Chapter Sixteen Sophie
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie
It's my birthday tomorrow.
That’s the first thought on my mind as I wake up, feeling like I didn't sleep. Every hour or so, nightmares yanked me out of rest—a horrifying mix of holding my hair as it fell out in clumps, and then seeing my ex-fiancé make out with his mistress against his car.
Oh, wait...
Those weren't nightmares, just memories of last night taunting me in my sleep. I open my eyes slowly, soft sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains. I forgot to close the blackout shades before bed. I rub my eyes, trying to clear the lingering fog in my head.
An unpleasant cocktail of emotions swirls inside me: fear that grips my chest like a vice, anger simmering beneath my skin, and pure grief—like a cold hand around my throat.
I’m still mourning the loss of the life I had planned.
At the same time, a peaceful numbness spreads through me, leaving me feeling detached from myself. A mercy.
It's my thirtieth birthday tomorrow. A whole new decade.
That thought should be exciting, right?
I'm turning thirty! You know, thirty, flirty, and thriving!
Except my ex-fiancé cheated on me.
I have cancer.
I'm losing my hair.
I can’t keep any food down lately.
The skin on my face and body feels irritated and dry.
My mouth is as dry as cotton.
And it's like all of my worst nightmares have come true.
So many people have told me that when they found out I was turning thirty this year, they said, "Your thirties are the best decade of your life."
Leaving behind all the mistakes of your twenties and turning them into lessons. With more experience in your career, you'll usually make more money. Things that once caused crippling anxiety don't really matter that much in your thirties.
Many women told me to cherish this decade, saying they would go back in time to relive it if they could.
"There's just something about your thirties..."
This would be the decade I would always remember, with many milestones to be achieved, many good times to be had, and many moments I know I'll cherish when I'm old and gray.
And, you know what, I can still look at some positive things in my life as I enter this era.
Pros: I'm entering my thirties without my cheating asshole ex.
Tess is going to retire soon, and we'll be able to spend more time together.
I have friends—honest and true friends—in the book club who seem ready to commit murder for me.
I have Maeve, my mysterious, witchy woman who calls me dove and slips crystals into my hands that promote healing and strength.
I have this warm, cozy apartment that I truly love.
Above all, I have Callum, who's become my best friend in such a short time.
Callum buys me ice cream and funnel cake if my eyes linger too long at the boardwalk shops.
He lets me rant about book heroes who deserve to get kicked in the nuts (he usually agrees).
I've known Callum for less than a month, yet I feel I can tell him anything without judgment.
He has gone out of his way to care for me—accommodating me in a way no one besides Tess ever has—not even Paul.
Cons: I'm starting my thirties with all my plans gone. I have cancer, and I'm losing my hair from chemo. Soon, I'll have surgery to remove and rebuild my breasts. After that, I'll go through radiation. Then I'll just have to hope that I'm cancer-free and won't need more chemo.
Or worse, I die.
Well, there's really nowhere to go from here but up, right?
Unless I somehow discover a level lower than rock bottom, which I'm not going to challenge the universe to do. Knowing my luck, I'll somehow discover Rock Bottom Deluxe.
To top it all off, there's a pounding in my head...
Wait, no, that's not my head.
That's my front door.
I reach over to my side table to grab my phone, but it’s not there on the charger. It all comes back to me—it’s in my tote bag, still turned off. Stumbling out of bed, I shove my feet into my slippers as the knocking gets louder.
I start toward the door, but freeze suddenly and look down at myself.
I'm still in my pajamas—a white tank top and soft pink bottoms I threw on last night after my breakdown in the shower.
I had done my nighttime routine almost mindlessly, before crawling under the covers, crying only a little before falling into fitful sleep.
With shaky, hesitant hands, I reach up to my scalp but stop, not wanting to feel bald spots. Instead, I grab my favorite hoodie—the huge UNC one—from the dresser and pull it on, hood up. I take two seconds to gather myself before walking out of the bedroom.
My eyes shoot to my vintage clock on the bookshelves, and I see it's half past seven. I’m surprised. Usually, my body's internal clock wakes me up a little before six, and I'll just lie there till my alarm goes off.
