up, I hear a shocked gasp.

“What?” I ask, slowly turning to face her.

Jean’s hand is covering her open mouth and her eyes are wide like an owl.
 
“What happened to you?” she finally asks.

“Looking down at myself I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Your back!”

I turn my head so that I’m looking down at my right hip.
 
There is a large, dark purple bruise covering the entire lower right side of my back.

“It’s nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing … Is that from your appointment?”

I shrug.
 
“Yeah.”

“Oh, my God, Dre.
 
Are you okay?
 
Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.
 
It’s okay.
 
I hardly even notice it.”
 
I give her a warm smile before pulling the dress all the way up.

Truth be told, it is noticeable.
 
I was told I’d hardly feel a thing—maybe a little pressure—and that afterward I might have a small bruise and a bit of an ache.
 
Nothing Tylenol couldn’t take care of.
 
Well, my luck, I get the newbie who has maybe done a total of one bone marrow procedure—mine.

I run my hands over the dress, making sure it’s pulled all the way down, and everything is in its rightful place.
 
It hugs me, perfectly molding to my body and showcasing the small curves I have.
 
Over the last four years, my body has gone through so many changes due to chemo that my curves are no longer present.
 
I’ve been slowly putting on the weight I lost and, lucky for me, it’s going back to the right places—my ass, hips, and chest.
 
The strapless push-up bra gives me just enough cleavage to accentuate my assets.
 
As long as I don’t bend over, my butt shouldn’t be exposed.
 
Which could make dancing tonight a little difficult.

Grabbing her purse, Jean asks, “You ready?” as she takes one last look at herself in the full-length mirror by the bedroom door.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
 
I turn off the bedroom light, letting the room go dark.

The drive to Max’s Bar is a lot shorter than I expected.
 
When Genna said it was downtown, I hadn’t realized she’d meant it was less than ten minutes away from her house.
 
It’s a beautiful, early September evening.
 
We don’t get many nights like this in Minnesota.
 
Walking here could have taken us twenty minutes, but that’s nineteen minutes longer than I want to be walking in heels, let alone walking in heels when my hip is already bugging me.
 
I don’t need to add to the strain on my body.

The hostess who greets us at the door has short blonde hair spiked in back and flat ironed straight in front, a lip piercing, and the tightest black leather pants I have ever seen.
 
Jean tells her we’re meeting someone and, after describing Shannon, asks if she’s seen her here yet.
 
The hostess points us in the direction where Shannon is waiting.

We make our way around bodies, tables, and chairs to reach the small corner booth where Shannon is sitting.
 
She stands up, waving and smiling at us.
 
She’s changed her hair since the last time I saw her.
 
It’s a little longer, and what was once light brown is now black like Genna’s, with dark purple streaks.
 
When we reach her, she pulls Jean into a hug, then me.
 
I pull away from her embrace and notice her violet tank top is so low I can see her breasts, and they’re pushed up so high I’m afraid they’ll pop out with the slightest movement.

Averting my eyes back to her face, I smile as I take the seat across from her.
 
Jean bounces into the booth next to her.

Shouting loudly over the music, I greet her, “It’s great to see you again!
 
You look fantastic.
 
I love the new hair!”

“Thanks!
 
Same goes to you.”
 
She pauses pointing at my hair.
 
“How have you been feeling?”

It always comes back to that.
 
It would be nice if my cancer weren’t always the main topic of discussion, or the first thing to be mentioned.
 
How are you feeling?
 
Well, for starters, my hip is fucking killing me.
 
I have a bruise the size of a cantaloupe covering the lower right side of my back.
 
And I’m so tired I feel as if I could sleep for a year straight.

I don’t tell her all that.
 
I want to, but I don’t.
 
Instead, I say with a smile, “I’m doing great!”

A waitress stops at our table, setting down a tray full of drinks.
 
With wide eyes, I take in the three martini glasses: sugar around the edges, filled with yellow liquor, a pineapple perfectly wedged on each of the rims, and a toothpick attaching a cherry on top.
 
Three shot glasses filled with a pink mixture are placed directly in front of me, followed by three glasses of water with lemons.
 
Dear Lord, help me.

“I ordered the first round,” Shannon says as she starts distributing the drinks.
 
First round?
 
