Page 130 of Something Like Forever

Ben’s face flushed. “I getnervous when I laugh. I mean, I laugh when I’m nervous.”

He didn’t, but Tim was tooexcited to worry about that now. His shirt was already off. “Howbig would the incisions be?”

“Relatively small,” Dr. Sanchez said. “A posterolateralthoracotomy would run from here to here.” He traced a long linefrom Tim’s back to beneath one of his pecs. “With a VATS, we make asmall incision here beneath your armpit, and two smaller ones hereand here on your back.”

“No cracking my ribsopen?”

Dr. Sanchez struggled withhis choice of words, but he nodded. “No spreading yourribs.”

“Thatsounds so much better!” Tim enthused.

“In myopinion, it is. One advantage of this method is that it greatlyreduces the risk of chronic postoperative pain.”

“Even better!” Tim said.“Can I still get drunk?”

Dr. Sanchez chuckled. “No.If you could refrain until you’ve recovered, that would bepreferable.”

They discussed theprocedure in greater detail, and while Tim still wasn’t thrilled tobe losing part of his lung, or to have anyone poking around insideof him, this whole VATS thing sounded a lot more hopeful. Enoughthat he was grinning as they walked across the parkinglot.

“We finally got some goodnews,” Tim said.

“Wedid!” Ben said, smiling back at him. “I have faith in your surgeon.I like him. A lot.”

Tim scowled. “Inoticed!”

“Ohstop,” Ben said. “You know I have a soft spot for Latino guys. Youhave to admit that he’s handsome. I love the name too. Dr. JacobBishop-Sanchez. So regal! And all those big words he uses? Hold medown, lube me up, and whisper in my ear untilmorning!”

“Benjamin!”

“What?I’m not a married man. I have every right to play thefield.”

“Oh I’mgoing to marry you,” Tim said. “I’m going to marry you so fuckinghard!”

They both looked at eachother. Then they laughed.

“Wanna grab lunchsomewhere?” Ben asked. “I feel like celebrating.”

The thought of food madehis stomach clench and refuse, but Tim didn’t care. Just getting tosit across a table from Ben and watch him eat would be rewardenough.

* * * * *

“Okay, class!” Ben clapped his hands to getthe attention of his students. “Today we’re working on a specialproject, but don’t worry, because it’s going to befun!” Stressingthe last word hadn’t helped convince the children. If anything,they seemed even more wary. No doubt other teachers had promisedthem fun before breaking out a math workbook, so he tried again.“Who likes drawing pictures and making things?”

Most of the hands shotup.

“Good,”Ben said, walking around to the front of his desk, which was loadedup with construction paper, crayons, markers, glue, glitter, andother art supplies, because he wanted the end results to bestellar. “Today we’re going to make get-well cards for a very braveman who—” He checked the clock on the wall. “—will be going intosurgery soon.”

He hated that he couldn’tbe there. Tim was about to have his lobectomy, and Ben should be athis side, or at least in the waiting room. He had taken too manypersonal days since the cancer was discovered, and would need moreduring the initial recovery, so Tim had insisted that he shouldn’twaste this one. It wasn’t as simple as Ben taking off for a fewhours. Tim was at MD Anderson in Houston, a three-hour drive away.This meant they hadn’t even been together the night before thesurgery. Ben hated that.

They had little to worryabout, just a seven percent chance of a major complication and arefreshingly miniscule point three percent chance of death. Benworried regardless that Dr. Jacob Bishop-Sanchez (so yummy!) mightdiscover something the scans hadn’t yet revealed. What if thecancer had spread to other organs since then? Ben really should bethere. Just in case.

He walked around to themarker board, writing Tim’s name in three huge letters. “This iswho we are making cards for. He has a hard day ahead of him, butyou can make him feel better. Any words you write should be inpencil. Before you use anything permanent, we’ll go over themtogether, but when it comes to the actual art, let your imaginationrun wild. Now then, one at a time, each of you please come up hereand choose—”

And so it went. Soon hewas seated behind the desk again and hunched over his phone. Bencounted down the minutes, sending texts that used an excessiveamount of emojis—any that were even remotely romantic—along withdeclarations of love and encouraging words. Tim didn’t respond tothe most recent round. He was either drugged or no longer hadaccess to his phone. The final text Tim had sent simplyread,Don’t worry. I’ve gotthis.

A knock on the door madeBen jerk upright. “Keep working,” he said to his class as he wentto answer it. He expected another teacher. Not his bestfriend.

“Youhave me worried sick!” Allison hissed. Then she angled her head toaddress to the class. “Hi, everyone!”