“Oh, yeah, no. I have nephews, from my half sisters. But they’re older.”
They’re like— DAD, HOW OLD ARE JULIE AND MARTHA?” “Twenty-eight!” “They’re like twenty-eight.
They live in Chicago. They are both married to very fancy lawyer dudes. Or banker dudes. I can’t remember.
“You have siblings?” I shook my head no. “So what’s your story?” he asked, sitting down next to me at a safe distance.
I already told you my story. I was diagnosed when—” “No, not your cancer story. Your story.
Interests, hobbies, passions, weird fetishes, etcetera.” “Um,” I said.
Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who becomes their disease. I know so many people like that. It’s disheartening.
Like, cancer is in the growth business, right? The taking-people-over business.
But surely you haven’t let it succeed prematurely.” It occurred to me that perhaps I had.
I struggled with how to pitch myself to Augustus Waters, which enthusiasms to embrace,
and in the silence that followed it occurred to me that I wasn’t very interesting.
I am pretty unextraordinary.” “I reject that out of hand. Think of something you like. The first thing that comes to mind.
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