A giant grin spreads across my face. He always leaves me the cutest notes. I hug it to my chest on the way to the bedroom to change. When I get back to the kitchen I open up the fridge and decide to make Greek chicken for dinner. Drew loves it and he will be famished when he gets home.

I get everything assembled and pop the pan in the oven. Then I make a tossed salad. While it does its thing, I decide to drink a beer and read a bit. A little over an hour later, the apartment smells heavenly and my stomach rumbles in response.

When I open the oven door, the chicken looks scrumptious. So much so that my mouth waters. Checking the time, I see that Drew should be home in about thirty minutes. I turn the oven off, cover the pan loosely with foil, and decide to wait on him. Not much long after that my phone buzzes. Checking the caller ID, I see it’s Drew.

“Hey honey.”

“Cate,” he wheezes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I got checked in the ribs and I think they’re fractured. I’m on the way to get an X-ray.”

“Shit. Want me to come and get you?”

“No. I’m good to drive.”

“You sure? You sound bad.”

“Just hurts to breathe. I’ll be home soon.”

“Be careful.”

“Will do.”

Now I’m worried sick about him driving like that. Sitting and waiting is the worst. I want to call him, but I hate to be a bother. Too many minutes tick by and my phone rings at last.

“No break but I’m bruised. I’ll be home in a bit.”

“That’s good news. Be careful.”

I pace until I see his headlights through the blinds and I shoot out the door.

“This is a fine greeting. I need to get injured more often.”

“Drew McKnight. Don’t you ever say that. I’ve been worried sick.”

I hold his arm while he gets out, noticing him wince as he does.

“Can I get you some ice?”

“I’m not sure that will help, though it won’t hurt. I have pain meds, but I don’t like taking them.”

“Take them at least tonight. Can you tell me what happened?”

“An everyday body check. Happens all the time, but this must’ve caught me just right. It was weird though, because I didn’t feel like the guy hit me that hard.” He shrugs and says, “I guess he got my sweet spot or something.”

“Know what I think?”

“What?”

“Gramps can’t take it anymore.” I give him a lop-sided grin.

“Oh, I guess that’s what it was.”

We’re inside now and I ask, “Want to sit or lie down?”

“Sit. I need food with these pain meds.”

“Well, lucky you. You’ve come to the right place. Let me fix you a plate.”

He doesn’t eat much, which tells me how much pain he’s in. Drew is not one to complain, and he doesn’t now, but he can’t seem to take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Cate, this is excellent, but I can’t eat any more.”

“It’s fine. I’d rather you be comfortable than force yourself to eat. Let me help you to bed.”

“I need a hot shower.”

“Need help?”

“I’ve got this.”

He does hurt. Normally he’d never refuse an offer like this. I help him to the bedroom where he slowly undresses. His side already has signs of bruising.

“Yep. Black and blue popping out already,” I say.

“Hmm.” His fingers probe the area, and he winces.

“Stop that. You already know you’re bruised. You don’t need to keep poking at yourself.” He favors his side as he sort of does a wobble-walk to the bathroom. Not much later, he’s out and gently plops onto the bed.

“Damn, I do feel old.”

“But you look like a million bucks.” I wink.

“Kiss me, Cate.”

I bend over him and offer him my lips.

“You’re the best wife-to-be a man could ever hope to have.”

“And I love you more than ice cream, Drew.”

“Hmm. That’s a whole lot, isn’t it?”

“You bet it is. Now let those pain killers do their job and get some sleep.”

The next morning, he’s feeling better. Physically, anyway. But something bothers him, only he won’t say what. I pester him but he tells me he’s fine.

It’s about three weeks later while Drew is in the gym doing bench presses, when the side he injured flares with pain. It’s so severe, he has to drop the weight, and call me.

“Cate, can you come to the gym?”

I pick him up and take him to the ER. They X-ray him and tell him he has pleurisy, an inflammation of the lining of the lung. Drew grills the doctor, while I as the ignorant layperson have no idea what’s really going on. They give him antibiotics, which Drew insists he doesn’t need and argues with the treating physician, but they eventually convince him to take them.

On the drive home, Drew is quiet and when I ask him questions, he responds in monosyllabic answers.

“Will you tell me what’s in your head right now?”

“Frustrated, that’s all.”

“It’s fine. You’ll take the medicine and you’ll be fine.”

He isn’t. The pain doesn’t resolve. He goes to one of his attendings at the hospital, and they suggest more tests. He doesn’t tell me any of this until a few weeks later.

Summer is ending and my final year at Purdue begins in one week. I can’t believe it. I’m ready to get this show on the road so Drew and I can get on with our lives. I move back to West Lafayette in few days, as my internship has ended, and most of my things are packed up. Drew and I will be spending these last few days together, because for whatever reason, he doesn’t have to work.

I’ve just come in from the store and Drew is sitting on the couch. My arms are laden with grocery bags and normally, he would jump up to help me. This time he only sits there.

“Hey,” I say.

“Cate. Can you sit here with me, please?”

“Give me a minute. My hands are full.” It sort of pisses me off a little that he ignores my struggles. When I have everything put up, I go into the living room and notice how pale he is. His usually tanned face has a slightly grayish cast to it and he appears … stressed. The normally happy-faced Drew is absent.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, as I sit down, taking his hand.

He scratches his neck and says, “I should be fairly good at this, but I’m not. So I’m going to tell you straight up and please forgive my bluntness.”

“Drew, you’re scaring me.”

“Cate, all this stuff going on with me, my ribs, the pleurisy. It’s none of that. I have cancer. Bone cancer. Ewing Sarcoma to be precise.”

My arms and hands go numb as shock settles in. “Wh-what? What are you saying? Cancer?” My gut drops through the floor and I want to lose everything I ate today. Cancer! Drew! My brain spins with his words.

“Yes, cancer. I wasn’t satisfied with their diagnoses, so I discussed everything with one of the attendings in my program, and he suggested a bone scan. That’s what it showed. Well, it showed a mass the size of a thumbnail and then I had a CT-guided needle biopsy, and a follow up PET scan.”

“And you didn’t tell me any of this?” I don’t even know what most of what he said is.

“I didn’t want to worry you if it turned out to be nothing.”

“Drew,” I throw my arms around him. “I wish you had told me. I would’ve been there with you.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter now,” he says as he hugs me back.

“Oh my god. How did you hide this from me?”

He doesn’t answer, only shakes his head.

“So now what?”

“I guess my choice of fellowships was prophetic. The oncology fellow gets cancer himself.”

“Oh, Drew.” I squeeze him tighter.

“Easy there, Cate.”

“Oh,” I say, letting him go.

“Don’t let me go, just not so tight. I need those arms of yours right now. I’m scared. For one of the first times in my life.”

Now I know this is the real deal. I know I can’t let the tears loose that keep trying to punch their way through. I must be strong for him.