Today
Sweat slips down the back of my T-shirt as I scan the faces in the radiology waiting room, unable to tell who’s here routinely and who’s sweating bullets like me.
I reset my gaze on my phone screen that’s filled with images of Christina’s baby’s smooshed-up face caught between her and her husband’s glowing smiles. A glimmer of calm loosens my lungs.
Give him ALL THE KISSES from me, I type out.
‘Hey.’ Zac drops into the seat beside mine, his concerned eyes exploring my face. ‘Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Traffic.’
‘In Newcastle?’ I joke, and he glides his hand up my back before giving my shoulder a light squeeze.
‘How are you doing?’ he asks.
‘As expected. Bricking it.’ The shudder in my voice nearly makes my teeth chatter.
He gives a sympathetic murmur, and for a moment, I lose myself in his golden-syrup eyes before turning away. It still hurts to look at him.
‘Want to see what the baby looks like?’ I ask.
He nods, a smile cutting into his cheeks. I scroll back past the last few memes that Christina and I shared before I reach the baby pictures. Thinking of the night Ashton was born still makes me misty-eyed. Zac stayed on the phone until the ambulance came, helping me guide Christina through her contractions while I came up with corny dad jokes to keep her calm. I never let go of her hand—not in the ambulance nor in the delivery room, where Pete stayed close on speakerphone, and I sobbed when Ashton was placed on Christina’s chest.
It was the first time I ever walked out of a hospital smiling, and the bubble of joy didn’t burst until I arrived back in Newcastle a few days later to face this dreaded test.
‘He’s a cutie,’ Zac says, chuckling as he swipes through the photos. And now I’m imagining dad-Zac. God.
I slide my phone into my bag. ‘Her husband quit his job. He was so pissed off over missing the birth that he quit. Wants a lifestyle change.’
‘That’s understandable. It’s one of the reasons I left Sydney.’
I inhale deeply through my nose but can’t seem to catch my breath. Zac’s hand finds my knee, his thumb grazing my bare skin through the rip in my jeans.
‘So, did you hear about the dung beetle who walked into a bar?’ he asks. I roll my eyes at him. ‘He said to the bartender: Is this stool taken?’
I just stare at him before a laugh flies out of my chest, catching a few glances from those in the waiting room. I hook my arm around Zac’s and lean into him.
A nurse strides in clutching a clipboard, and bile shoots up into my throat. But the name she calls out isn’t mine.
Zac moves his lips to my ear. ‘Listen to me,’ he says softly. ‘There is a monster in your head right now whispering a whole bunch of bullshit. It’s trying to scare you with made-up stories. Don’t listen to it, OK? Listen to me.’ He gently holds my jaw and guides me to look him in the eyes. ‘I know you,’ he says. ‘I love you. You are not alone. You’re not getting tested today, we are. And whatever happens, we’re going to figure it out together.’
My entire body buzzes with warmth. His face is so close to mine that he’d only need to tilt forward a touch for our mouths to collide. But instead, he raises his lips to my forehead. ‘I’ve got you, sunbeam,’ he says into my skin.
My drained eyes fall closed. ‘I’m not a sunbeam. I’m a cloud. One of those horrible, purple ones you see right before a storm that looks like the harbinger of Armageddon.’
He pulls back with an amused smile. ‘Nope. I’ve told you before. Looking at you is like staring right into the sun … so bright, it’s blinding.’
Our gazes bind together, a soft feeling expanding in my chest. As much as I know I should look away from him, I can’t.
‘I love you too,’ I say in a breath, and his cheeks flush.
Are we talking friendship love? I want to ask before a voice booms from across the room.
‘Josephine Larsen!’
I gasp as Zac lurches to his feet, pulling me up with clammy fingers. The fact that his nerves are spiking nearly as much as my own should make me feel worse, but for some reason, his outbreak of the jitters makes me feel like less of a freak.
‘I’ll see you back out here?’ he guesses.
I clutch him with both hands. ‘Can you come in with me?’
‘Of course.’
Holding on to Zac like a lifeline, I brave a smile at the waiting nurse and follow her into the examination room. Zac turns his back while I change into the gown, and when I stretch out on the treatment bed, he drags a chair close.
