What We Choose

Chapter Eleven Sophie #2

In my sophomore year, Tess returned from her deployment and rented a two-bedroom apartment halfway between her base and my campus, allowing me to live rent-free while I got my Bachelor's.

She had threatened bodily harm if I even dared to try to pay rent, so I helped out with groceries and takeout dinners.

This gave me more financial freedom to save while still keeping up with my school bills.

I was luckier than most of my friends in that regard, and am eternally grateful to my older sister.

Outside of school and work, I actually had two relationships through college.

The first was not great. His name was Max, and he was a freshman like me.

We met in the grungy basement of my first college party.

We dated for a month before taking the next step.

I was sexually inexperienced and honestly (regrettably) just wanted to get it over with.

I lost my virginity to him in an objectively unsexy way, on his uncomfortable dorm bed while his roommate banged on the door for us to hurry up so he could play World of Warcraft.

While the sex did get better and I learned what I like and don't like, I was incredibly bad at establishing boundaries and speaking up for myself. Max stomped over lines I wasn't even sure how to express hurt me, talking to other girls, namely.

He also tried to mold me into someone that he wanted to date instead of accepting me for myself. I made mistakes with my silence and just accepted his dismissal as just the way relationships worked.

After six months, I finally found the courage to break up with him, which caused him to do a complete 180 and start making promises he had no intention of keeping.

I'm glad I didn't believe his pretty words. I just remembered all of his actions, or inaction, throughout our relationship and stood my ground, despite feeling shaky and nervous. I think that's something about me that I'm still extremely proud of and carry with me today.

My second relationship was better. Spencer was nice, handsome, and a finance major too. We had a lot in common, and our relationship lasted from junior year through graduation.

Then we realized our futures weren't compatible.

We were going to be on opposite sides of the country, him in California for work and me in Massachusetts for grad school, and we were unwilling to do long distance. Spencer and I parted amicably, and honestly, I got over the relationship very quickly.

At that time, I was completely focused on moving to Massachusetts, obtaining my Master's degree, and working full-time as a Junior Advisor at a local bank. I barely had time for a dating life.

Until Paul.

Paul had come out of nowhere and turned my world upside down.

We'd made eye contact in the campus library.

I had been trying to focus on a paper for my Investment Analysis class when he walked right up to me, flashing a charming grin.

Paul wasn't just all looks, he was nice and funny, and I liked him.

He asked for my number, and I gave it without a second thought.

Paul was a good boyfriend—loving, intimate, and complimentary. He was understanding about my busy schedule, his own packed with his internship at City Hall and classes.

Our calendars rarely lined up, but I liked him so much I was determined to make it work.

So I met him for lunch dates at food trucks in the city.

I'd go to his apartment for late-night study sessions and meet him for obscenely early breakfast dates at the diner.

I was running on a concerning amount of caffeine and an even more concerning lack of sleep, but I didn't care.

He was so open about how much he liked me and how wonderful he thought I was.

I had dated men who, while not cruel, were sometimes so emotionally constipated that Paul felt like a breath of fresh air.

In between all of that, we fell in love. I was in deep, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world that this man chose me.

So, where did the cracks start?

I keep thinking back, going over and over in my brain, trying to find that a-ha! moment. For the life of me, I cannot pinpoint the time he turned from my Paul, my sweet, caring fiancé, to... whatever made him betray me.

Is it my fault?

Did I do something that made him do that?

Was there some moment where I did something I considered innocuous, but it was paramount to him, and his feelings turned?

Did I mess up somewhere, and I don't even know where?

Am I an awful person who can't even recognize her own mistakes? Was this just a way out for him?

My brain just goes round and round with these thoughts, and the only thing I accomplish is giving myself a migraine.

Did love truly make me that blind, or was this a complete out-of-character, momentary slip from Paul?

Either way, it would only explain the reasons behind his actions. It sure as hell wouldn't excuse them, because Paul had options. He was scared, I get that, but he could have talked to me, or his parents, or a therapist, or someone who's been in his shoes.

"And the surgery—losing your breasts—it's—that's... it's a problem for me."

