“Then yes, we will officially shack up together . . . again.”
“How romantic,” I pretend to faint at his feet. Shaking his head with a smile, he loads our stuff in the car, I walk through the house making sure we didn’t forget anything, and he comes back to start locking up.
“Luke,” I call out to him. When I get his attention, “What did you mean when you told me not to build a playhouse because one day our daughter would play in it?”
“Exactly what I said. You plus woodworking don’t exactly make a safe design.”
“No, did you mean you want to have a daughter?”
“And a few sons. The sons have to come first, they need to watch out for their sister.” I try to catch my breath.
“What if I can’t give you that?” That’s always a possibility after chemo. The first few rounds I wasn’t too worried about it, I was younger, before puberty. This last time, well we won’t know until we try, but I don’t want him committing without the full picture.
“What do you mean?” He’s studying my face.
“The chemo. I may not be able to have kids.”
He strides towards me, grabbing my face gently, “No, you can always have kids. You may not be able to conceive or carry our kids, but whether we adopt or not you can have kids, and they’ll be mine. Ours.” He reiterates his statement with a bruising kiss and finishes locking up the house. This man has all the answers my heart desires.
“Okay,” is all I can manage.
“When do you go back to the doctor?”
“I have to call and schedule. Get all my records transferred,” he whips his head back to me.
“You haven’t been to the doctor in two months since you’ve been home?”
“I have time. I am on a six month schedule.”
“No. I need it to be monthly. I can’t do it again. I will lose my fucking mind. Every month, Phoebe.”
I know it terrifies him. I’m scared every time I go to the oncologist, waiting for results. “Okay, Luke. Whatever you need.”
“Just you. As long as I have you, I’ll be fine.”
“Well then you’re perfect because you definitely have me.”
“Forever.”
“Forever.” I hate promising something I have no control over, but he has me for as long as my forever is. Even getting past the infamous five year mark in remission will do little to ease my fears, because it came back before. I promise myself that each day I will make a new memory with Luke. And I will give him children, whether they’re from my womb or not, they will be from my heart.
Brett and James are still here; they’ll be leaving after they see what happens to Drake. Luke brings whatever he had at his parents over; falling asleep in his arms never gets old.
Drake is found guilty; with his prior record he gets no leniency. He’s sentenced to fifteen years on one count and another ten years on the other. Needless to say, he’s disappearing from my life. I’m busy scheduling and hiring for the studio, and it’s really taking off. I don’t want to overbook classes and want to keep the small studio feel. It’s a balancing act.
Quiet time with Luke is always late evenings, and I don’t want to lose that. We have our routine and it works. Over dinner, he asks, “When is your doctor’s appointment? I want to make sure I’m not scheduled for clients.” Shit. I forgot.
“I don’t have one yet. I’ll send myself a reminder to set it up,” I promise him as I pull up the calendar in my phone.
“What the hell, Phoebe? It’s been six damn weeks since I told you to schedule it.” I know this is a hot button for him.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy and it slipped my mind.”
“Fuck,” he shouts. He’s frozen in terror, and reliving this won’t allow us to keep moving forward. I have to tread lightly.
“Luke, I know you are terrified. It’s scary for me. I’m not being dismissive, and I’m sorry I forgot. You can’t let the fear rule you; if you do we won’t ever be free to just enjoy it. Cancer is a part of our life, of my body. We need to hope for the best, but take it as it comes. Forcing me to go to the doctor every month isn’t going to change anything.”
“We can catch it earlier,” he’s so sure it’s coming back.
“Not always. It takes a while before my levels will register and the scans won’t always pick up early detection. You have to stop living with the mindset it will come back. That’s always a possibility, but grab on to some faith and believe we have a lifetime together.” I beg him. He can’t live like this; it will kill us.
