Page 118 of Something Like Forever

“Okay, but that doesn’tmean—”

“They took a biopsytoday,” Tim said. “The tumor is cancerous.”

Ben’s legs felt weak, sohe sat in a deck chair. Tim sat too. The yard was quiet, especiallywithout Chinchilla. They lived far enough away from the city thatthey rarely heard sirens or any other noise. Tonight even theinsects weren’t singing. Ben couldn’t help thinking how quiet itwould be if he ended up living here alone. That was possible. Heknew that no one was guaranteed a long life or a happy ending.“What stage,” he asked, his voice coming out as awhisper.

“Two.”

Ben pulled out his phone,determined to find every possible solution.

“What doyou want to know?” Tim asked. “Trust me, I’ve looked it allup.”

Ben wanted to know thesurvival rate, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask directly. “Areyou going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. I startchemo in a couple days and—” Tim’s voice faltered. He drained moreof his beer so he could continue. “If we’re lucky, the tumordisappears. If not, they have to remove that part of mylung.”

“Jesus,” Ben breathed.“How risky is that?”

“I don’tknow,” Tim said. “It doesn’t scare me nearly as much as cancerdoes!”

“I’ll be there,” Ben said.“For all of it. I won’t leave your side!”

Tim opened his arms. “Comehere.”

“No, youcome here!” Ben said, patting his lap.

“I’m too heavy,” Timprotested.

“I don’t care.”

Tim rose, and even thoughBen had intended to provide a place to sit, he was too upset toremain stationary. He stood and hugged Tim. The embrace didn’t end.Ben lost track of time. All he could think about was how theremight come a day when he could no longer enjoy the simple pleasureof holding his husband. He already knew he wouldn’t be able tocope. Thoughts of suicide weren’t necessary, because he wouldn’tsurvive that kind of pain again. He couldn’t. That was theworse-case scenario. For now, he should stay optimistic.

“You’re strong,” Ben said.“You’ve already got this beat!”

“Ofcourse,” Tim said, managing a cocky smile. “I made a promise,didn’t I?”

He had. Ben sometimes feltbad about that. He had been emotional at the time, still raw fromlosing Jace and uncertain if he could handle loving again. Not whenit came with so many risks, so Tim had promised that there wasnothing to fear, that he wouldn’t die first. Ben knew such apromise wasn’t possible to keep, but he had hoped they might belucky.

“Enoughfeeling sorry for myself,” Tim said. “I’m not the first person toget cancer, and I won’t be the first person to beat it. And I will.You’ll see.”

“Ialready know you will!” Ben said, following his lead. That had tohelp their chances. If they could face this with a positiveoutlook—well, they needed every advantage they couldget.

“I gotta pee,” Timsaid.

The announcement wasrefreshingly mundane. “Okay,” Ben said. “Are you coming backout?”

“Yeah.It’s a nice night.” Tim started to move toward the house and thenhesitated. “Don’t look stuff up while I’m gone. You’ll just scareyourself. You know how the internet is. It’s worse than thatmedical book your mom has. All doom and gloom.”

“Okay,”Ben said, but he didn’t promise, because there was one thing heneeded to know. A simple statistic. He resisted anyway, havingenough concerns to make his brain buzz with nightmarish visions ofthe future. Then he swore and took out his phone, because maybe hewas wrong and this would be the easiest way to reassurehimself.

stage two lung cancersurvival rate

His fingers were a blur asthey typed out these words, the results popping upimmediately.

Thirty percent. Fiveyears. He tried to calm himself enough to understand the answerproperly. After diagnosis, the number of people still expected tobe alive after five years was thirty percent. He imagined a roomfilled with ten people. Then he removed seven of them. Thoseweren’t good odds.

“God damn it, Benjamin!What did I tell you?”

“Youcan’t keep this a secret!” Ben said, turning on him and wanting tobe angry because that would be easier, but he couldn’t. He was tooscared. “Please.” His voice was a whimper. “From now on, tell meeverything. Don’t push me away, because if this really is all thetime we have left—”