His words cut deep. It's one thing to think something like that, it's another thing entirely to say it to my face, while I'm the one who has to deal with it. I remember how my brain couldn't quite understand the cruelty pouring out of his mouth.

Losing my breasts was a problem for him.

That's what made him cheat on me.

And now, because of that, I think that I'm somehow less.

"No, it's okay, Paul. You've got the green light from me. I wouldn't want to fuck someone titless anyway. It's totally understandable for you to cheat on Sophie."

Were those the words he needed? For someone to enable his actions, for me to absolve him of his sins?

Well... I won't. I will not absolve him. I will not forgive him—not now, maybe not ever.

Like I've discovered, anger feels a hell of a lot better than sadness. Anger will keep me going for a while. I'm not naive enough to think it will sustain me, and I know that at some point, I'll have to let go of all of it, but for now, it's okay.

One thing I know for sure—I will never trust Paul again.

Every word he's spoken to me in the last six years now sits under a microscope, and I wonder how much of it was ever true. He wanted people to tell him what he wanted to hear. Had I been doing that our entire relationship—just feeding him the words he craved and inflating his ego?

Was that what he had been doing to me?

Was I so desperate for love that I melted into a puddle for his pretty words and intimate touches? Were his promises just accruing interest that his actions couldn't pay back when it actually mattered? Did I roll over and show my belly, make myself vulnerable enough for him to destroy me like this?

I know hindsight is 20/20, and I can repeat that to myself over and over, but was I also willfully ignorant?

I don't think I'll ever know the answer to those questions, especially since I have no desire to ever see him again for the rest of my life, however long that may be.

What I do know for sure is that Paul had many options, and he chose the one he knew I would never forgive. I told him, explicitly, at the beginning of our relationship, that cheating is my hard boundary.

Paul O'Connor betrayed me, and I want nothing to do with him ever again. But, if I can be grateful for anything from Paul right now, it's Donna and Richard O'Connor.

Inside the gift bag, I smile at its thoughtful contents. There are my favorite bath bombs, the warm, vanilla-scented ones tucked neatly in the tissue paper. The smell of them makes me hum in pleasure.

There's a soft emerald green blanket that feels like a dream, plus a plush cream-colored bathrobe and matching fuzzy slippers. Hydrating face masks and a giant tub of my favorite moisturizer. A silk eye mask and neck pillow. Peppermint oil for nausea.

Every item is perfect and useful.

I grab my phone, open Donna's contact, and quietly unblock her. My fingers hover for a second before I type:

Thank you so much.

It takes a few minutes for her reply to come through.

Donna O’Connor: You're welcome, honey.

Let us know if you need anything else.

If you're comfortable, can you share the treatment plan with us?

We want to be aware of what's going on and plan.

Just in case you need us.

We love you so much, Sophie.

I hesitate only for a second before opening my calendar and emailing the treatment schedule to Donna. Once it's sent, I set my phone back down and take a moment to regroup.

When my stomach rumbles, I eat some ziti while running down my checklist in my planner, smiling as I definitively cross out meal prepping, the last major thing I had to do before tomorrow.

When I finish, I clean up the kitchen, then decide that, with my extra time, I'm going to treat myself—a hot bath.

While the water runs, I click play on my speaker, select a soothing playlist, and hum along to the soft music filtering through the space. I light a couple of tea candles and toss in a vanilla-scented bath bomb, the aroma easing my nerves.

With my e-reader in hand, I gently step into the boiling water—if it’s not boiling, it might as well be freezing—and sigh in relief as it soothes my back muscles. Sitting at a desk all day wreaks havoc on my upper back.

Twenty minutes into my book, my phone buzzes with an incoming text, and I smile when I see the name.

Callum Rhodes: Should I be worried?

Attached is a picture, taken over Callum's broad shoulder. It’s of the adorable Plot, sitting on a bookshelf at the store and glaring menacingly, as if he's personally offended by Callum's existence.

I grin and reply immediately,

Definitely.

looks like you're about to be the victim of a...

nefarious Plot

*ba dum tiss*

Callum Rhodes: You know, you'd have made a killing writing those CSI: Miami one-liners

I laugh loudly at his words, the sound echoing in my bathroom as I text back:

omg Callum!

how did you know about my dream job?