When I look through the peephole, I suck in a breath. Callum stands there, knocking frantically with worry on his face. I unlock and open the door. Callum visibly sighs with relief when he sees me.
"Sophie. Hey." His voice is a little breathless; his shoulders visibly drop, and his whole body relaxes. He’s dressed in a grey t-shirt stretched across his shoulders and—good lord—bunched around his biceps. He wears dark jeans, brown boots, and holds his cellphone and a tote bag.
He looks good, really good, and I... don't.
I make sure my hood is still covering my hair and try to smile, "Hi."
"Hi. I know I'm early, but I've been texting and calling. Is everything okay?"
"Uh, y-yeah," I stutter, eyes dropping to the ground with what I hope is a casual shrug. "Sorry. My phone died, and I forgot to charge it. Just went right to sleep when I got home last night."
When I glance back up, Callum frowns, his warm brown eyes narrowed in concern.
He shakes his head and gently murmurs, "You don't seem okay, Sophie."
I don't like how exposed I feel under his gaze right now. I've always been good at hiding my feelings when needed, putting on a brave face. I suppose it's because no one, besides Tess, really cared how I felt when I was a kid. My parents barely acknowledged my presence, let alone my feelings.
The way Callum can just clearly see that I'm having a tough time is unnerving, but also...
Well, it's just so nice to be seen.
That someone actually sees that I'm struggling, despite how hard I'm trying to hide it, and chooses to look twice because they care.
Half of me wants to let go and tell him every terrifying thought and feeling swirling inside me right now.
I want to tell him about the nightmares, the fear, and the anxiety.
I want to really cry—not alone—but cry so he can hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay, even if it’s a lie.
I want to tell Callum that I’m terrified of dying when my life has only just begun this last month.
But, I'm still scared. Callum has been the first steady thing I've been able to hold onto through my world getting turned upside down. What if he doesn't stay? What if he decides it's just not worth it—that I'm not worth it.
I wasn't worth it for someone I devoted six years of my life to, so how could I be to someone I've known for less than six weeks?
Shaking my head and painting on a cheery face, I tell him. "I'm fine! Really. I got really nauseous on the walk over last night... that's why I couldn't come. I think I'm still feeling a little shaky. I'm better now!"
Callum's brows remain furrowed, but he still nods, accepting my white lie.
It is true, I did get nauseous, just... not completely from the chemo.
This is why Callum is here: it's my second chemo appointment this morning at nine.
"I just need to shower and change, and we can go. Come in," I step back, and Callum steps inside my apartment, his broad shoulders almost brushing the doorframe.
I can't help but notice how that sends a flutter in my belly—my gentle giant. I guide him further into my apartment and quickly look around, making sure everything looks tidy. He's started walking me up to my door when he's dropped me off after hanging out, but he’s never been inside before.
There are a couple of dishes in the sink from yesterday before I left for book club, and my orange throw blanket is tossed over the couch instead of folded, but other than that, it looks good.
Not that I really think Callum would judge me for a mess, but I like keeping my space clean and organized.
"Are you hungry?" I ask him, heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water so I can take my medication.
"No, I already ate. Thank you." Callum shakes his head, but his eyes scan the apartment with a smile on his face. "I like your place, Sophie."
"Oh, thank you," I say with a smile, preening a little at his compliment.
Grabbing my pink pill box of anti-nausea medication from the counter, I pop one into my mouth and swallow it with water.
The two boxes in the corner of the living room catch my eye, reminding me that I still need to take them to the donation center.
I found more of Paul's things while deep cleaning—mostly clothes and shoes, and some sports memorabilia.
If he hasn't picked them up by now, he probably doesn't want them, and I definitely don't either. I'm already annoyed that I'm the one who has to deal with it. Communication with him will remain firmly closed forever if I get my wish.
And okay, maybe I'm getting a little satisfaction out of donating his stuff.
At least he had the decency to call our landlord and remove himself from the lease.
The other bills were easy to transfer over to me, and I took my half of the money from our joint savings account—our wedding and house down payment fund—before closing my end.
The more financial logistics I had to deal with in the fallout, the more thankful I am that we didn't get married before this happened.
The emotional logistics are a little more difficult to unravel, but the ache is becoming less each day.