Chapter Sixteen Sophie #3
Many notifications pop up, and I ignore the book club group chat for now, then see that Tess sent me a text asking how I'm doing and about book club and Callum.
She seemed to have sensed something shift during our last phone call, when I was raving about my new friends and how I was having dinner with Callum that night.
"Callum?" she asked, her tone protective at first, but the more I talked about him, the more she softened. She always seems to know how I'm feeling, even when I don't explicitly say it.
Then I see Callum's notifications: 11 text messages. 5 missed calls.
Callum Rhodes: Are you sure you're okay?
Sophie?
I'm really worried about you.
Okay, I'll leave you be for now.
I'll be there tomorrow to pick you up.
I'm not going anywhere, Sophie.
Not unless you want me to.
I promise I'm always here for you.
Are you awake?
I'm heading over now.
I just need to know you're okay.
My vision blurs, a couple of tears slipping down my cheeks at the words, at the care. He didn't bulldoze or demand to see me. I would have retreated even further last night if he had done so. He just let me know that he's here for me, that he's staying. That's what I need—what I want.
Presence.
"Sophie, you ready?"
I quickly finish brushing and spit, calling out. "Coming!"
When I walk into the living room, Callum is looking at the picture of Tess and me at my college graduation, with a small smile on his face. It's one of my favorite pictures. The contrast between my sister and me is always shocking to people, and most don't believe we're related.
Tess is naturally beautiful, very tall, like our dad, standing around five feet ten, with strawberry blonde hair, inherited from our mother. She has a toned and fit physique from regular gym workouts and marathon running.
I, on the other hand, am short and softer, with our dad's dark hair and our mom's height and build. The only feature we do share is our dad's blue-green eyes. We're so different, looks and personality-wise, but I think that's why we get along so well, we're a healthy balance.
She's towering over me in the photo with her arm around my shoulders as I beam at the camera in my powder blue gown and honors cord, holding my diploma in front of me.
I remember feeling so proud of myself in that moment, seeing the pride reflected back in Tess's eyes when we went out for tacos and margaritas afterward.
That was one of the best days of my life.
Then she was deployed, and I headed to Boston—to Northeastern—and met Paul. Everything in between then and now feels like some weird interlude. Or maybe it was just a needed journey to get to this moment, here and now, with a kind and wonderful man about to drive me to chemotherapy.
Callum looks over to me with a smile still on his face. "You were right, you guys really don't look alike."
"I told you," I smile fondly, slinging my bag over my shoulder and grabbing my water bottle from the table, filled up by Callum.
He easily grabs the two large boxes from the corner and then still reaches for my tote bag, slinging it over his shoulder and ignoring my protests.
We remain in comfortable silence until we get to his truck.
Callum places the boxes in the back before opening up my side for me, as he normally does, and makes sure I'm settled before shutting the door.
I smile at him in thanks, and he gives me a toothy grin in return.
And, wow, that smile has become one of my favorite sights in the world lately.
Probably my favorite, if we're being honest.
All these little things he does, these small actions that just seem instinctive to him, mean the absolute world to me.
I've always been independent, taking care of myself, even when I was in relationships.
I was hyper-aware of the need to take care of myself, but I also wanted to care for and go the extra mile for those who mattered to me.
Even when it's inconvenient or complicated, you still do the work, because to me, that's how you show love.
Callum pulls up to the infusion center to drop me off, idling at the curb before coming around the side to help me out. My hand in his warm one sends a pleasant current through me, and I smile at him as he hands me my tote bag.
"I'll head to the donation center now. I'll be here to pick you up when you're done."
I thank him, slinging the bag over my shoulder and walking toward the front door, but then I stop and turn back. He's circling the car to get into the driver's seat when I call out, "Callum?"
He stops and looks over, eyebrows raised in question.
"You're... you're one of my best friends."
His entire face softens, and his grin splits even wider. I can't help but return his smile just as fiercely, knowing it borders on cheesy.
"You're one of my best friends, too, Sophie."
