Chapter 44
Price
Amelia woreher mother’s bridal gown. An ivory dress with a high lace neck. By all accounts, it was the ugliest thing either one of us had ever seen. The back of the dress had twenty-seven tiny buttons. Needless to say, we fucked like maniacs with the dress still on because we were both a little drunk, and I wasn’t allowed to tear off the buttons that seemed too big to fit through the tight holes.
Her mom died of colon cancer three weeks after our wedding.
The dress resides in a white box on a top shelf in our closet. Amelia hasn’t decided if she will pressure Astrid to wear it one day.
I vote no. Fuck sentimentality. Let the girl wear her own beautiful dress. I’d say with fewer buttons if I weren’t her father.
Not once since my diagnosis have we discussed her mother’s death. But I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought my wife doesn’t deserve to lose another person in her life to cancer.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she says while we watch the happy couple cut their small, two-tiered cake adorned with pink roses that look real.
I reach under the table and take her hand. “I was thinking about our wedding and all those damn buttons.”
She snorts. “So many buttons. You unbuttoned half. We fell asleep. Then you finished unbuttoning them in the morning. How many brides can say they slept in their wedding gown?”
“It was a rough night. All pussy, no tits.”
“Shh … stop!” Her other hand reaches for my mouth to silence me. “You are terrible.” She laughs.
“I should have been given something … like a Purple Heart. My fingers were nearly bleeding after all those buttons. Talk about wounded in the line of duty.”
She slides over to my lap, and I push back in my chair to make room. “I love our life.” Her hand presses to my face before she kisses me.
I love this soft kiss. And I love her and Astrid. But something about our life or lifestyle led to my cancer. We’ve been inching our way back to how things were because it comforts my wife and daughter. It doesn’t feel sustainable.
If Scottie had said yes to getting on a plane with me and jetting off to an island, I might have done it.
Not because I don’t love Amelia more.
Not because I want to abandon my daughter.
Not because I regret my life.
I would have done it to live.
I’m not ready to die. Why does living have to feel so selfish?
Scottie would live in the moment with me. Our life would be simple and beautiful in its own way. And I would love her. My love for her would grow. Had she not lost the baby, I would have married her, and we would have had a good life.
How can I love my wife and love another woman?
I wouldn’t have had the answer to that question a year ago. But when you let your mind step outside social boundaries, the rules lose meaning, and love feels limitless.
“Let’s sell the house and leave Philly,” I say while we watch the bride and groom eat cake and laugh with Scottie’s nieces, who can’t decide if they want to lick the frosting from their fingers or twirl in circles to the music.
Amelia leans to the side to look me in the eye. “What?” She laughs.
“We can live anywhere in the world. Let’s pick someplace that feels new. Someplace with lots of sunshine and fresh air. Far away from the city. Astrid can learn from books and life experiences. Her social network won’t involve likes and follows. She’ll make real friends and communicate real emotions and words instead of abbreviations and emojis. Maybe we’ll give her a brother or sister.”
The confusion on my wife’s face softens with that last part. “Astrid loves her life in Philly. She loves her friends and her activities. My dad lives two hours from us. And your parents are a ten-minute drive away. My brother just started working for you, and he’s engaged. Also, I love my job. We … we’re already living the dream.” She runs her hand along my tie. “And you’ve been given a second chance. Are you unhappy?”
“I have been given a second chance, which means it would be foolish not to make a change so that I don’t waste it by repeating the same thing.”
“You’re not doing the same thing. You’re eating better. And you’re only working three days a week.”
“I’m eating worse than I was eating to get better. And last week, all three of my days were ten-hour days because I have the kind of job that relentlessly takes until I have nothing left to give.”
“You’re your own boss. Delegate. Or quit. You don’t have to work. And if you want to move, let’s look for a place in Chesterbrook or Ardmore so Astrid can still see her friends.”
I frown. “Amelia … it’s more than that. I don’t want to live in the burbs. And I don’t want to live in a polluted city where we endure months of cold weather. I don’t want Wi-Fi in my house, and I don’t want to carry a cell phone. I don’t want my daughter glued to an iPad and complaining that her friends have a phone, but she doesn’t. It’s not just about me. I’ve changed. And this isn’t the life I want for you or Astrid, either.”
She chuckles. “You want to leave our families and live in the middle of nowhere?”
“That’s a simplified, lackluster version of what I’m suggesting, but … yes.”
She gazes around the tent, slowly shaking her head. “You can’t ask this of a nine-year-old.”
“What happens when the cancer comes back?”
“We’re not going to let that happen. Even though you didn’t want to make a follow-up appointment, I did it for you. We’ll monitor you and catch anything before it gets too advanced again. But it won’t. You’re better. I feel it.”
