Life Isn’t A Fantasy

For the third time, I flagged down a taxi without any problem.

Settling into the back, I gave the driver the address for New Dawn Children’s Hospital and then pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contact list. I don’t know why. My head felt fuzzy, disconnected in some way. Watching the list of names move up the screen somehow helped calm me.

When my brain snagged on Caden’s name, I tapped the Message icon, let out a slow breath, and began typing.

Hey, Cade. The test came back and I’m not a match. I’m going to see if there’s any way Mum and Dad can be tested in Australia. And Ben, although as far as I know he’s in Nepal. Don’t mention it to them yet. Just thought I’d let someone from my family know what’s going on and you drew the short straw. Sorry about that, dude.

I hit Send. The digital whoosh filled the taxi, letting me know I’d successfully shared my misery with another person. How much I’d changed in a few short hours. The me who had left Australia would never have done such a thing.

I went to shove my phone back in my pocket but stopped. I found myself scrolling through my contacts again, swiping my thumb up and down the screen with a blind, blank motion. I ached. Not just in my heart, but everywhere. I pictured Charles Sinclair in front of me. Pictured telling the bastard to mind his own fucking business. Pictured demanding he tell me why I wasn’t good enough for his daughter.

I pictured Robby’s Rolex. His smug smirk as he handed me my shoes and my shirt with its musical-note farting dog on its front.

I thought of the pain in Amanda’s face as she confessed what her father had done, what he’d promised. I remembered the rapture when she came in the shower, on her sofa …

And then I watched my contact list with all its Australian numbers scroll up and down the screen. Numbers that included my Australian bank manager, my Australian real estate agent who was hard at work finding me a building for the first ever Push It P/T studio. Numbers that included my university boss, my professors … Heather’s number. Twenty-five years of life represented in those numbers. A life lived in Australia. A future planned there …

Did Charles Sinclair’s hate for me stem from the fact I wasn’t of an intellectual level he deemed appropriate for his daughter? Or because I lived on the other side of the world? Or both? Or neither? Would he ever change his mind?

I closed my eyes. I bet if I’d been a match for Tanner he would have. The thought made me grimace. I was being my own worst enemy and I couldn’t seem to stop it. I bet if my bone marrow had saved his grandson I’d be the best fucking guy in the world. He’d welcome me with open arms and—

My phone burst into life in my hand, jerking me out of the pathetic, pointless trance.

“Shit,” I muttered, my pulse thumping fast in my ears. Blinking my eyes back into focus, I looked at the screen and let out a wobbly laugh.

Maci Rowling was calling me.

I accepted the call with a jab of my thumb and raised my phone to my ear. “Heya, Plenty Ohio,” I said, using my customary greeting for her.

“Heya, Uni Fitness Manager,” she answered back with hers, a warm smile in her voice.

“Heather give you my number?”

“Yes she did. Which leads me to confess I’m not very happy with you. She tells me you’re in the States and you haven’t called me. What gives with that?”

I chuckled again, a shaky, weak sound. I was doing a piss-poor job of keeping my misery to myself. “Yeah, I’m here. In San Diego.”

“San Diego? What could you possibly be doing in San Diego?” She laughed. “The beaches in Australia are infinitely better than the ones in San Diego, and for the life of me I can’t think of any other reason to go there than to surf.”

Swiping at my mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut. What could I possibly be doing in San Diego? Failing everything.

“So?” she prodded with another laugh. “Spill. Tell me all about it. Why you’re here and how long you’re staying. Leave nothing out. I want to know how gloriously happy you are. Raph’s bet me five bucks you’re brokenhearted already and I so don’t want to lose to him.”

“I think you owe him five bucks, Plenty,” I answered, opening my eyes to watch the unfamiliar streets pass by.

“Oh crap, Osmond,” she protested, concern coming through the connection. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“Sorry ’bout that.” I gave her another weak chuckle. “Remember the night we met and I told you about the girl I followed to America? The one who didn’t follow me back?”

