by Isabel Jolie
He grew increasingly somber the closer we got to California. I fancied it was because we’d be apart for the second half of the summer. I suspected maybe he didn’t get along with his family, or there was some other reason he dreaded returning home. Now I know the real reasons. And he probably wasn’t feeling good. He probably struggled to some degree to hide his physical symptoms.
When we drove into his parents’ driveway, his mother held him tight, and tears streamed down her cheeks. At the time, it struck me as odd. Figured she must be the emotional sort and had missed her son.
The two of them argued in the kitchen over where I would sleep. I stood outside in the hall, mortified. I didn’t expect to sleep with him in his parents’ home and didn’t understand why he made such a big deal about it. In the end, I slept in the guest room. The tension in the house was so thick, I couldn’t wait to leave for the airport the next day to return home to my family. Jason knows none of that. I’ve never shared it with him. But it’s clear he picked up on the tension; he simply didn’t understand it.
I hover over his words It should have been me. Oh, Jason. That’s not our guilt to carry. We are not gods.
By the time I reach “New Year’s Day,” my tears have dried. I remember the dress. He’s wrong, though. I wasn’t sad about going out that night. I only wanted to spend time with him, and I didn’t care where we were.
I couldn’t do a journal like this. I don’t know what day I fell in love with him. I know I love all the little things about him. But when did I transition from loving him to being in love with him? I have no idea.
I know we have a connection. I visualize it as a beam of light flowing between the two of us, connecting us. Even during this time when we’ve been apart, when I put distance between us for my own good, I could close my eyes, find my center, and feel the bond. Searching for the sensation to know I still had the connection. It’s still there. I’ve never lost it. Silly thing, I know. All in my head. But I swear it’s there.
I turn the page. “The Day It Returned.” I remember that day. His plan to keep me in the dark. My best friend. Everything in here confirms one of my latent suspicions. He held me at arm’s length out of fear he’d get sick again. His attempt to protect me.
I flip through. He talks about a night we stayed in. I don’t remember this night, but it describes so many of our nights. What hits me, though, is for years when I struggled, wanting more but respecting that he saw me as a friend, he wanted more too. Only he held me out like a china doll that needed protecting, not trusting me to make my own decisions and take my own risks.
The journal takes a turn. Dates line the top of the page. He records sensations he felt during his therapy. Thoughts he had. Session after session after session. Written almost more as dream sequences, and they don’t make as much sense. He flips pages forward to arrive at the last page.
I gaze into his dark brown irises, silently questioning.
“Those are pages from the therapy sessions I had. It’ll sound like hocus-pocus when I tell you about it. You can read it later if you want.” He taps the last page. “But read this now.”
The Love of My Life
Maggie. Obviously, it’s Maggie. It’s always been her.
I love everything about her. Her smile. The warmth in her golden-brown eyes. How her hair always has a slightly undone feel, as if she didn’t brush it recently. I love that I know she probably hasn’t brushed it recently. I fell in love with her in college when she was lanky. I loved her as she became more athletic, and as her curves have filled out over the years.
When I look at her, it’s as if a day hasn’t passed since freshman year. I’m shocked when I compare photos and realize that, yes, we both looked younger back then. Because when I look at her, I could swear she hasn’t changed. I see so much more.
I see all the little things. Twelve years’ worth of vegetable juice. Rubber gloves and face masks when she didn’t want me to be alone but didn’t want to risk getting me sick. A hundred different soup recipes, all created with the hope of finding yet another nutritious, immunity building food. Her kindness. Her heart. It’s overwhelming what a good person she is. Only the kindest of souls has the strength to be there for those who are facing death or have lost a loved one. And she does it in her free time.
She’s done more to fight cancer than I have. And I’m the one who had cancer. I still fight cancer. Every day.