The radiographer paces back in with my file, checking my details and explaining what will happen during the scan.
My arm instinctively falls towards Zac, and his fingers cover mine as the nurse squeezes warmed gel over my chest. Her ultrasound wand finds the lump immediately, and my eyes lock on her expression, my heart drumming against my throat as I wait for her reaction. But as she presses, tilts and glides the wand over the lump, I can’t get a read on what she’s thinking.
‘Do you think it’s cancer?’ I utter, and Zac squeezes my hand.
An apologetic look eclipses her face. ‘Unfortunately, I’m not qualified to answer that, nor am I allowed to. A doctor needs to look closely at the scans and measurements. But I can make sure you get your results by tomorrow afternoon, OK? One thing I can say is that this lump is small.’
A whisper of hope flurries through me, and I thank her and lie in silence while she continues gliding, clicking and measuring, my gaze drifting to Zac’s. He winks at me, still holding my hand, and I tighten my fingers around his.
‘I love you,’ he mouths at me, and hot liquid gushes into my chest, filling it up.
I smile and mouth the same words back, but in my head, there’s an edit that I keep to myself.
I’m in love with you.
My eyes sink shut, my mind finally able to prepare for the next step in my health journey. Because one thing I’d never considered when I started believing I was going to get cancer was that Zac Jameson would be holding my hand.
I keep my phone beside me in the serviced apartment bathroom while I get ready for work, the ringer turned all the way up. The debate I had with Zac yesterday over staying at his place lasted nearly thirty minutes, but I held my ground. Despite what happened at the clinic, he hasn’t said anything to indicate he wants something more than friendship right now, and my heart can only take so much.
He also tried to convince me to take today off, but I’d go out of my mind sitting around waiting for the doctor to call. Plus, it’s my second-last week at NRN News, and I must have some seriously good karma in my spiritual bank because Natasha Harrington actually wants me in the newsroom. I also can’t wait to see Lola when she gets back tomorrow—she’ll no doubt have a big hug ready for me after the viral video debacle.
Christina calls me on my short walk to work, restoring my smile.
‘Hey, baby mumma,’ I say.
‘Hey, baby daddy.’
I laugh. ‘Poor Pete,’ I moan for the zillionth time. ‘How’s Ashton?’
‘He’s divine,’ she coos, and I can tell she’s gazing at him. Her voice drops in tone. ‘But darling, I’m afraid I’m calling with some not-so-great news.’
Oh god, what now, I think, but I remain peppy for Christina. She’s in new-baby heaven, and I’ll do nothing to ruin it.
‘Oliver has hired someone to cover me,’ she says with a sigh. ‘It’s Meghan Mackay from NRN. That’s why you spotted her in Sydney recently. She was there for a meeting with Oliver, and she’s already started the role.’
‘Oh my god, you’re kidding me!’
‘I know, I’m ticked off about it,’ she replies with more frustration in her tone than I’ve ever heard. ‘You’re much better than her. To be honest, I don’t understand it at all. But upside: it’s a woman.’
‘I know why,’ I say as I turn onto the promenade, shivering in the wind gust. ‘It’s because Meghan can handle herself through anything on air, and I can’t. It’s as simple as that. And it’s the way it should be. I had my chance, and I blew it. I can own that.’
Silence falls between us. ‘Did you hear from the doctor yet?’ Christina asks.
All the blood in my face drains away. ‘Not yet. It’s supposed to be today, though.’
‘OK. Well, when you want to, you tell me how it went, OK? I’m thinking of you, darling.’
‘Thank you, my friend.’
We hang up, and I drop my phone into my bag before turning to face a sandstone wall and screaming into my arm.
Meghan Mackay, really??
After a few deep breaths, I suck it up and head upstairs to work. It’s the first time I’ve shown my face since my viral gaffe, so I inch into the newsroom with my head ducked, but Man-Bun-Colin greets me with a grin, and was that an actual wave?
