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“I hate this.” Brooke sniffles, wiping the tears from her face, and Vanessa feels her heart break. She wishes she could take the pain away from Brooke, wishes she could take it on for herself, please, God, give it to me instead, hurt me instead. But her prayers go unanswered, and Brooke takes another sip of her coffee while Vanessa watches and crumples inside further.
Thirty minutes ago, Brooke and Vanessa had been sitting in Brooke’s neurologist’s office, waiting for news of what was happening to her. Why all of a sudden she can’t walk normally, her movements shaky, her voice quiet. Why she doesn’t have the same stamina as she used to, and why something felt totally, completely wrong.
Early-onset Parkinson’s. The neurologist’s voice had been soft and gentle, soaked in pity, like she was handing down a death sentence. And to a professional dancer like Brooke, she might as well have been—Vanessa knows that, knew it even before Brooke had opened her mouth to protest, to insist that there must have been some mistake.
But there hadn’t been, and Brooke’s diagnosis still stands, sits at the table of the hospital Second Cup with them.
On March 10th, 2020, on the morning of her 34th birthday, Brooke has been diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s Disease. And no amount of coffee or blueberry scones, placation or reassurances, can take those four words away.
But if they help at all, even just a little, then they’re all worth offering.
“Should we cancel tonight?” Vanessa suggests softly, and apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say—Brooke bursts into tears again, sobs breathy and ragged.
“I don’t know.” she shakes her head, “Like… I don’t know. I don’t want to just throw my life on the wayside because of this, it’s not like I’m dying, but like…”
“It’s okay to need time, boo.” Vanessa reaches across the table, grabs and squeezes Brooke’s hand one, two, three times and sighing inwardly with relief when Brooke smiles. It was Brooke who had came up with their secret signal - one squeeze for every word that they wanted to say. I love you. It had stuck immediately, and even now it never fails to make Brooke relax. Vanessa loves it, too--even when Brooke is saying it out loud, there was something about having her hand squeezed in rhythm to the words that made them more tangible, more comforting, even more wonderful to hear and feel. Makes them settle into her chest as her hand buzzes with the euphoria of her wife’s lingering touch. And if there’s anything Brooke needs right now, it’s that feeling, that reminder that Vanessa is there for her.
“Yeah.” Brooke sighs, squeezing Vanessa back, their secret code understood like a promise between them.
“We’ll order Korean barbeque and rent some cheesy movies, it’ll be great.” Vanessa offers, and even though Brooke’s nod is fairly hollow, at least it’s a nod.
--
Brooke knows it’s impossible for Vanessa to make her feel better right now, but it means a lot that she’s trying anyway. The kitchen is littered with styrofoam takeout containers, wood chopsticks and the cold, half-eaten remains of spareribs scattered on the table. In the living room, some rom-com with a mole-rat looking leading man and a smoking-hot yet baby-faced protagonist plays, long forgotten amidst a trail of clothes that lead to the bedroom.
It’s weird, being naked right now. Being exposed, moving in a body that’s exactly the same as it had been yesterday and yet now feels so, so different.
“You have beautiful hands, baby.” Vanessa interlaces her fingers with Brooke’s, and Brooke realizes she’s been staring at her hands, trying to decide if they’re real. If the way they move is any different. If they’re different. But they still grab Vanessa back, still squeeze one, two, three times and feel it warm and firm when Vanessa squeezes one, two, three times back.
Vanessa lets go, pulls her closer, kisses her on her collarbone when Brooke winces a little. She’s not in pain—not really. Her old body isn’t. But her new body—her same body, now seeming so different—is uncertain of what it wants, how it should react.
“You ain’t got any bruises.” Vanessa chuckles, traces the along the dips of Brooke’s chest she was biting and sucking minutes ago, and Brooke relaxes, because it’s like Vanessa’s read her mind. Like she’d known Brooke had been trying to decide if she should be careful, if her body was fragile or not. “That’s my tough-skinned baby girl.”
“For how long, though?” Brooke frets, but Vanessa presses a finger to her lips, only to replace the digit with her own mouth, kissing their code on her one, two, three times.
I love you.
“Considering the brochures ain’t mention nothin’ about easy bruising, longer than you think, I’m sure.” Vanessa burrows her face into Brooke’s neck, sighs deeply the way she always does, and it’s nice. Makes Brooke feel in control, almost normal, even.
“Things are gonna change, Ness.” she sighs, and Vanessa squeezes tighter, breathes in deeper, slower, encouraging Brooke’s mind and heart to slow down as she matches Vanessa’s pace.
“I know.” Vanessa whispers, and once again, it’s the right thing to say—because it’s the truth, the same way Vanessa always tells it.
“I’m not gonna be the same.”
“Yes you will.” Vanessa’s voice is resolute, her touch becoming firmer.
“Ness—“
“You know why I married you?” Vanessa looks Brooke in the eyes, and her gaze is soft, affectionate, yet insistent, as if her mind’s made up and there’s no changing it.
“Why?” Brooke breathes, the answer obvious and yet now insecure.
“Because you, miss Brooke Lynn Mateo-Hytes, are amazing. You’re smart, and clever, and brave. You ain’t never give up or back down from a challenge. You got grit, and you can be stubborn, but you also loyal and caring. Always thinking of others. Of me. Never thinking bad of me even when I act stupid as hell.
“I love you, Brooke. And yeah, some things are gonna change. But other things ain’t. And it’s those things that I love most about you.”
It takes Vanessa’s thumb swiping across her cheek for Brooke to realize she’s crying, but this time, she doesn’t hate it. Doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, doesn’t want to stop. Because Vanessa is holding her, squeezing her, kissing her, loving her, and even though things aren’t okay, in a way, they are.
Some things never change, and when Brooke finally stops crying, kisses Vanessa on the top of her head as if to thank her, she realizes that she’s holding her most important constant right in her arms.
And as long as she is breathing, neither of them would ever let go.