I finish putting the reminder in my phone and kick myself for not remembering. I’m not purposely trying to give him a heart attack. “I’m sorry, Twinkle. I know you’re right. Maybe the first appointment I go to will reassure me.” I fucking hope so because this will suffocate me and put a strain on us we don’t need. Part of the fear is our future. Not one riddled with cancer, death and despair; but what if I can’t have another child with him? Our lives will be full, we have options others don’t. Selfishly, I want to be able to give him something that was taken from me . . . from both of us. I feel like it will set the wrongs right. I know the possibilities are against us, a slim chance the chemo didn’t wreck my reproductive system but hearing that will make it a reality, one I am not ready for.
I manage to remember to schedule the appointment and the relief on his face makes all of his neurotic tendencies disappear. I wasn’t nervous at all; I’ve had three weeks to prepare because I had to get my records transferred. Now sitting here on the eve before seeing the doctor, who gave me the devastating news last time, I’m having a mini-meltdown. Luke is outside, finishing up the yard work, and I don’t want to talk to him about this. His anxiety mixed with mine equals a dosage Xanax hasn’t formulated yet.
“Hey,” he says in my ear making me jump off the couch. I don’t know why he insists on sneaking up behind me.
“Damn it! I didn’t hear you come in.” I press my hand over my racing heart. He gives me his grin; you know the one that makes me forgive all his antics and wrongdoings.
“You were in your own little world, shredding your fingernails, and picking at the non-existent strings on the blanket. What’s on your mind?” Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Not much,” I can’t look at him. He’ll know I’m lying.
He chuckles, “Shit liar, Twinkle. You’d think you would stop doing it.” I stick my tongue out at him. Mature, I know, but it’s all I have at the moment.
“Don’t stick it out unless you plan to use it, little girl,” he taunts.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line to you?” I roll my eyes.
“I always use my tongue, babe. No complaints yet,” he tells me while licking his lips. Damn him. “Now, spill it.”
And like the good little girl I am, I open my mouth and emit every fear in my mind. “I’m scared. I don’t know why it just hit me; I know it’s irrational. The last time I saw Dr. Marks, it wasn’t the best experience of my life. I hate laying all of this on you, but I don’t think we should go. I think we should just wait for the six-month check-up. Don’t break the regimen.” I’m almost hyperventilating at the end of that monologue.
“Come here, Twinkle.” I move slowly towards him and as soon as his arms go around me . . . silence. My breathing calms, the horrible thoughts disappear, and I just exist, here in this moment. “Come outside with me.” He isn’t suggesting it, which is evident by him dragging me through the kitchen and out the back door.
I’m astonished by the vision of our back yard. He’s transformed it into a fairytale. A gazebo is set up in the middle of the yard, white lights draped throughout the upper trellis, pillar candles on every flat surface, and pale blue rose petals make the walkway. In the corner of the yard, standing upright is an exact replica of my playhouse. “When? How?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s all for you.” He guides me to the gazebo, and I feel like the princess he always treats me like. I’m in my own enchanted world, with my Prince C
harming standing beside me. He walks over and picks up his guitar, softly tuning it. When he looks up and over at me, never breaking his stare, the chords begin to fill the air. His green eyes locked on my blue, strumming the guitar, his voice dances through the air. He begins singing ‘Just Say Yes’ by Snow Patrol, never breaking eye contact. Finishing the song, he stands and kneels before me, “Phoebe Marie Wells, it’s always going to be you. For one day, one month, one year, or for one lifetime, whatever time we are allotted I want every second with you. Will you marry me?” He presents me with a stunning solitaire, framed by emeralds, the perfect match to his eyes.
The boy who rubbed my head in comfort, the boy who walked me to school, the boy who was my fiercest protector and biggest champion . . . is now the man I will call husband. “Yes,” I happily tell him. I don’t give him the chance to stand up, I sink to my knees and meld my lips to his, and once again, we are Luke and Phoebe. He is me, not my other half, but my entire being.
Chapter 27
Luke
“I don’t want to wait,” I tell her honestly, pulling away from her lips. She laughs.