“I do remember you mentioning her,” she said. “And Heather told me quite a bit about her a few minutes ago on the phone. Amanda Somethingorother. Heather isn’t particularly impressed with her, I should add in the interest of full disclosure. And I’m afraid she’s tainted me against her already. What’s she done? Do I need to fly to the West Coast and smack her about for you? I could do it. My latest meds kick ass and I’ve been doing some serious tai chi. I can even open a jar all by myself at the moment.”

I could tell she was trying to cheer me up. I even managed a moment of happiness to hear she was coping better with her Parkinson’s disease. A moment drowned by my own dismay all too quickly.

“Brendon?”

I blinked at my name. “As it turns out,” I said, my mouth dry and my throat tight, “I’ve got a son. He’s eighteen months old and has something called Philadelphia chromosome-positive leukemia, which is really rare and really aggressive, and I just discovered a little while ago I’m not a bone marrow match, which was pretty much the reason Amanda called me to come, and I’ve … I’ve failed them …” I fisted my hand in the hair at the back of my head and pressed the phone to my forehead.

God, it hurt. It hurt so much. I was sitting in a taxi, and it hurt, and … and …

The sound of Maci calling my name – faint and almost impossible to hear – dragged me back. Just. The air in my lungs didn’t want to be there. There seemed to be a chunk of concrete crushing my chest. Or maybe it had replaced my heart?

Opening my eyes, I raked my hand through my hair, shook my head and then returned the phone to my ear. “Sorry. I’m here. I’m okay.”

Biggest lie I’ve told in my life ever.

“Bullshit,” Maci responded. “Where are you? Exactly? We can be there in a few hours. Raph?” Her voice grew softer, distant. “Raph, we need to get to San Diego ASAP. Can you buy the tickets online straight away?”

I heard Raphael say something in the background, but couldn’t make out the exact words. My head was roaring too much. My heart was hammering too damn loudly.

“I’ll tell you when I get off,” Maci was saying to Raph. “Okay, I’m back. Where are you? Where are you staying?”

I looked at my gym bag and backpack. All my earthly possessions in the US. Jesus. Jesus, it hurt. It hurt so much …

“Tanner is at New Dawn Children’s Hospital,” I answered. “I’m staying … I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

Had I just said that? Fuck, I was a mess.

“As soon as we touch down I’ll call you, okay?”

I shook my head. The fact Maci wouldn’t be able to see the action wasn’t registering with me at the moment. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, Brendon,” she said. “We do. And you know why.”

Surprisingly, a smile pulled at my lips. I did know why. I’d rescued Maci twice while she was in Australia from situations no twenty-two year old should ever have to handle. I didn’t expect her to return the favor in kind, but I couldn’t lie, I needed someone there. For me. Muscles and good health can only get you so far. They’re a sound foundation, but they’re not enough to get you through when everything you know is crumbling around you. I’m a tough guy, but I’m not that tough.

“Thanks, Plenty,” I damn near whispered.

“We’ll see you soon, okay?”

I nodded – stupid again, given she still couldn’t see me – and then I hung up. I drew in a deep breath, steadying myself, as the taxi pulled to a halt outside the hospital’s main entry. Climbing out of the back seat, I noticed for the first time the deep stretching shadows of dusk around me. I’d touched down in LA at eight that morning, and now it was almost night. I felt like I’d lived an eternity in the hours that had passed.

Once again, I suspect I messed up the tipping when paying the driver, this time to his advantage. He beamed at me when I told him to keep the change. “Si, si. Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

At this rate, I was going to be out of US currency before I even found a place to stay for the night. I’d have to find somewhere cheap. Maybe a backpacker’s hostel. I sure could pass for a backpacker right now. I didn’t need to look into a mirror to know I must look like a wasted wreck. I needed a shave. I needed to clean my teeth. My hair needed something more than my fingers to comb it.