I am fucked.
 
Royally fucked.
 
I don’t drink.
 
Ever.
 
When I have gone out with Jean, or the few times with Genna, I only have a glass or two of wine.
 
There were a few high school parties where I got drunk, but that feels like ages ago.

I feel a hard kick to my shin from under the table, taking me away from the shock of all the alcohol sitting in front of me.
 
When I meet Jean’s bright blue eyes she nods toward the shot glass in front of me.

Shannon shouts over the music, “To making new friends!”

Jean beams in her chair; locking eyes with me, “To letting go!”

What the hell. Bottoms up!

I clink my glass with the others.
 
“To letting go, new beginnings, and new friendships.”

Bringing the shot glass to my lips, I tilt my head back and take the shot in one swallow.
 
The sweet taste hits my tongue before it moves smoothly down my throat.
 
It’s sweet, like raspberries, but strong, like tequila.

Jean is already sipping her martini laughing at something with Shannon.
Feeling a little left out, I lean back in my chair and look around.
 
The dance floor one level up is now packed with people jumping around screaming “Shots!” over and over again along with some song.
 
The two-story bar is fairly open, leaving little to the imagination.
 
Every table in the lower level is occupied and the long bar to our right is packed.

Three bartenders, two men and one woman, stand behind the bar pouring and mixing drinks, and flirting with anyone within earshot.
 
The men are dressed in tight black t-shirts that show off their arm muscles and very tight dark jeans that show off
everything.
 
The gorgeous redhead is wearing black and silver, showing just enough skin in her low cut tank to allow the men to drool over her.

“So, Aundrea, Jason told me you’re attending the University of Rochester this semester?
 
Did you get the classes you wanted?” Shannon asks.

Setting what I learned was a Pineapple Lemon Drop martini down on the table, I look over to Shannon.
 
“Yeah, online.
 
And I’m only taking one class this semester.
 
Something light.”

I didn’t plan on taking classes here, but after speaking with my parents and Genna it made sense.
 
I want to do something instead of being stuck inside Genna’s house, suffocating.

After I graduated from high school, I took a few online courses, and one semester at the university with Jean.
 
I’ve always been good at math and I love science, so I started with those courses.
 
It was after a few classes that I decided to apply them toward an Astrophysics major.
 
When I was a little girl, I sat out on my parents’ deck, drinking hot chocolate and stargazing with my dad.
 
My dad would make up stories about the stars.
 
They stuck with me, so after I learned about the program, I knew that was what I wanted to do.
 
Study the universe.

By the time our second round of martinis arrives, I’m one drink past my limit.
 
Now I understand the need for water.
 
The beat of the music moves through my body and I start swaying with the slow song, grateful for less shouting and the change of pace.

I stand up and point to the bathroom sign.
 
Shannon nods in acknowledgment while Jean waves me off.
 
I’m actually surprised no one stood to go with me.
 
Women always seem to travel in groups to the bathroom.

I reach the long line of women waiting to use the two-stall bathroom.
 
After a few minutes of waiting, I glance over at the sign labeled “Men.”
 
Watching to see if anyone is coming or going, I decide to take my chances.
 
Stepping out of the line, I make my way over to the men’s restroom.

After washing my hands, I touch up with the lipstick that Jean stuck in my purse.
 
I actually don’t look half bad.
 
My short, dark brown hair is pulled back and pinned in a small teased bump.
 
Pulling my dress up slightly, I’m taking one last look in the mirror when the door opens.

Shifting my eyes in the mirror, I take in the large figure that walks in.
 
He looks up, and I’m met with clear, crystal-blue eyes.
 
I step away from the counter, not dropping his gaze.
 
His eyes remind me of the Caribbean ocean.
 
His sandy blond hair is gelled in all sorts of directions, giving it a sexy, messy, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look that goes perfectly with his tanned skin.
 
He has well-kempt stubble and is probably the most handsome man I have ever seen in my life.
 
Correction, he
is
the most handsome man I have ever seen.
 
I drink in the white dress shirt he’s wearing with black dress slacks and the matching black tie that is hanging loosely around his neck.
 
A little over-dressed for this place?
 
Yes.
 
But do I care?
 
No.
 
He could be wearing anything—or nothing—right now and I would be happy.