The way I battle cancer, though, isn’t how some might expect. Yes, I fear it will return. But what I fear most is the hurt it will inflict on those I love. It can take me. For years, I wished it had taken me and not Adam. It’s not my fault things worked out the way they did. Accepting it’s not my fault has not been easy. Or, I should say, accepting I cannot control it has been damn near impossible.
What I want for the love of my life is to give her more than I have to give. I want her to grow old with her husband and happy children. I want her to have a lifetime of laughter. Maggie has the most amazing laugh. I recorded it one time. A couple of times, actually, without her knowing. I play those recordings. When I need to lessen the pain. When I need to remember her. When I want to feel happy.
I know she will find someone other than me. Someone who can give her all those things. But I need her to know I have always loved her and will always love her.
The risks of being with me are great. My cancer could return. My immune system is compromised. Something else could come along. I’m a professor. There’s a great chance if I’m alive decades from now, I’ll wear sweater cardigans and orthotic shoes. No, scratch that. I’ll never give up my sneakers. Still, it’s not a bright outlook.
But the biggest mistake I ever made was making the decision for her.
You asked me to tell you what my life would be like if she and I were together. If I were healthy, and I could give her everything.
It would be perfect. That’s what my life would be like. I mean, I’m sure I’d get on her nerves at times. And she’d make me go out when I want to stay in. We’d have kids and a dog. She’d be the most loving mom in the world. And I would be grateful every single day.
To hold her, for her to be mine, that’s a dream. It might sound mundane to some, but when I look back on my life, my happiest moments, the moments I treasure, are our everyday, ordinary moments together. A life full of those moments…perfect.
I flip the page, and it’s blank. My cheeks are soaked. His hand falls to mine.
“Maggie, I know you’ve already moved on. But I hated how we left things. I had a lot I had to work through. I didn’t treat you well. But it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. If anything, I love you too much. I’ve always loved you, and I always will.” He sniffs and gazes down at his lap. “We’ll always have our friendship. If you ever decide you want more, then I want you to know…”
His cheeks are red, all the way to his ears.
“Know what?”
He shoves the notebook forward a bit. “I didn’t write it down. I didn’t have this part planned out. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. You’ve moved on. But I need you to know. You’re everything to me. And I wish I’d been stronger, sooner.”
I push him back on the sofa and kiss him. When my lips first touch his, there’s no movement. He pulls back, searching my face. He squints, questioning. I nod.
“Really?”
I nod again, and he dips his head, his arms circle around my back, and we’re both crying as we kiss.
“What about Xander?” His cheeks are flushed, his breathing heavy.
“That was a first date. I’ll cancel it.”
He pulls my head down so our lips collide while he holds me close, cupping my ass. Our tongues tangle as my emotions spiral. His sinewy form is both familiar and new. He tugs on my shirt, and I stop.
“Wait. Not on the sofa. Bedroom.”
With an all-knowing grin, he asks, “Why?”
I don’t bother answering him but tug him down the hall to my bedroom. When he sees my bed, he pauses. �
��Wait.”
I freeze.
“I might not be able to give you children.”
I gasp, letting the air I’d been withholding go, and half-laugh, “What?”
“My fertility. It might have been impacted. I’ve never been tested. I didn’t ask many questions when I was going through chemo. We had sex without protection, and you didn’t get pregnant.”
I place my hands possessively on his hips. “I don’t care.”
“But children are important to you.”
“Jason.” He scowls as we eye each other. “I’m almost thirty-three. It could be me. I wouldn’t be the first woman who had trouble conceiving. Would you not want to be with me if my fertility is the issue?”
“I wouldn’t care. All I want is you. But you want children.”
I want to shake him. “Jason, I want you. I want a future with you. Whatever that looks like. Good days. Bad days. I want them all. I want all the ordinary moments.”
He presses his lips to mine. On an exhale, he whispers, “Me too.” With his forehead pressed to mine, he asks, “Well, think we should start trying?”
“Huh?”