The entry doors slid open and I entered the hospital, a sign catching my eye as I crossed the foyer.

Visiting hours 11am-4pm.

Checking my watch, I realized I was out of the prescribed time. But I was a parent of a patient. Surely that meant …

I crossed to the reception desk and offered the woman behind the counter a smile. “G’day, I know it’s out of hours, but I’m Brendon Osmond, Tanner Sinclair’s father, and I’m hoping I can go see him? He’s in the Oncology ward. I need to talk to Dr. Parker Waters as well while I’m here.”

The woman regarded me for a moment, and again, I wondered what I must look like. Moving her attention to the computer in front of her, she clicked and typed away before she stopped and studied the screen. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking back up at me. “But you’re not listed as a PIC. I can’t let you in.”

I frowned. “A what?”

“Partners in Care,” she answered. Sympathy laced her voice. And patience. A part of me wondered how many times she’d needed to deliver the explanation before. “Those nominated by the patient’s legal guardian to have unrestricted access to the patient, twenty-four hours a day. Unfortunately, I can’t let you in.”

I shook my head. “I’m his father. I only just got into the country today. I was here earlier.” I gripped the edge of the counter, my gym bag and backpack heavier than the world on my shoulder.

Sorrow filled the receptionist’s face. “I really can’t let you in. I suggest you call your son’s mother and speak to her about it. She’s the only one who can give permission.”

I closed my eyes, slumped against the counter and rubbed at my face. Call Amanda. Did I have the strength to do that?

“But I can call Dr. Waters for you,” the woman offered. “He’s still here.”

Opening my eyes, I gave her a grateful, albeit weak smile. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

She picked up the phone on her desk and tapped in an extension number. While we both waited for Parker to answer, I stepped a few feet away from the counter and called Amanda. It went straight to her voicemail. Before I could stop it, an image of her and Robby together filled my head. Was he still with her? Comforting her? Holding her? Kissing—

The beep indicating it was time for me to leave my message sliced through the wretched thought. Gripping my phone so tight I’m surprised it didn’t break, I straightened. “Hi Amanda, it’s Brendon. I’m at the hospital and they won’t let me see Tanner because I’m not on the official list. The receptionist told me to let you know. Can you please call me when you get this message? I’m waiting to see Parker now. Thank you.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry none of this has gone the way you’d hoped. I never … I’m sorry.”

I hung up and shoved my phone into the pocket of my shorts. I turned back to the counter, just in time to see Parker enter the foyer from a door marked PRIVATE – STAFF ONLY.

My breath caught in my throat. He looked like hell. His glasses were askew on his face and his hair stood on end, as if frazzled hands had worried it constantly. The colorful tie was loose, as askew as his glasses. The tip of his nose was red, his eyes puffy. I watched him walk toward me, struck by how different he was. This was not the same fun doctor who’d explained Tanner’s condition to me. This was a man beaten and dejected.

My blood ran cold. Oh no. Oh God, no.

“Doctor?” I blurted out, meeting him halfway across the foyer. “Is it—”

He shook his head, a tired smile – barely a curve of his lips – halting my outburst. “Tanner is doing well, Brendon,” he said, taking my hand and giving it a gentle pump. “I’ve had … It’s been …” He dragged in a slow breath and let it go in a sigh. “I really need a coffee. And some sugar. Care to join me in the cafeteria?”

Heart still beating in my ears like a cannon, I nodded. “Sure.”

He smiled again, the action as tired, as drained, as the previous attempt. “This way. My treat.”

We left the foyer, heading down a wide, warmly lit corridor. Along the walls, like the wards beyond the closed doors, balloons and animals cavorted about. Scattered amongst them were fairies and flowers, butterflies and frogs. The ceiling of the corridor was painted to look like a sweeping blue sky, complete with fluffy white clouds.

“A lot of the kids here don’t get to see outside during their stay,” Parker commented, as if aware of my gaze. “Some never get to see it again after they’re admitted.”

