We’ve spent hours and hours in each other’s presence, helping each other, problem-solving. And at times, when things got more personal, we helped each other with real-life problems, sometimes talking with one another through the night, to fight the loneliness and isolation we sometimes feel.

Sometimes those virtual friendships have blossomed into something more. Face-to-face forever friends. Or lovers. Or lifelong companions.

And when you really think about it, even though the interaction is different, are the feelings any less worthy of the label “friendship”?

No, indeed.

***

My third round of death by IV was dealt by smiling nurses and a very kind oncologist, Dr. Rivera, who I would have loved to have had for a grandpa. He was head of the oncology division at the UCI Medical School and had brought some students with him on chemo rounds. After talking to me for a few minutes, he sent the students on ahead and sat down opposite me.

“I hear that you are a medical student yourself, Mia. Is that so?”

I sent a glance toward Adam, who sat beside me, reading. My mom was still up in Anza with the overdue mare and Heath was sick so it was just me and him. And I was suddenly wishing that he wasn’t here to listen in on this conversation. “Um. Well I would have been. But that’s on hold for now.”

The doctor looked thoughtful. “You’ll be well and done with your rounds of chemo by the fall. Dr. Tahan from Johns Hopkins says he’s looking forward to having you in his program.”

I shifted in my chair. Adam appeared to be reading email on his tablet but I knew he was following every word. “I’m probably not going to be in his program. I notified him—”

“Mia, dear,” Dr. Rivera said, placing a hand over mine. “It’s okay to plan for the future. You’ve been through a lot, but don’t lose sight of your dreams and goals.”

“I haven’t,” I said.

He smiled. “Of course, you could always stay in lovely SoCal and attend our school. We’d be ecstatic to have you—and I see you requested the deferment from us as well. But I’ll be the first to admit we probably can’t compete with JHU in the field you want to study.”

I smiled. “We’ll see. At this point, I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to keep my lunch down today. I’m not really at the stage where I can give it much thought.”

Dr. Rivera sobered, his shaggy brows puckering over deep-set eyes. “Have you attended any of the group therapy sessions, Mia? I think they might be good for you.”

“I’ll look into them,” I said. My way of brushing him off, of course. I had no intention of going to group therapy. I couldn’t spill my soul to the people I loved most in the world. How could I rattle off the string of tragedies to a bunch of strangers? And I’m sure that there’d be plenty of judgment meted out for the decision I’d made to get chemo right away, too. It wasn’t too far-fetched to anticipate, after all. I judged myself for that decision every damn day.

Adam never spoke up but I caught him watching me for the rest of the chemo session. I started popping anti-nausea gum, playing dumb by avoiding his gaze. I knew we’d keep on playing this weird unspoken game between us where we went through the motions of being perfectly healthy without discussing the biggest issues between us. It was almost as if we were both hoping that if we pretended these problems went away, they would. But he didn’t want to deal with those things now because he thought I couldn’t handle it.

“That doctor had a point,” Adam said on the drive back home to his house. I wasn’t yet feeling the rumblings of the usual nausea but the headache was starting to beat down on me. I slumped down in my seat and looked at him. His features were completely unreadable behind his designer aviator sunglasses.

“I draw the line at group therapy.”

“Okay, but what about private therapy? It might be good for you.”

I glanced at him sidelong. “Yeah, it might be. And it might not. I think I’ll be fine without it.” I punctuated this statement by folding my arms over my chest.

“And what about what he said about medical school?”

I didn’t say anything, just massaged my forehead, hoping the body language was enough to get him to drop the subject.

He glanced at me again. “I think it’s a good idea for you to make plans for the fall.”

He meant it was a good idea to make plans that didn’t involve the possibility that I wouldn’t survive this. I squeezed my upper arms where I held them. I wish I could push away those nagging fears that told me I was somehow in that fifteen percent that might not make it. I wish I could assure him like he obviously needed to be assured that I hadn’t given up hope.