“We both want children. Why not? We can fly to Vegas next weekend and get married. If we’re going to have trouble conceiving, the earlier we get working on it, the better, right?”
“You know, not everyone gets pregnant the moment they have sex, right? Just because we didn’t initially doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.” I glance over my shoulder at the bed. “Today, even.”
He lifts me up and tosses me. My body bounces ever so slightly on top of my flowery comforter. “If it happens, I’d be happy.”
“Happy?”
“Ecstatic. Thrilled. Over the fucking moon. How’s that?”
“This is crazy, you know that?”
He crawls up onto the bed, kicking off his running shoes. He caresses my face as his eyes glisten. My breath catches as I take him in. His lips fall to mine, and any worry falls away. Our kiss is tender and slow. He takes his time, removing my shirt, then my jeans and panties, then my bra, tracing soft, sweet kisses all along my bare, sensitized skin.
It’s heaven, but the summer light shines brightly, and I grow self-conscious beneath his gaze. I cover my small breasts with one arm, and he stops me and kisses each finger while shaking his head.
“Don’t hide from me.” He kisses my lips. “Maggie.” Drops a kiss on my chin. “You.” A kiss on my neck. “Are.” The kiss below my ear scatters goosebumps everywhere. “Perfect.”
His mouth closes over one of my nipples. The sensation is exquisite. “I dream of you.” His teeth clamp down, teasing, and I squeal. “Have for years.” He places a light kiss over my heart. “Only you.” Another kiss. “It’s always been you.”
He trails kisses down, and I know where he’s going, but I stop him and pull him up to me. We have the rest of our lives for foreplay. “I want you.”
He pulls back and studies me as I yank on his shirt to pull it over his head.
“We’ve waited long enough.”
He licks his lips and smiles. Kisses me. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Together, we remove his remaining clothes, laughing when his jeans jam around one ankle.
I crawl back up the bed and lie beside him. He rests his body over mine, and I open my legs around him. Resting on one elbow, he fingers my hair and caresses my cheek.
“I love you, Maggie. For always. It was always you. And it always will be.”
As we kiss, it hits me. Our love is soft, slow, and permanent.
He pulls back and touches my cheek.
“Tears?”
“Happy. The happiest of tears.”
When he enters me, I shudder. We move as one. I am his, and he is mine. He makes love to me like no one ever has. Soft, slow, and tender, with raw emotion. Eyes open, studying my every reaction to his every thrust, his every movement that claims me in every way. We lift each other up to a blissful, soul-shattering release.
We cling to each other after as our breathing calms. I play with his short strands and place kisses all along his jawline until I hit damp skin.
“You’re crying?” I ask.
“Happy tears.”
“I love you so much.”
“You’ll never know, Maggie.” He bends his head as I run the pad of my thumb over his eyebrow, his gaze laser-focused on me. “There’s no way you can possibly ever know how much I love you. But know this, I will always love you more.”
“You can’t measure love. You can’t compare love. You just have to accept it. Treasure it. Never let it go.”
He drops a kiss on the tip of my nose and sighs.
“I should have come here with a ring, ready to propose. I should’ve…I guess I didn’t let myself hope.”
“What did you think would happen?”
We’re both lying naked on top of my comforter, and he reaches to the bottom of the bed for the throw and pulls it over both of us, then falls back onto the pillows, settling me against him. Once we’re settled, he answers me.
“I didn’t know what would happen. I knew I couldn’t leave things the way they were. Shannon, my therapist, told me—well, suggested—I tell you everything. Everything about how I feel. Everything I want for you. But I didn’t know. I didn’t have the courage to ask you if you’d started dating someone. When I saw Xander, I assumed I was too late.”
“Oh, shit. Xander. I need to cancel tonight.”
“Yes. You do.”
“What should I tell him?”
“That we’re getting married, and he can fuck off.”
“Jason…”
“Too harsh?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy.”
He traces kisses all along my throat and back up to my lips. “Maybe. But you’re mine.”