The statement tore at something in my heart. I looked at him.

He let out a sigh, scraping his fingers through his hair and shaking his head. “I’m sorry. That’s shitty of me to say that to you. Forgive me, Brendon. Please.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgement. My brain whirled.

“I chose this profession, this career,” he went on as we walked, the colors around him at odds with the washed-out grayness of his face, “because I deeply love children and find it unbelievably unfair that God can be so messed up as to let them get sick. Most doctors have some form of god-complex – it’s an occupational hazard – but sometimes God likes to kick us in the ass to remind us who we really are. Those days, those times, I want to wrap my hands around God’s holy throat and squeeze the life out of him for being such a prick.”

“Today is one of those days?”

Parker sighed. “Yeah.”

“I’ll gladly join you in the holy throttling, if you want?”

He gave me a sideways look and then grunted out a laugh. “I’d hate to be at the end of one of those delivered by your hands. Think God may have bitten off more than he can chew taking on your family.”

I didn’t expect it to be possible for me to genuinely laugh, given all the crap I’d been coping with, but I did. Parker smiled. And laughed as well, the sound at once sad and companionable. I think we humans are capable of coping with so much more than we believe we can, when we have people around us who care about us, even in the most platonic, professional way.

The purchase of two coffees and two jelly donuts later – “They’re for me,” Parker pointed to the donuts. “You can’t afford the calories.” – we settled into our seats at a table.

Watching Parker spoon his third sugar into his coffee, I thought of his current uneasy state and his obvious warmth and affection for Tanner. I didn’t doubt he shared the same level of connection with his other patients and their families. What must it be like, to stare down death over and over only to have it defeat you and take from you someone you cared about?

I was already close to dead inside at the possible future ahead for a son I’d known less than a day. Parker had known Tanner for longer than me, and was fighting alongside him, just as he must with all his patients. How did he cope?

“May I ask a question?” said Parker.

I raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“You went to Amanda’s first?”

I rotated my paper coffee cup on the table in a slow circle. “I did.”

“And you told her?”

“I did.

“And she’s not here?”

I swiveled my coffee cup again. “It’s complicated.”

Yeah, I said it again.

“Is complicated code for Robert Aames? Or Charles Sinclair?”

A dry snort escaped me before I could stop it.

Parker took a sip from his coffee. “Thought so. Going to do anything about it?”

I opened my mouth to say … something. I don’t know what. I closed it again when Amanda slid into the empty seat beside us.

Robby, I was childishly happy to see, was absent.

“Hi,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling at us both. Sadness tainted the action, but also a determination I hadn’t seen in her since I arrived. “Let’s talk about our next move.”

Parker regarded her for a moment. Behind his glasses – still askew, I noticed – his eyes were contemplative. “We continue to search for a match,” he answered. “There is one out there. Tanner responded well to the chemotherapy, which gives us a little more time to find them.”

I frowned. “What about Robby Aames being an almost match?” As much as I didn’t like the idea of Robby and his Rolex saving our son, I wasn’t so ruled by my ego that I would refuse his help. I’d even shake his hand afterward. “Is this something we should be seriously looking at now? I kind of got the feeling it was time for desperate measures because I wasn’t a—”

“An almost match is very much a last resort, Brendon,” Parker said, scooping a fourth spoon of sugar into his coffee. The health student and personal trainer in me winced. The emotionally drained parent understood all too well – you do what you have to do to keep going.

“And Tanner has time.” Amanda moved her hands over the tabletop and closed them around mine.

I dropped my gaze to our interlocked fingers. Her skin was soft and warm, her grip gentle but firm. I should have pulled my hands away, but I didn’t. Couldn’t. As I said, you do what you have to do.

“What about my mum and dad?” I asked, looking back at Parker. “Can they be tested in Australia? Is that possible?”

