My Life After Now Page 16

  “Me too,” he said. There was a long, peaceful moment of quiet. “By the way, congratulations again on getting the commercial. That’s amazing.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  “It’s national, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you think there’s any chance you could get them to find a part for me?” he asked.

  I lifted my head up to look at his face. “In the commercial?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, um…I don’t think there are any other parts. I think it’s just going to be me.”

  Disappointment appeared and then vanished on his face so quickly I thought I’d imagined it. “Oh, right. It was just a thought.”

  I put my head back down on his chest.

  “I bet you’re gonna be able to sign with a major agent after this,” he said.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “Oh, you totally will. And then you could refer me, and we could both be repped by the same agency. Think how awesome it would be, the two of us living in the city and going on auditions together, just like we’ve always talked about. Maybe we could even move to L.A.!”

  Now I was the one who was frowning. We had always talked about living together after I finished high school, but for some reason I didn’t want to talk about it right now. I sat up and began pulling on my clothes. “You hungry?” I asked, ready to change the subject.

  Ty started getting dressed too. “Nah, I’m good.” He looked at the clock. “Actually, I should go, before your dads get home.”

  A lump began to form in my throat. My dads had never minded Ty being over before, and he knew that.

  “Okay, sure,” I said, fighting to keep my expression emotionless.

  He gave me a quick kiss and headed for the door. “This was amazing,” he said, turning back momentarily. “I mean, how awesome are snow days?” He grinned.

  I nodded weakly. “Yeah. Totally awesome.”

  And then he vanished into the blizzard.

  30

  A Fact Can Be a Beautiful Thing

  My dads had let the Thursday and Friday group meetings slide because of the snowstorm, but they ardently refused to let me bail on Saturday’s doctor appointment.

  We took the train into the city because the roads were still a mess, and cabbed it across town from Grand Central to the medical center. The closer we got to the building, the more the butterflies in my stomach seemed to multiply.

  “It’s going to be okay, Lucy,” Dad said, noticing my white knuckles clenched nervously around the shoulder strap of my bag. “Remember, you’re going to a different doctor this time.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be better,” Papa said. “And if not, we’ll keep searching until we find the doctor that’s right for you, I promise.” Papa still felt bad about the Dr. Jackson debacle.

  Even though it was the same practice, the lady at the front desk made us refill out the paperwork. Apparently Dr. Vandoren had a different record-keeping system than Dr. Jackson. It was like some cruel déjà vu.

  As I waited for my name to be called, my mind kept wandering back to Ty. He hadn’t called or texted me since he left the house yesterday. I checked my phone about once every twenty seconds, but it remained silent. Where was he? Wasn’t he thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him?

  “Expecting a call?” Papa eyed me curiously.

  I shoved the phone back in my bag. “No.”

  Not expecting, just hoping, I thought.

  Just then, I heard my name. A different nurse from last time escorted me through a different door. She led me down a short hallway and gestured to an open door.

  “Have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly,” she said.

  It wasn’t an exam room—it was Dr. Vandoren’s office. There was a big wooden desk with papers and files stacked all over it, bookshelves with numerous medical books, and framed photos of her family everywhere. There was also a shelf with several thank-you notes propped up on it. I couldn’t see inside any of them, but I was curious. Could they have been from patients? I was debating sneaking a peek at one when the doctor breezed through the door.

  “Hello, Lucy,” she said, and sat down behind the desk. “I’m Dr. Vandoren.”

  She was in her early fifties, with shoulder-length dark hair peppered with eccentric streaks of gray. She wore blue-framed glasses and had a red ribbon pinned to her white coat. Most importantly, though, she was looking at me, wearing an inviting smile. I already liked her heaps better than Dr. Jackson.

  “Hi,” I said shyly.

  “I understand you saw Dr. Jackson last week?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What made you request an appointment with me then, may I ask?”

  How was I supposed to explain? I couldn’t very well tell her how revolted I was by the man. They were probably friends. “I…wasn’t exactly…comfortable with him,” I said.

  Dr. Vandoren smiled and nodded understandingly. “Yes, he’s not known for his bedside manner.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I muttered.

  To my surprise, Dr. Vandoren laughed. “Well, I’m glad to have you. Let’s get started, shall we?”

  I nodded.

  “Can you tell me the circumstances surrounding your contraction of HIV, Lucy? It helps me to know your background. And please know that anything you tell me will be kept confidential.”

  The appointment continued on pretty much like that; it was more of a conversation than an interview, and Dr. Vandoren would respond to certain things I said with questions of her own, occasionally writing things down for her notes. She spent a long time talking with me—I didn’t feel like she was in a rush at all.

  Then she got to the results of my tests from last week. “You are currently in what we call Stage I of HIV infection, Lucy. If you have to have the virus at all, that’s where you want to be. You are asymptomatic, and your CD4 count is just over five hundred. Are you familiar with the term CD4?”

  I shook my head.

  “You may have heard of T-cells?”

  “Yeah, I have.” I didn’t add that the only thing I really knew about T-cells came from listening to the Rent cast album a million times.