‘Good timing,’ he says as I pass by his desk. ‘Remember the West Wallsend baby woman who was charged with murder? Her husband’s just been charged with being an accessory after the fact. He’s facing court today. Can you head out there with Gus?’
I swallow a chuckle at being paired with Mr Unmotivated for one of my last reporting shifts up here. But at least Colin’s kindly ignoring the humiliating on-air blunder that’s now up to forty-seven thousand views on YouTube.
The shoot at the courthouse goes smoothly, apart from nearly missing the accused man’s departure because Gus was having a natter with a security guard. I still manage to secure a comment from the accused man through some clever questioning, and my story ends up leading the afternoon news bulletin.
It’s all been the perfect distraction from the relentless silence of my phone, and I’m giving it another check to make sure I haven’t missed a call from the doctor’s office when Natasha Harrington sidles up to my desk.
‘It’s good to have you back,’ she says, handing me my favourite afternoon drink—a caramel hot chocolate—from the downstairs café. Wow, OK. Why is she giving me treats instead of murdering me in my sleep?
‘Thank you so much,’ I reply, open-mouthed.
She leans against my desk and crosses her arms. ‘You’ve heard about Meghan?’
‘I have.’ I force out a smile that I intend to turn into something genuine as soon as I’ve gotten over my disappointment in myself. I also remind myself how much of an ass Oliver Novak was towards me and that I’d rather pluck out my own fingernails than work for him directly again. I’m planning to contact another news network about job openings when I get back to Sydney.
‘I was surprised,’ Natasha says carefully, the look in her eye delivering a message that she doesn’t think Meghan was the right pick. Her voice then lowers. ‘But, Josie, what I came here to say is that I’m sorry for reacting so strongly to the blunder you made on air. There is a lot of pressure on me in this role, and I’ve been given free rein to choose my own presenters. So, when something like that happens, it makes me look like I can’t do my job.’
I stare at her, trying to stop my jaw from hanging. I’ve never had a TV executive be this honest and vulnerable with me. Natasha then shifts like she’s about to scamper, so I blurt her name.
‘Have you got five minutes?’ I ask, standing up. ‘There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’
She checks her watch. ‘Why don’t you come into my office?’
My heart inches into my throat as I trail her up the hallway, taking my phone in case the doctor calls. I settle into the chair that has, strangely, become a familiar place of comfort.
Natasha sits opposite me with her full attention, and I draw in a deep breath and admit everything about my health anxiety. I tell her how long it’s been going on, how severe it is, how terrifying I find certain topics, and how much I want to get better. I don’t tell her about the breast lump because, if it does turn out to be cancer, I need to think through how I want to handle work before beginning that conversation.
Her surprised eyes move over me like she’s seeing me for the first time. ‘Thank you for telling me, Josie. And I really hope you are getting the support you need. Will you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?’
‘Of course. Thank you.’
Her gaze then clouds over with a look that’s classic in our industry. ‘I have an idea,’ she says, tapping her chin. ‘But I don’t want you to feel pressured about it. What would you think of—’
My phone chimes from my lap, sending my stomach into freefall. I snatch up the handset, recognising the number.
‘I’m so sorry, but this is the doctor calling, and I have to take it,’ I say in a rush.
‘Of course.’ Natasha gets up and steps out of her own office as I press the phone to my ear, my entire life flashing before my eyes.
My voice locks in my throat. ‘Josie Larsen speaking.’
‘Hi, Josie; it’s Doctor Ellison. I’ve got your ultrasound results—it’s just a cyst. Nothing to be concerned about.’
My entire body splits open. ‘Are you serious?’ It takes everything I have not to collapse onto the floor.
‘Very,’ she says in a warm voice. ‘But the test did show that you have what we call fibrocystic breasts. Which means you have a high number of cysts, and your breast tissue is quite dense. None of that has anything to do with cancer, but it can make screening for cancer trickier because it’s harder to see what’s going on in there. So, I am going to recommend that you get an ultrasound every year—purely as a precaution. And I want you to know, Josie, this also means we are likely to find more lumps like these, and each one will need to be screened just to be safe. With that in mind, I think we should make that appointment we talked about for your health anxiety. I know you’ve been suffering in the lead-up to this test. So, I’d really like for us to be better prepared for the next one. Sound OK?’