“It is possible.” Parker took a sip from his paper cup and then pulled a face. “Goddamn, this is sweet.”

I bit back a chuckle. “I can call them,” I shifted on my seat, digging in my back pocket for my phone. “They’ll both be at work now, but I can leave a message.”

Parker waved a steadying hand at me. “Slow down.”

“I don’t want to slow down,” I answered. “I want to help my son.”

“You are helping your son, Bren.” Amanda squeezed my hands. “By being here. By wanting to be in his life.”

“But I can’t get rid of his leukemia. Everything I know about the human body, every conceivable way to keep it in peak physical health, and I’m sitting here doing nothing. Nothing.”

“Brendon,” Parker said, his tone stern enough to make me turn to him. “Can I speak out of turn for a second?”

I nodded.

He took another sip of his coffee and then smiled, first at Amanda and then at me. “I’ve known Amanda for over a month now. Since the day she and Tanner walked into my office. Tanner had a Mohawk and a grin wider than the Mississippi. But I recognized the telltale signs. It’s a kick in the guts every time I see a little kid who’s only just started life present with symptoms, and it was no different with Tanner. But I saw a fighter as well. Not just in the little boy hugging an Optimus Prime toy, but in the young mother holding him. Despite what Amanda knew – and at that stage it was only enough to scare her witless – she was strong. But I didn’t see her smile, not with her eyes. Parents of kids with a life-threatening illness rarely smile with their eyes. Their eyes tell the real story, the real pain in their heart. I’ve seen Amanda every day since that first morning consultation, and earlier today, when she introduced me to you, was the first time I’ve seen her smile reach her eyes.”

It’s not often the man responsible for your dying son tells you that you make the woman you’re determined not to love again smile in her heart, but there you go. That’s what Parker Waters had just done.

“So …” He reached for his overly sweet coffee again, half raised it to his lips, and smiled at me over its rim. “… what I’m saying in a very bad way, is you are doing something, being here. You’re helping Amanda find the smile in her heart. And as medicine for Tanner – and Amanda – that is one of the most profound things you can do.”

I stared at him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, getting to his feet, “I need to go talk to our Head Administrator about the process required for getting tests conducted in Australia. I’ll come and find you both in Tanner’s room in a while, yes?”

“Thank you, Parker,” Amanda’s husky voice stroked my senses. “We’ll see you then.”

He left us, taking his coffee and the plate of jelly donuts with him.

Amanda’s hands grew tighter on mine. “Bren?”

Head thrumming, I turned to face her. “Who’s Robby Aames, Amanda?” I hadn’t intended to be so blunt. “Because he introduced himself to me as your boyfriend.”

She grimaced. “Robby’s not my boyfriend. We’ve … we’ve gone out a few times. But he’s never … we’ve …” She withdrew her hands and began pinching at her thumbnail. “We’ve never had sex. I told you before, there’s been no one since you, and I wasn’t lying about that.”

“About that,” I echoed.

“Robby is kind and sweet to Tanner,” she said, slumping in her seat. “He’s never complained about a poopy diaper change spoiling our dinner, or that the only DVDs that ever get played in my home are The Wiggles, Blue’s Clues and Little Einsteins.”

“He wants to get into your pants,” I pointed out. “Of course he’s not going to complain.”

She looked up at me and frowned. “What he wants and what he’s going to get are two different things. I wanted you to be a bone marrow match for …” She pressed her hand to her mouth, horrified disgust filling her eyes.

I didn’t move. In my chest, my heart was doing its best to turn into an out-of-control wrecking ball.

“Oh my God, Brendon,” she gasped into her palm, her eyes growing wide. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Closing my eyes, I rubbed at my face. Where was the smile in her eyes Parker had spoken of now? What were we doing to each other? Were we trying to self-destruct the fragile relationship we had? Was it a defense mechanism against the future we both feared – a future where we didn’t find a perfect match for Tanner, where his body rejected Robby’s almost match, and he died?