◆◆◆
I'm not okay.
Nurse Patti is excellent as always, calm, comforting, and caring.
When I got here, she asked me about any side effects I was feeling, and I told her about feeling cold and experiencing nausea.
I gingerly admitted to the hair falling out, feeling silly for caring so much about that, especially since other patients in this center are completely hairless and possibly worse off than I am with their diagnosis.
But Patti wouldn't allow that.
"It's relative, and it's heartbreaking. Your hair is a part of you, and this illness is stealing it. That fucking sucks," Patti always speaks plainly, and it makes me laugh. "Your feelings are valid, my girl. Don't feel bad for feeling them."
I settled into my deceptively comfy recliner, took out my e-reader, and tried to just fall into a book, but after twenty minutes, I started feeling nauseous. I sipped the ginger ale that Patti brought me, she seemed to sense that I was a little green.
Then I started coughing, that cough that precedes vomit, and Patti moved as fast as lightning, putting the emesis bag under my chin right before I emptied my stomach into it.
"It's okay," Patti soothes me, and it makes tears well up in my eyes. "This happens more than you know. Just get it all out."
I'm not okay.
They increase the anti-nausea medication in my IV, which helps a bit, and I spend the rest of the time with a cool, wet compress on my head.
My hat is in my tote bag now, and I’m tightly bundled in my blanket, trying to get some rest. They bring me some ice chips and peppermints, which help to soothe my stomach.
Soon enough, I'm done with treatment number two. Patti gently unhooks me from the IV and helps me out of the chair.
"If the nausea persists, we'll schedule an appointment with your oncologist. He just might have to raise your meds a little," Patti assures me and gently places my hat back on my head, adjusting my hair with a smile. "This sucks, but it is very normal."
I nod, and she hands me my tote bag, "Thank you, Patti."
"Anytime. We'll see you in two weeks. Call your doctor if something feels off, okay?"
I nod and walk to the front, weakly waving to the girls at the front desk who softly wish me well and that they'll see me in two weeks.
Two down, four to go...
I don't even need to look at my phone, my body seems to just know that he's here, and as soon as I walk outside, I see Callum leaning against his truck.
"Hey,” he smiles, like he’s so happy to see me. “There she is."
And with that—I break.
All of these weeks of trying to hold it together and doing it on my own.
It's all catching up to me, washing over me like a wave that leaves me gasping for air.
The nausea, the exhaustion from not sleeping well last night, the fatigue from chemo, my hair falling out, and then finally, the image of Paul and Elise together playing over and over in my head.
I'm so tired, and I'm not okay.
It's like one of those dreams where you try to run but keep stumbling. I need something steady to hold onto. I need to get my bearings. I need someone to catch me. I need—
"Callum..." I squeak out, my throat tight and my eyes burning. The first tear slipping down my cheek wipes the smile from his face, and he immediately pushes from the truck to stride over to me.
"Sophie?" His tone is worried, a little frantic, and his hands hover between us, as if he's not sure he can touch me. When his strong arms open, looking so welcoming, I fall right into them. He immediately pulls me closer to him, his embrace is so big, so steady, so warm, and I just...
I let go.
I take a deep, hitching breath and sob right into his grey t-shirt, darkening it with my tears.
I let myself feel, and cry, and break in the arms of this dependable, immovable man.
He pulls me in even tighter, and his large hand cups the back of my head.
I can hear his heartbeat, strong and a little fast. Mine the same in my own chest.
"I... I-I'm... I'm not—"
"I know," he murmurs, his voice achingly soft and tender. "I know, Sophie. I'm here."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't be. You don't have to be okay, you don't have to be anything but Sophie right now." Callum shushes me, gently rocking me side to side in his arms.
It's like something finally clicks into place inside of me after being just off for too long. I need to let go, to be weak, if only for a second.
However, this surrender doesn't feel like defeat.
It feels like victory in a way, just being here in this moment, held in Callum's arms, his voice against my temple murmuring,
"I've got you, sweet girl."