This is the woman who tried to perform CPR on me while I was still breathing. God, I’m madly in love with her, but she’s not good under stress. And her heart won’t let her see reality when it’s not filled with rainbows and roses. It’s an endearing quality that’s also dangerous.
I start to speak just as Koen and Scottie approach our table. The blushing bride doesn’t look me in the eye, and I can’t blame her. I tried to steal her for purely selfish reasons.
“I haven’t had a chance to meet your wife,” Koen says.
“That’s right.” I smile. “Koen, this is Amelia.”
She slides from my lap back to her chair and offers her hand to him. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting us. We needed an excuse to get away by ourselves for a little while.”
“Thank you for coming.” He releases her hand.
“I heard you built your house,” Amelia says. “That’s impressive.”
Koen goes into a long spiel about the inspiration and the process while Scottie’s gaze floats around the tent with her hand resting flat against her stomach.
I can’t take my eyes off her hand as she occasionally moves it in a slow circle. Either she’s hungry or pregnant. Her hand stills, and she abruptly drops it to her side. My gaze lifts to meet hers.
After a few slow blinks, I offer her a tiny grin. A beautiful blush paints her cheeks.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “I’ll be right back.”
Amelia ignores me, and Koen gives me a quick nod while talking. As I emerge from the tent, I loosen my tie and stroll toward the backyard, where the chairs have been picked up. Then, I follow a flagstone path behind the detached garage to a firepit, stacks of wood, and open barrels stuffed with pieces of scrap metal.
“Amelia is perfect for you.”
I turn.
Scottie steps closer, the skirt of her dress gathered in one hand.
“Is this where I say Koen is perfect for you?”
“Is he not?”
I lift a shoulder. “He’s fine.”
“Fine?” Her eyes widen.
“You’ll have babies and most likely grow old and die together surrounded by grandkids and great-grandkids.”
She laughs. “Sounds like a horrible life.”
My hands slide into my pockets. “The first night we had dinner in Austin, had I kissed you, had I shown interest beyond friendship, would you be standing here today in that wedding gown with that ring on your finger?”
“Price—”
“Humor me.”
She sighs. “No.”
I nod several times.
“Had I kissed you and told you about the baby, would you have left your wife and daughter to be with me?”
I grunt a tiny laugh with my lips pressed together.
“Humor me,” she says.
“No. I would not have.”
“Why?” She cocks her head.
“For the same reason we’re standing here instead of sitting on a private jet. Things like love and lust aren’t always choices. They’re emotions. But commitment is one hundred percent a choice.”
Scottie does her headshake to brush her bangs away from her eyes. “Yet, when we were standing in the bedroom minutes before I committed myself to Koen, you offered me something.” Her eyes narrow. “And I don’t think it was a joke. Why now?”
I rub the back of my neck, staring at my brown leather dress shoes, perfectly polished for the occasion. “I don’t know if I can make my wife happy and beat this cancer. She thinks I’m a miracle. And maybe I am. But I think it will take a lot more miracles for me to keep living.” Blowing out a long breath, I lift my gaze to Scottie. “I’m struggling with it. And I hate that it was easier to live, in the most literal sense, when we weren’t together, but it was. She can’t see how desperate and vulnerable I feel. And I’m afraid to show her because I feel guilty for …”
“Having cancer? Doing what you felt you needed to survive?”
I nod slowly. “I feel so weak and … lost.”
Scottie fiddles with her wedding band. “If I would have said yes, would we be on that plane right now?”
It takes a few seconds for my thoughts to shift back to my “proposal.” I know the answer, but I don’t know if she’s ready for it. As soon as I doubt her ability to handle the truth, my conscience nudges me to wake up. She’s not Amelia. Scottie can handle the truth.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Tears well in her eyes despite her soft smile and shaky inhale. Lifting her dress again, she takes two steps toward me, and her free hand reaches for mine. “You don’t need me anymore. You don’t need anyone to live. You said it yourself: commitment is a choice. If you must choose between your life and a life with Amelia, even if it’s shortened, there is no wrong choice.” She releases my hand, ghosting her fingers along my palm, gazing at our hands. “Whatever you decide, it will be the bravest decision you’ve ever made.”
No man has ever been luckier in love. The women I”ve loved—and will always love—have bestowed upon me everything beautiful and worthwhile in my life.
“We’d better get back,” I whisper.
“You go ahead. I need a minute.”
As I step past her, I press my hand to her stomach.
Her breath hitches.
“If it’s a boy, Price and Henry are great names.”
I take the next step before she can cover my hand with hers.
And the next.
And I keep going even if I don’t know where this will lead or how long I’ll be there.