“Are you really considering moving here?”
He pulls back and sighs as he gazes at my breasts. They’re really nothing to look at. I raise up on my elbow, onto my side, to face him. He trails kisses from my nipple all along my chest, my neck, and up to my lips.
“I don’t think you understand. I’m definitely moving here. I love you. I’m in love with you and have been since we were nineteen. It took me a long time to get here, to the point where I could let myself believe I could give you enough. But if you want a life with me, I want it to start immediately.”
“But wouldn’t the University of Chicago be a step down from Columbia?”
He returns his attention to my breasts, then cups my ass and pulls me next to his body and rolls onto his side, so we’re facing each other. “Maybe. But I’m working on something else. I’ve been talking to Sam and Jackson about becoming an analyst for their VC group. I can do it from anywhere, and I’m ready for something other than academia. I wasn’t exactly rocking the academic world. It turns out students didn’t find my lectures to be overly stimulating, and I rather hated attempting to get work published.”
“Then why the interview?”
“I might teach a class or two. Maybe. It also gave me an excuse for coming here. An excuse to see you.”
I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, down to his jaw, over his short beard. He positions himself between my legs, bracing himself above me on bent arms, bending to trail kisses across my collarbone.
“You know, it’s kind of hard to believe we made love and you’re still here. You didn’t run for the door or freak out.” He collapses on the bed beside me with a grunt.
“I didn’t freak out.” His denial is instantaneous. Is he lying to himself or to me?
I lift myself up on my elbow, putting distance between us. He pulls me back down onto his chest.
“Okay. Yes, I did. But only because I want the most for you. And now? I still do. I still think you can do better than me. But I know it’s not possible for you to find someone who loves you more than I do. If, for whatever crazy reason, you want me, and you want a life with me, then I’ll try my best to give you everything.”
“Officially.” He pushes me onto my back and hovers over me, his lips inches from mine. “I think we crossed the friend zone line a long time ago, if we’re honest.”
He questions me, the skin around the corners of his eyes wrinkling, silently asking if I agree. I do. I silently affirm and close the distance between us.
When he kisses me, like always, I lose track of rational thought. The sensation is surreal, dreamlike. Almost unbelievable. But when his scruffy beard chafes my bare skin and his dark eyes penetrate mine, full of promise, then I’m reassured it’s not a dream. We’ve crossed the line. This, right here, is my happy.
Epilogue: Jason
“There’s still time to run, man.” Chase claps a hand on my shoulder with a broad smile.
“Are you kidding? This guy’s been pining over this girl almost as long as I can remember. I’m surprised he hasn’t taken her to the justice of the peace already just to get it done.” Sam kicks his legs up on his outdoor coffee table, beer in hand.
Sam knows me well. I’ve offered many times to go to Vegas, to make it official, and let the shindig in her parents’ back yard be a celebration with friends. I’ve offered to marry her in front of our friends, every single year if she wants. But no, Maggie’s a traditionalist, and she’s had visions of her wedding for years. I want her dreams to come true. For Maggie, that’s a wedding in her parents’ back yard among family and friends, and if that’s what she wants, that’s what we’ll do.
I’m living with her now, for all intents and purposes. We flew back to clean out my empty apartment since it sold. I signed the papers this afternoon. We’re staying here at Sam’s place this weekend, in his guest room, which is substantially nicer than my old apartment. Sam wanted to give me a traditional bachelor party, just like Yara and Zoe desperately wanted to do a traditional bachelorette, but Maggie and I aren’t so into the big drunken parties. We finally arrived at a night out with friends, a sort of combination bachelor and bachelorette.
We get married in two weeks, and I can’t wait. You wouldn’t think it would matter that much to me. I never spent much time thinking about marriage, mainly because I didn’t see it as a possibility for me. But once I decided to do it, to let go and go for it, everything changed. I’m counting down the days until Maggie becomes my wife.