  “Well, the CD4 is a kind of protein on the surface of the T-cell, which is a white blood cell. In people without HIV or AIDS, the normal CD4 range is usually between six hundred and twelve hundred. The lower the CD4 count, the less capable your immune system is of fighting off infections. When the count drops to below two hundred, that means the patient’s condition has progressed to AIDS. We aim to keep the CD4 count above three-fifty in our HIV-positive patients. So the fact that yours is above five hundred is very good news.”

  My mind was frantically trying to keep track of all of this. It was a lot to try to understand, but I would take this any day over the way Dr. Jackson spoke to me last week. At least Dr. Vandoren was treating me like an individual capable of actual thought.

  “We also ran the RNA viral load test. When you have HIV, the virus actually makes copies of itself while inside your body. The lower the virus levels in your system, the better. The higher your viral load, the quicker the HIV progresses. This is why it’s important to always have protected intercourse, even if your partner is also HIV positive. You can pass it back and forth to each other, which causes the virus to replicate exponentially.”

  Whoa, I didn’t know that. I’d figured having HIV was kind of like getting pregnant—once you had it, that was it. I didn’t know you could keep getting infected over and over again. The thought was…upsetting.

  “Your RNA viral load count came in at over one hundred thousand, which is fairly high, but don’t get too concerned.”

  Fairly high? Too late, I was already getting concerned.

  “The count is always higher in the initial months after infection, because the HIV is just taking hold in your body and it’s reproducing at a rapid rate. Within the next couple of months, it will decline and level off.” She pau
sed. “Do you understand all of this?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Don’t hesitate to ask questions if you think of any, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  We moved into an exam room, and she did a physical on me. The entire exam process was a lot more comfortable than last week. Dr. Vandoren told me what she was doing and what she was looking for and asked me about myself. She seemed genuinely interested in knowing who I was as a person, not just a patient. Then she asked the nurse to get my parents, and told me to get dressed and meet back in her office. Five minutes later, I was sitting across from Dr. Vandoren’s desk again, my dads at my side.

  “So, the next step is to determine treatment,” Dr. Vandoren said after introducing herself to my dads and explaining the test results to them. “I would like to see you once a month initially, to monitor the decrease in your RNA viral load. Does that sound reasonable?”

  I nodded, although the thought of getting eight vials of blood taken every single month wasn’t exactly appealing.

  “And after the first few months, if everything is going well, we can reduce our meetings to once every three months.”

  “That sounds good,” I said, and meant it. I liked Dr. Vandoren, and I trusted her. I would do whatever she said.

  “The last thing I want to discuss with you today, Lucy, is medication. There is a lot of debate throughout the medical community on the best time to begin drug therapy. Some physicians believe it is best to wait until the CD4 count dips below three-fifty, because the side effects of the drugs can be tricky and they want to give their patients as much time as possible without having to deal with them. I, on the other hand, am of the ‘hit hard, hit early’ school of thought.”

  “What does that mean?” Dad asked.

  “It means that even though Lucy’s CD4 count is high, I think it’s beneficial to begin medication immediately. We’re only thirty or so years into researching this virus, but studies thus far have shown that the death rate is almost twice as high when medication is deferred. If we start Lucy on a therapeutic regimen now, she could live a very long life,” Dr. Vandoren said firmly. “However, I can only recommend what I think is best. The decision ultimately lies with you.”

  “What kind of side effects are we talking about, exactly?” Papa asked.

  “As with any drug, they vary from person to person and are difficult to predict, but the more common side effects include rash, headache, fatigue, drowsiness, dizziness, strange dreams, trouble sleeping, diarrhea, and vomiting. But these usually go away after a few weeks. Other more serious possibilities can include loss of fat in your arms, legs, or face, shortness of breath, pancreatic inflammation, and skin discolorations,” Dr. Vandoren stated matter-of-factly, without even consulting a cheat sheet.

  Dad sucked in his breath. “That doesn’t seem very pleasant.”

  “Which is why many patients decide to defer treatment. However, think of it this way: as unappealing as these possible side effects may seem, for individuals with HIV and AIDS, the ultimate side effect of no medication is death.” Her last word echoed around the room.

  Oddly, even though she was throwing around words like “death,” I felt safe in her hands. I looked to my dads. “What do you think?”

  “I think we should start the meds,” Dad said, nodding with conviction. “Seth?”

  “I agree,” Papa said. “But what do you think, Lucy?”

  I thought about Roxie—nineteen years and still no sign of AIDS. I nodded. “Hit hard, hit early.”

  31

  There’s a Fine, Fine Line

  Alone again. Naturally.

  Wasn’t there a song about that? I should have learned to play it—it was my theme song lately.

  I didn’t hear a single peep from Ty all weekend.

  And even though there was so much other stuff—more important stuff—going on, my brainwaves were consumed by him.

  Saturday night, I began my medication. I had to take it on an empty stomach, and Dr. Vandoren made it clear that because it could make me feel sick, it was best to take it before bed rather than in the morning. So, starting now, ostensibly for the rest of my life, I would have to stop eating by eight p.m. in order to take the pill at ten.