“Hold on a hot minute, you just put a ring on it. Can I enjoy this moment?”
“You can enjoy every moment . . . as my wife. I’m serious, Phoebe. I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it is. I need you to be mine.”
“I am yours, Luke. Always have been. A last name isn’t going to change that. I will have your last name, but mine to. I look at her questioningly, not following. “I don’t want to lose the last tie I have to my parents.” Her tears haven’t fallen yet, but they will soon.
“It does for me. I want you to have my last name.” I don’t know why this sense of urgency is overtaking me, but I can’t stop it. I have this obsession for us to be legally one.
“Okay, whenever you want. I have a few conditions. I want to hyphenate my name. Wells-Nichols. That way I have the best of both worlds. My parents forever with me and tied to my new name. I want Brett and James to be there, and I want to get married right here. That way I’ll feel like I have my parents with us.” Everything she just said is perfection. I understand her need to keep her parents, and I want them right here with us.
“I agree. Wells-Nichols. I never want you to feel you have lost any part of them, but you are gaining a part of me. We can do Saturday. That gives us four days, and I’m sure my mom can pull something together.”
She just gives me her smile, then puts her hand on her hip, “Glad to see you replaced my playhouse.”
“Told you our daughter needs somewhere to play.” She tries to make an objection, and I place my finger over her lips, “Remember, it doesn’t matter how it happens, but it will happen. Our child will grow up here, and she needs a playhouse.” Seeing her roll her gorgeous eyes at me, I can’t help but feel relief in this moment. “Let’s go upstairs and you can put that tongue to good use.” I pick her up amidst her laughter and carry my girl to bed.
Holding her in my arms is home. It is comfort. It is all I need. “Luke, what happens if we can’t have our own daughter, or son? What happens if the doctor tells me I can’t have kids?”
“We’ve been through this. We both know it is probably not going to happen naturally, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have our own. Regardless where are children come from, they will be ours. Is this why you put off the appointment?”
“Subconsciously, probably.” I jump off the bed and go to the top drawer of my dresser. I picked up the paperwork earlier after doing my own research on our odds. I don’t want her ever feeling less than because she can’t conceive. I know she looks at it as another thing cancer robbed from her, but I look at it like another milestone in our life we get to experience because she survived.
I throw the pamphlets and paperwork down between us. “Read it.” She picks up all the information I have gathered about adoption. I have a few about surrogacy, but I am leaning towards adoption. Giving a life to someone who may not get the opportunities we had. “You’re okay with this?” She tries to keep the hope out of her voice, but it is there.
“I’m more than okay with it. I want this. It’s a journey, and won’t be overnight but we can take the time to enjoy being married while we wait.”
“Have I told you lately how lucky I am? I love you, Luke.”
“I love you, Phoebe. This is the right decision for us. I know it.”
Pleasantries are overrated when sitting in a doctor’s office. I just want to go in, have Phoebe checked out, her blood taken, get the results, and the all-clear. Is that so hard to do? Instead I have this doctor wanting a breakdown of her life in the past four years, something that he would know about if he read the records in front of him. “How are you feeling, Phoebe?” Dr. Marks asks her. She reaches over and places her hand on my knee to stop the bouncing while answering, “Good. I feel fine, really.” I have to let go of her hand to shake mine out, it’s covered in sweat, and I need some blood to flow. Standing up I begin to pace, and I hear her laughter.
“He’s a bit anxious,” that’s an understatement.
“I see congratulations are in order,” Dr. Marks says nodding to the ring I placed on her finger last night.
I have been on edge for weeks about this appointment, and last night when I walked in, seeing her stressing out, I was calm. I was able to make her forget, and she has tried doing that for me all day, but it isn’t working. “Luke, come sit back down. Her lab work just came back.”
I sit back down and grab her hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. I watch him study the labs, click on his mouse a few times, and then he lowers his glasses. Fuck no, this is not happening again. “You aren’t fatigued, Phoebe? No abnormal symptoms.”
