Mr. Agency and I were both out of town in early October. I had planned to return from Manhattan on Thursday, but Mr. Agency wasn’t entirely sure when he would get back to DC.
Mr. Agency: I’ll see you when I get back over the weekend.
Me [always the planner]: Which night?
Mr. Agency: Either Friday or Saturday, depending on work. I’ll come over the night I get back.
Me: Okay. You aren’t heading back on Friday for the fundraiser? [Once a month, there was a fundraiser at a neighborhood restaurant to benefit a cause that Mr. Agency supported.]
Mr. Agency: No. If I make it back on Friday, I have another event.
I didn’t hear from Mr. Agency until Saturday morning. He texted me that he had just gotten home and looked forward to seeing me that evening after work.
During the day, I went to the salon to donate what was left of my hair to Locks of Love. (In four days, I had lost half of my hair from chemotherapy.) I hadn’t yet embraced the sexiness of the buzz cut, but I tried to fake it. When Mr. Agency knocked on my door, I greeted him with red lace lingerie and four-inch stilettos.
He smiled and laughed since he hadn’t expected to see me like that. I fixed him a drink and then we went into the bedroom. On the surface, sex with Mr. Agency was as loving and intense as ever. We embraced each other tightly throughout the act, peppering our moans of “more,” and “yes” with “I missed you so much.” We both came, and when we were done, we discussed our weeks. On the surface, everything was normal.
But, a part of me felt like there was an elephant in the room. While we were having sex, Mr. Agency moved his hand to hold the back of my head. When he touched my very short hair, he moved his hand away rather quickly. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but I couldn’t help but think:
I was the girl with the long, sexy red hair. Now, I'm the girl with the buzz cut, and soon I'll be the girl who is bald.
I didn’t cry or bring up my fears, but it seemed like Mr. Agency sensed what I needed. He held me close and told me how sexy I was. And, in the morning, when we had sex again, he told me much of the same before he headed off to the Redskins game.
Me: I’m going to turn into a pumpkin on Tuesday with the next round of chemotherapy. Come over before then if you can.
Mr. Agency: Okay.
The following day, he texted me to wish me luck with my first television interview. (If you'd like to see the interview and how I looked with the buzz cut, click here.)
On Tuesday, Mr. Agency texted me to let me know that he hoped that this round of chemotherapy was better than the first. He texted me the next day, too, but he didn’t come over or offer to bring me anything like he had in the past.
The second round hit me harder, as I was on four different medications to combat the side effects from chemotherapy. Two of the drugs caused irritability and temporary amnesia so I felt like a moody zombie. On Wednesday, I finally texted Mr. Agency the question that I had been wondering:
Will I be seeing you anytime soon?
Mr. Agency: I hope to see you one night this weekend.
"Hoped?" I thought to myself. "One night!"
I stared at my cell phone with a confused expression on my face. He seemed so blasé about his plans, and I didn’t understand why he wasn’t being as attentive as he had been previously. Of course, his work was important, but I was going through treatment for cancer!
Later that day, my confusion mounted as I went on Facebook. My news feed showed a photo of Mr. Agency and a friend…at the fundraiser…on Friday.
Did he really come home a night early and attend the event?
Why would he lie to me when he had to have known that there would be photographs taken there?
I had worried that cancer would be too much for us so early in our relationship. Had I hit the nail on the head?
To be continued…