  As I took that first pill, I wasn’t thinking about the side effects or what this meant for my life. All I could think about was Ty. Would he notice if I started feeling sick all the time? If he asked me out to dinner, would he think it was weird when I told him I had to go on the early side? Maybe I should keep the prescription bottle hidden, in case he saw it the next time he was in my room…

  The pill slid down my throat, and for an instant, everything remained still.

  My dads and I looked at each other. It was like we were waiting for something to happen, like I would immediately look healthier or something. Or sicker. But everything was the same.

  Papa spoke first.

  “All right, then,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Anyone up for a movie?”

  “Actually, I’m going to head to bed. Love you guys,” I said.

  “Love you too, honey,” Dad and Papa said in unison.

  I checked my phone again one more time before crawling into bed, fully aware that Einstein’s definition of insanity was repeating the same action over and over and expecting a different result.

  • • •

  When Lisa came home from the hospital on Sunday, I stayed closed away in my room all day, staring at my computer and waiting for Ty to log on to instant messenger. He didn’t. That night, I finally broke down and called him, but it went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. It was an enormous effort just to bring the phone from my ear and press “end call.”

  I was utterly worn out. I’d spent so much energy thinking about Ty these past two days that I had gone into overdraft. Or maybe it was an effect of the medication. All I knew was that I was exhausted, emotionally and physically.

  I laid my head down on my desk and let the barriers down against the one thought I’d actively been avoiding. Could Ty really have just been using me to get ahead in his career? After all, he hadn’t come crawling back until I’d gotten the commercial.

  But, I weakly argued with myself, he’d seemed so genuine when he told me he missed me. He was exactly the same Ty Friday that he’d been when we were officially together. Was he really that good of an actor? Or (and it killed me to even think this) had our entire year-and-a-half-long relationship been an act?

  Was being with the best actress in the school really all that mattered to him? Were Elyse and I some sort of conquests for him?

  I shook the thought from my mind. Our time together was real. It had to be.

  But then Monday afternoon rolled around and brought with it a fresh dose of clarity.

  Because of the lingering effects of the snowstorm, we’d had a two-hour delay in the morning, and homeroom was canceled. So it was dress rehearsal time before I saw anyone from the drama club.

  I was sitting on the edge of the stage lacing up my costume boots when Ty and Elyse walked in. Together. Holding hands.

  I almost fell into the orchestra pit.

  “What the hell?” I shouted. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared.

  Ty immediately dropped Elyse’s hand and I actually saw him glance at the exit, like I was really going to let him escape. Fueled by a much-needed burst of adrenaline, I leapt off the stage and stormed his way. In the seconds it took to reach him and Elyse, understanding took hold of me. My fears had not been unfounded at all. By the time we were actually face to face, I was more scared than mad.

  “Follow me,” I said, and led them into an isolated hallway. “What’s going on?” I asked quietly once we were alone.

  Ty’s eyes darted around nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do, Ty.” I nodded toward Elyse. “Does she know?”

  Elyse was looking back and forth between us. “Do I know what?”

&n
bsp; I stared at Ty and slowly breathed in and out. “I thought you weren’t with her anymore?”

  “I…changed my mind,” he said.

  “Right.” I nodded slightly. “Because I said I couldn’t get you a part in the commercial.”

  He wouldn’t look at me. Nothing more was said for a long second. I was waiting for him to confess or at least offer an explanation. He was probably waiting for me to go away.

  “Okay, seriously, what is going on?” Elyse asked.

  I looked at Ty. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”

  He just kept staring at his shoes.

  I let out an exasperated sigh and turned to Elyse. “As much as I don’t like you, you deserve to know the truth. Ty came over to my house on Friday and we had sex.”

  Elyse stiffened and audibly sucked in air.

  “He told me you guys weren’t together anymore,” I defended myself. But then I realized something. He hadn’t said they’d broken up. He’d just said things “weren’t working.” I had substituted my own meaning for his words. Well, no way I was going to admit that now. “Or something to that effect.”

  Elyse looked to Ty, her face stricken with disbelief. “Is that true?” she whispered.

  Ty shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “But we were together all weekend. How…how could you do that?”

  Oh god. He was such scum. He went right back to her after me. My eyes were suddenly wide open and, for the first time, I saw him clearly. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for his whole charade.

  Amazingly, I actually felt bad for Elyse. Her face was sallow, her lower lip trembling, as she waited for him to say something. She was heartbroken.

  “Listen, Elyse,” I began, not quite knowing what I was going to say. I worked out my own feelings as I spoke. “You actually got the better end of the deal. At least you can still get out early. Imagine how I feel—he had me wrapped around his little finger for almost two years.” I shook my head, ashamed, thinking about how much I’d loved him, and the part having my heart broken by him played in my decision to go home with Lee. “And then after everything, he shows up on my doorstep, tells me a few lies, and I immediately fall right back in his trap. Trust me, you don’t know how lucky you are that you’re finding out the truth now.”