“N-n-no.” She manages to get out. I can’t swallow, so I know I can’t speak right now.
“Hmm . . . that’s promising.” He goes back to his computer and then his calendar. Looking up from his desk, “Congratulations. There’s no sign of cancer.” Those words wash over my soul, send blood through my veins, and oxygen to my lungs. “And you are expecting. Looks like you are right about three weeks. Going to make for a long pregnancy, but a healthy one, this time.” I can tell the moment isn’t lost on him. He once gave us the news that blew us apart, now he sits giving us the news that continues to bind us.
“Holy shit,” I blurt on exhale. “We’re having a baby,” I turn to look at her, and I see her sitting, immobile, frozen in fear with tears streaming down her cheeks. “What is it, Phoebe?”
“Are you sure? What about the chemo I had?” She’s pleading with him to tell her everything’s going to be okay. Afraid to realize in this instant, we have it all. She doesn’t want it ripped away.
“Take a breath, Twinkle.” I pick her up and place her in my lap. “Take a deep breath in, let it out.” I’m trying to sync our breathing, calm her nerves. “It’s going to be fine, I’m right here, we’re together.” I whisper these phrases over and over, silently hoping I believe them.
“You have no reason to worry right now. Take this news and embrace it. Be happy about it. You’ll need to follow up with an obstetrician, but I have no concerns about the pregnancy.”
After getting a referral from him for a doctor and discussing how I would feel better if we did every six weeks with him instead of every six months, he indulges me. Phoebe says it was because of my smile and not the fact I was on the verge of threatening him with bodily harm. Whatever works. I’m reeling from the news that I am going to be a father. In less than a week her husband; and within the year, someone’s daddy.
Once we are in the confines of our house, I sit down and soak it in. “Twinkle, we’re doing it this time. Please tell me this is real.”
“It’s real. It’s overwhelming, but we’re going to be parents.”
“And married. Don’t forget that.” I can’t remember a time this wasn’t what I dreamed of, what I had searched for. I’m so fucking lucky that I’ve been able to turn my dreams into reality.
“Yo
u, Luke, are my happily ever after.” Yep, this is my life, and I’m fucking living it.
The traditional wedding march begins, and I stare at our back door, impatiently waiting to see her walk down the aisle towards me. We decided no attendants, just us standing there, promising ourselves to one another. Brett is walking her down, and nothing could prepare me for seeing her for the first time. She chose a pale blue dress, strapless and simple. It makes her hair shine and her eyes glisten as she makes her way to me. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life, and no dream ever lived up to the reality of my forever.
“The bride and groom have decided to pledge themselves to each other with their own vows. Phoebe, go ahead.” The minister steps back, and I’m left holding her hand, hoping I have conveyed how much I love her.
“Luke, from the day I met you until this moment, you’ve made all of my dreams come true. You calmed my fears, flared my temper, absolved my guilt, and through it all you loved me. Endlessly. Every dream had you in it and every nightmare you were absent. You were once my best friend, but now you’re so much more. I don’t think there’s a word that can define what you are to me. Not my other half, but my entire being. I need you in the highest of highs; the lowest of lows, darkest of darks. You are the light in my life. I love you yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” I watch her smile take over her beautiful features, speaking so clearly and sure, pledging her love to me.
I clear my throat and hope my words depict her meaning to me. “Phoebe, for as long as I can remember I’ve had you on a pedestal. You’re the epitome of grace, the kindest soul. Your life wasn’t easy, but I never wanted you to carry those burdens alone. I shouldered the weight when you allowed it and will continue to be the one to take your burdens away. Your strength inspires me, your passion for life drives me to be a better man, and your love completes me. You have never been without my love and long after my heart stops beating, you will still be inside it. Today just joins us legally, but the day I laid eyes on you we were already one. Soul mates is cliché, but you are the one who was made for me, created for my love. It’s all yours and will be forever. I love you today, tomorrow, and always.”
Brisé Page 17
