23. Lia

Dr. Sanchez frownsat her computer screen as I sit uncomfortably in the chair across from her. She scours my medical records, looks at charts Asher whipped up based on the results and symptom logs. For years, I've been combining the infusions with oral medications typically prescribed for cancer patients. The side effects have been intense, but I've been so functional … compared to when I could barely scrape myself off the floor.

I see now, as I explain the reality of my daily life to Dr. Sanchez, that my "stable" is still quite impaired. And I can tell from her face that she believes things can be better. "I really want you to wean off the oral meds, Lia. Have you looked over some of the more recent studies?"

I shake my head, because Richard claimed he was helping to produce those studies—he kept telling me I was part of his "cutting-edge research." My pulse quickens and Asher grunts from his chair beside me, his arms crossed over his chest, posture rigid and radiating anger.

I've been bending my life around this illness for years. I close my eyes against a tear at the thought of what I've given up in the name of self-preservation.

Dr. Sanchez smiles and folds her hands on her desk. "Look, I know I'm just a simple doc in a bumpkin hospital." She rolls her eyes at the stereotype. "But my fellow GI specialists have seen great outcomes from gentler treatment protocols. I truly believe we can keep your symptoms managed and give you more energy, fewer flare-ups, and a life less focused on toilets."

I bark out a laugh, surprised at her candor, but I quickly begin trembling, overwhelmed at her affirmation of my secret fears. Dr. Sanchez is offering to slice a tether and give me something I've never, ever felt I had, options. I press my palms over my eyes and take a few breaths.

"Lia, what are you thinking? Talk to me." Dr. Sanchez's voice is soothing and calm. I hear her insisting that I'm a partner in this discussion. This feels so different from when I was 20 years old, begging for someone to listen to me, and then blindly accepting their advice the second they agreed my symptoms weren't all in my head.

I clear my throat and look over to my brother, whose eyes meet mine in silent encouragement. "I, um, I want change. Can you tell me what you think things would look like? Ongoing?"

Dr. Sanchez shrugs. "Definitely continue the low FOD-MAP diet, since that's working really well for you. Have you introduced solids again since I saw you last? You're looking much better, by the way."

I shake my head. "Still doing the pureed soups and protein shakes."

"Baby formula," Asher grunts again, shaking his head. "She's drinking baby formula."

"It's for adults, too," I snap at him. Feeling infantilized is a huge part of my hang-up with my entire situation. "But I'm sick of it. I'm sick of outlandish rents in the city just so I can be close to a major research hospital at all times. I hardly ever fly down to see my parents in Florida … and this is my first time back in Fork Lick to see my brother. God, I don't want to live this way anymore."

I realize the truth of it all, that I hate going into an office full-time only to be chained to the office toilet. I hate never taking vacations. I hate not having a community outside the nurses in my doctor's office. Since I've been here, since I begged to come here and help save the Bedd family from ruin, I've felt more whole than I had in decades, despite a flare up that landed me in the hospital.

A few minutes later, Dr. Sanchez has me set up with the admin team for her practice within the hospital at Climax. I don't even have to call Richard's office to transfer my records if I don't want to, although I do want to say goodbye to Javier and Lynn. Best of all, I can do all my bloodwork and infusions right here … a twenty-minute drive from Asher's house…from Ethan.

In the parking lot, I sink into my brother's arms, relief threatening to tip me over. He pats my hair and grips my arms, looking into my eyes. "You never have to see that fucker Richard again."

I laugh at his vehemence. "Maybe one more time," I tell him. "I owe it to Ethan to fully sever those ties."

Asher raises a brow. "Ethan, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah. Ethan."

He smiles briefly and unlocks his car. "I figured." Asher turns on the car and backs out of his parking spot, eyes on the road as he adds, "You should break up with Richard via text. Then block his number."

"Oh, that's your best romantic advice?" I laugh at his matter-of-fact approach, but he's not wrong. A quick text is about as much attention as Richard's given me or my care. For once, I decide to follow my big brother's advice.

I fire off a message:

It's over. I'm transferring my care to another practice. We're through.

Asher sings along with the radio while he drives, off-tune and missing half the words. I smile and join him, feeling light and happy, eager to get to Ethan. My phone rings and I see that it's Richard calling, but I send the call to voicemail.

He calls again and Asher lowers the volume on the radio. I meet his eyes and answer. "Richard, this isn't a good time for me to talk. I'm very busy."

"Lia, you're being irrational. I'd assume your text was a statement of some kind, but my team tells me they got a records request…"

"Was there information missing from the request? I'm happy to speak with the admin team."

Richard huffs. "Lia, come on. Don't be stupid. You've been gone too long. You need to get back on your meds, get your head on straight."

A wave of calm washes over me as Richard scolds me. I hear him showing me who he really is, and for once I believe him. Richard isn't benevolent and he's not my hero. I don't want anything he has to offer. More importantly, I don't need any of it. I've got people on my side now, and they deserve all of my attention. I cut Richard off mid-sentence as he mutters about his research. "What's that? There's such bad reception here in the sticks. My people will be in touch about my medical records. We don't need to speak again."

I hang up the phone and turn the volume back up on the radio. Asher and I sing terribly, and neither of us seems surprised when he skips his driveway and heads directly for Bedd Fellows Farm.