I wipe my eyes and nod. ‘Yes, please. One hundred per cent. I don’t want to live like this anymore.’
‘Great. If you hold now, I’ll transfer you to the receptionist to make an appointment.’
‘Thank you, Doctor Ellison. Thank you so much.’
‘Are we good to go?’
‘Rolling,’ Gus grunts behind my shoulder. Wonders never cease.
I smile at the kind-faced psychiatrist who came highly recommended by my contact at the John Hunter Hospital. ‘Thank you for your time, Professor. I’d like to begin with a simple question: what is health anxiety?’
Professor Singh gives me a soft smile. ‘Well, almost all of us worry about our health at times, which is perfectly natural. But when we begin to worry constantly that we are unwell and begin interpreting our changing bodily sensations as dangerous, then we start to have a problem. If we develop a preoccupation with the belief that we have—or will have—a serious illness, and that gets in the way of our ability to enjoy life, that is health anxiety.’
The spot-on description of me makes my cheeks heat, but Professor Singh’s gentle tone keeps me grounded. The interview continues for nearly an hour, and by the time I get up and shake his hand tightly, I not only have reams of material to use, but I understand for the first time that I’m not a screw-up. I have a condition that’s diagnosable and treatable.
Gus and I head outside to record my piece to camera, my mouth drying up at this point of no return. But I’m so tired of the fake smiles and the pretend laughs and acting like I’m OK when I’m not.
Words I once said to Zac linger in my head. It’s just as brave to say you’re not OK.
I inhale a deep breath and stare down the barrel of the camera. ‘A few weeks ago, I suffered a panic attack on live television while I was presenting the news. I was interviewing an actor about the passing of an Australian icon when I began to shake and sweat. My heart was racing, my vision narrowed, and I lost track of where I was. While the terrifying experience made me the subject of a viral video and led me to question my ability to do my job, it also had a life-changing impact on my understanding of mental health. It made me realise that anxiety can affect anyone, anywhere—even when you’re doing something you love. And I’m sharing this with you because I believe that telling my story will help me do a better job of telling yours.’ In the corner of my eye, I catch grumpy Gus’s mouth slant up, even though I keep my gaze fixed on the camera. ‘Josie Larsen, NRN News.’
Foamy waves spill over the glistening sand of Nobbys Beach in the peach light of early evening. I spot Zac sitting on the short brick wall overlooking the vista, his hair twisting up in the gentle wind. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since the ultrasound, and I stand back for a moment, collecting myself, before I move to sit beside him.
‘Hey, Shirley Temple,’ I say, giving his soft curls a light pat.
‘Sunbeam.’ He smiles and presses his full lips to my cheek, and my eyes close at the torture. ‘I’m so happy for you,’ he says. ‘I didn’t think it would be the best idea to say this before the test, but I knew it would be fine. I just knew it.’
‘You had a lucky guess,’ I tease through a wry smile before we turn our gazes to the glimmering strip of blue bridging the sand and the horizon.
‘Thank you so much for being there for it all,’ I say for the hundredth time.
‘Of course. And I saw the news story last night about your anxiety. It was absolutely fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you, Josie.’
I smile into his gleaming eyes. ‘Thank you. All of our affiliate news channels around the world have picked it up, and some even want to interview me. I only agreed to do it because I didn’t want to say no to Natasha, to be honest. But after working on the story and talking to Professor Singh, all I really want out of this is for people like me to feel less alone.’
His eyes soften. ‘Well, you’ve definitely done that—even for me. You know, ever since the accident, if I come across an article about a car crash, the first thing I do is scan it to see if anyone died. It’s like I’ve become obsessed with motor vehicle mortality. The same way I’ve seen you look at those articles about cancer deaths.’ He leans forward, pinning me in his gaze. ‘And you’re a reporter—you know that people only tend to post online when something bad or unusual happens. You’re reading about a tiny percentage of people and are being tricked into believing it’s the standard. You’re also probably ignoring most of the positive things you read. It’s called confirmation bias.’