Or were we both aching for something once there, that had no hope of being there again, because the people we were then were no longer the people we were now? Or were we just never meant to be in the first place?

“Bren …” She reached for my fingers again. And again, I let her take them. I had no answer for what we were doing, but I knew I’d never pull my hand away from Amanda when she tried to take it again. Regardless of our relationship, regardless of whose bone marrow matched our son’s, regardless of who was in her bed, if Amanda needed to hold my hand, I would be her strength and let her do so.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Please don’t hate me.”

I let out a choppy laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t hate you, Mandy. I have, I can’t lie about that, but I don’t now. I’m just … all over the shop.”

“I understand.”

“Just tell me two things,” I said, tugging her hand a little closer to me, my pulse wild. “Two things, okay?”

She nodded, apprehension in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Tanner’s leukemia the day you found out, before your father held his health to ransom to keep me out of your lives. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I was petrified. There was no way I could know how you’d react to this, although I fantasized every day after the diagnosis how it would go. How you’d swoop in, your optimism, your Brendon-ness, infecting us all. How Dad would welcome you with open arms. That was my fantasy, but life isn’t a fantasy, and I’d done you such wrong. I know that, Bren. I’d done you such wrong and I couldn’t just drop you into Tanner’s life without knowing where we stood with each other. I had planned to tell you, though. As soon as he was in remission, I’d planned to tell you. It wasn’t fair to dump a sick son on you, that’s what I thought. So I was going to tell you when he was well again. I knew I couldn’t keep him from you any longer, that I was denying him just as much as I was denying you.”

A wry laugh fell from her lips. “I had this whole scenario planned out in my head: I’d call you, tell you I was coming to Sydney, ask you to meet me at Bondi Beach. I was going to make sure we got there on the day you Aussies celebrate Father’s Day. And when you got to Bondi, there we’d be, me and Tanner, sitting on a blanket with a picnic laid out, and a Happy Father’s Day present waiting for you.”

The image, her fantasy, filled my head. I could see it, so clearly. The sun was high, the sky a cloudless blue. On the blanket was a basket full of my favorite food – prawns, fresh tropical fruit, pasta salad – and beside the basket sat Amanda. She wore a black bikini that showed off her gorgeous body, a body all the more gorgeous for the new curves being a mum gave her, and on her lap Tanner giggled and waved his chubby arms, Optimus Prime in one hand, a mushed-up Vegemite sandwich in the other.

Fuck, I could see it like I was there.

“I know it would have come as a shock,” she said, and I shut the image down to focus on her face again. I can’t tell you how much it hurt to turn my mind away from that image though. I don’t have the vocabulary. “But in my fantasy, you smiled at us, said it was all good, said it was gravy, and we all lived, as they say in the fairy tales, happily ever after.”

And we all lived happily ever after. What every creature with a soul wants.

We stared at each other for a long stretch. Finally, I let out a sigh. “It would have been wonderful to get to live that fantasy,” I murmured. “Almost as wonderful as it would have been there to be with you when Tanner was born.”

She closed her eyes at my gentle reproach and nodded. “What’s the other question?” she asked.

The other question. I didn’t want to ask the other question. It was a high school question, and yet, it weighed on me with mocking, contemptuous force. As did the answer I knew would follow. “Will your father ever accept I’m good enough for you?”

I saw the answer in her eyes, in her face.

A dry laugh tore at my chest. “Yeah,” I said, before she could utter what I knew might be the lie that destroyed any chance of us completely. “I thought as much.”

She closed her fingers around mine with greater pressure. “I’m sorry, Bren,” she whispered.

I shrugged. “In the grand scheme of things, babe, what he thinks of me means nothing.”

“Does that …” She searched my face for her own answers. “Are we … you and me …”

Smiling, really smiling, I rose to my feet and pulled her to stand. “C’mon,” I said, threading my fingers through hers. “Let’s go see our son.”