Callum Rhodes: you pick up a thing or two when you have a mom like mine.

Maeve Rhodes sees all, knows all, and keeps it to herself most of the time.

it's entertaining to watch us struggle in ignorance.

like we're her very own soap opera.

Well I gotta say Rivers & Rhodes does

sound like it could be the name of a teen drama.

Hey! We should totally pitch that to Hollywood!

Callum Rhodes: Yeah right. The only thing I can pitch is a tent

I stare at the text for a good five seconds, and I burst out laughing just as the panicked, successive texts come flying in.

Callum Rhodes: WAIT NO

CAMPING

CAMPING TENT!!!!!

A TENT YOI CAMP IN

YOU*

God, I'm so sorry

I swear I'm not doing this on purpose.

I can picture Callum perfectly at this exact moment with the skin above his beard bright red, that cute little sheepish expression on his face.

It’s the same one he had when he did this on Thursday, and again on Monday in the car.

I know he's not doing this on purpose. I don't think there's an indecent bone in his body.

Callum, from the moment I met him, read earnest and genuine. I feel safe with him. I trust him, and that's scary because it's taken me more time than this to trust any friend I've ever had... and that includes Paul.

Callum Rhodes: My fingers move faster than my brain apparently.

I really am sorry, Sophie.

My heart aches at that. I never want him to feel like he's made me uncomfortable when all he's done is bring laughter and joy into this really hard part of my life.

Please don't apologize for making me laugh.

You've made me laugh more in three days

than I have in the last three months.

Seriously, thank you.

Callum Rhodes: You're welcome. Anytime.

How was your day?

Tiring, but I got a lot done today.

I'll be working primarily from home now.

that's a big stress relief.

Rewarding myself with a hot bath now.

It takes him a couple of minutes to reply.

Callum Rhodes: Oh

That's good...

I'm glad you're rewarding yourself...

So what's the treatment schedule look like now?

Port surgery tomorrow morning.

Chemotherapy starts next week.

Callum Rhodes: I was reading up on the surgery and I read that it's relatively simple.

You'll be able to go home tomorrow too, right?

I hope that's not weird.

I was just curious about the different treatments.

Now it's my turn to pause. He's reading up on the treatments? My surgery? That makes me feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with the bathwater.

Callum Rhodes: Did I make it weird?

I take a sip from my water bottle to clear the clogged feeling in my throat before I reply.

No, definitely not weird!

Yes, they said it's a very easy procedure.

I'll be sleeping in my own bed tomorrow night.

Callum Rhodes: I'm happy to hear that.

Let me know if you need anything.

We're all here for you to lean on if you need help.

You'll let me know if you do?

I smile, deeply touched by his care and his words.

I will.

Thank you, Callum.

I know I promised myself that I would let people help. I know, realistically, I can and should rely on others through this. But the other half of me is worried.

If Callum were to disconnect, after all this bright, blooming hope that's been sparked in me, I don't even want to think about how much that would hurt. For someone who's only been in my life a few days, his impact has been immense.

Callum Rhodes: You're welcome

I'll let you get some rest.

Big day tomorrow.

All you have to do is show up.

Please text me if you do need anything.

Seriously, anything at all.

And text me later to let me know how it went.

Okay, I'll shut up now.

Goodnight, Sophie.

Sweet dreams.

I laugh at his rambling and send him a simple:

Sweet dreams, Callum

I pause before I type the next line, feeling that familiar sting behind my nose again. I must be setting some kind of record of how many times one woman can cry in forty-eight hours.

Thank you for being my friend.

Callum: Always.

You've got me, Sophie.

Get some rest.

When I get out of the bath, I wipe the condensation from the mirror and catch the cheesy smile still stretched across my face.

It doesn't fade, not while I'm brushing my teeth, not while I'm setting my alarm, and not even as I move through my nightly skincare routine.

My phone pings just as I finally slide beneath the covers, a text from Tonya in the book club group chat, sending a baffling mix of emojis that I don’t even want to begin to interpret.

It still makes me laugh hard and I fall asleep with the smile still on my face.