‘I know,’ I murmur, still wishing that Zac and I had been there more for each other over the past two years. ‘I’m actually seeing Doctor Ellison about it tomorrow before I go.’
Something shifts in his eyes before he forces a tight-lipped smile. ‘That’s great. Hopefully, she can hook you up with a doc in Sydney who can continue helping you with it.’
My chest splinters. Zac isn’t exactly throwing a party over my imminent departure, but it seems that he’s resigned to it.
I have to do something, and I have to do it now. Or I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.
I gently lay my hand over Zac’s thigh where it pokes out from his athletic shorts, stroking his bare skin with my thumb. His gaze flies to mine, and for a few endless breaths, I stare into his eyes, begging him to see what I want. But when he doesn’t do anything to close the distance between us, I charge. I clutch the back of his neck and pull him towards me, but his spine straightens, and his eyes dart away.
‘Zac,’ I plead.
He sucks in a quivery breath. ‘I’m so sorry, Jose. I can’t.’
A deep, wrenching pain grips my heart. ‘Why?’
‘Don’t get me wrong.’ His brow lines as he looks down. ‘Every time I’m around you, all I can think about is kissing you. That’s the problem. You make my head spin.’
I lean into his view, feeling the lost look in my eyes. ‘Why is that a problem? You want to kiss me; I want to kiss you … What could be less of a problem than that?’
His jaw grinds like he’s at war with himself. ‘You’re totally ignoring everything you brought up last month. You’re moving to Sydney in a few days. And you know I can’t move back there. Every time I drive past the highway there that leads to Mittagong, I’m going to relive that fucking awful thing all over again. It’s bad enough having to go down for work now and then.’
‘But we can figure it out,’ I beg. ‘Sydney’s just two hours away. People have relationships on different sides of the world.’
‘It’s not only that, though.’ He stares out at the sea with weary eyes. ‘I can’t go through a big hurt again. You were right about that. I’m finally on my feet, and I can’t feel a loss like that again; I can’t. I’ve worked too hard to get better.’
‘But, Zac, my test was fine.’
He blows a mirthless chuckle through his lips. ‘I’m not talking about you dying, Josie. I know you. You like guys with beach houses who can mingle with TV executives at parties and fit into your fancy Sydney world.’
He’s wrong—we’ve both been so terribly wrong about that—but when I shake my head, Zac looks away.
‘I know there’s attraction between us,’ he admits throatily. ‘But if we go our separate ways for a while, we’ll get past it and realise we live in two different worlds now and are better off the way we’ve always been. As friends. Because if we start something up, I know you’ll get sick of being in a long-distance relationship. Before long, you’ll be going on dates with corporate guys down there again, and I’ll be sitting up here fucking dying from heartbreak.’
My throat is so full I can hardly speak. ‘There are no other guys, Zac. I want you. You are the reason that I’ve been single for so long and never wanted any other man when he was put in front of me. You are the person I compare everyone to, and no one ever measures up. All my life, I feel like I’ve been making one wrong decision after the next—chasing after things I thought I wanted. But those were other people’s ideals, other people’s dreams. This is what I want. This is the right decision.’
Turmoil swirls in his gaze as he looks back and forth between my eyes. But then he drops his face with a pained sigh. ‘I’m so sorry, sunbeam. It took me two years to get my life back on track, and I can’t risk my heart like that again. The fucking devastation I felt after our conversation that day in the kitchen made me realise I just can’t do it. But I don’t want you to ever feel alone, OK? I’m still your friend.’
I turn my head and blink rapidly through my tears, feeling like my heart’s being torn out of my chest. But then a hopeless realisation sinks over me that I’ve done all I can here. If Zac doesn’t want to pursue this, I can’t make him, and I don’t want to. I would never try to force him to put his heart on the line if he’s not ready—not even for me. His happiness is too important.
The words leave my lips in a whisper. ‘OK. If that’s what you want.’ I offer him a shaky hand. ‘Friends.’
His forlorn gaze locks with mine as his fingers close around my own, a silent explosion shattering my chest.
‘Best friends,’ Zac says.