Chapter Eighteen Sophie
Chapter Eighteen
Sophie
Warm.
I feel so warm and cozy as I’m gently eased out of sleep. I snuggle into my pillow with a soft sigh.
But... my pillow is a little tougher than usual... and breathing... and there's a thump-thump-thump beating from it. Also, it smells really good—like cedar and clean laundry—a really familiar, comforting scent. It smells like—
Callum.
My eyes snap open. I’m on the couch in my living room, not on a pillow.
Instead, I’m in Callum’s lap, my head nestled between his chest and shoulder.
This can’t be comfortable for him—he’s still upright, his long frame crammed onto my couch, sleeping with his head against mine.
His strong arm is around my waist, anchoring me to him.
And this was the most comfortable, deep sleep I've had in a long, long time.
No nightmares, and none of that lingering foggy feeling in my head.
Just warmth and calm, the quiet after the storm, I guess. Letting my fears out in the open, finally allowing myself to break, and having Callum's steady presence holding onto me is what I really needed.
I glance down and smile at our entwined hands. We must have done that in the night, our hands seeking each other like magnets, as if being molded together wasn’t close enough.
I like Callum. Like, like Callum. That much is clear, which doesn't feel as odd as it should, considering I'm not too far out of a long-term relationship. Because it's Callum and he's...
He's just... well, he’s amazing.
Handsome, obviously, but his beauty isn't just skin deep. It's all the way to the marrow of him, to his very soul.
He's kind and attentive, always in tune with my feelings, like how he saw right through me yesterday morning as soon as I opened the door.
He's so emotionally intelligent, the way he can talk me off the ledge I've placed myself on, gently guiding me out of a panic.
He gives me solid advice, not just fake niceties, but he puts things into perspective for me.
He's so considerate, never pushing me to talk before I'm ready, letting me set the pace.
Conversation can flow endlessly between us, shifting smoothly from playful banter to more profound topics. I feel completely at ease with Callum. I can talk to him and feel that he genuinely listens, not just waiting for his turn to speak.
The fact that he researched chemotherapy and its side effects, stocking his truck with ginger candies, peppermints, and emesis bags for me, is a level of care I’ve never experienced. He didn't even flinch when I got sick in front of him yesterday.
The offers to drop everything, leave his store, even though it's his livelihood, just to drive me to and from chemotherapy.
He’s unlike any other man I’ve ever met. Honestly, he's everything I could have ever asked for in a best friend, in a partner.
The way he treats me and what he's done for me after such a short period of time... well, it’s making me question things.
Like, how good was the relationship I had with Paul, really?
I had thought it was solid, amazing, incredible.
I thought that I was so lucky to have a partner like Paul.
Compared to the other romantic relationships I've had, it was better.
I felt happy, in love, and content. Paul took me on dates and regularly bought me flowers.
We navigated some pretty stressful times, marked by minor disagreements or arguments—our Master's degrees together, traveling, and moving.
We had what I considered a great and passionate sex life.
And yet...
In six years, I've never felt as fulfilled as I have in the last month.
Is it the cancer? Has staring at my mortality in the face caused some chemical change in my brain that is making all of these feelings and emotions bubble up?
Is it just the enormity of cancer masking everything, or is it actually a much-needed cleansing, pulling off the rose-colored glasses I've been wearing for too long?
Is it being alone for the first time in all these years? Am I finally able to sit with my own thoughts and feelings without being distracted by caring for someone else's? Without the distractions of school or work, am I finally able to focus solely on myself and my health?
Because, while my relationship with Paul was good, whatever this is with Callum is...
Better.
Actually, no, it's the best.
I've had to be independent my entire life, and I've always accepted it. I was determined to never fall into the housewife trap. When we briefly discussed kids and family planning, I always affirmed that I would return to work after my maternity leave.
I think Paul had wanted to recreate his life growing up.
He would talk on and on about how he loved that his mom was always available for him since she was a stay-at-home mom.
She was always able to come to his football games and be involved as Team Mom, and she felt fulfilled taking care of the house, him, and his dad.
That wasn't for me, and I made sure he understood that. And he said he did. I think the benefits of a two-income household swayed him, especially since my job pays a little more than his does.
I have never, in my entire life, wanted to have to rely on anyone else for financial support.
During college, living with Tess and her letting me live with her rent-free gave me a massive step up to the position I'm in now, but the guilt that accumulated from that really sucked.
She had assured me over and over again that she just wanted me to focus on school and saving up money so I didn't have to graduate with student loans.
That was the best gift she ever gave me, and when I graduated and decided to pursue my Master's, I put all my effort into it. I graduated with honors and made sure to secure a career that would provide a sufficient income to support myself.
And, thank God, because this could have ended very badly.
I think I've gained a new perspective—through cancer, and through Callum.
Everything can all collapse in on itself in an instant—say, for example, finding a lump in your breast can lead to your fiancé cheating on you. But, like Callum said last night, maybe instead it's meant to lead you to a new, better path.
Looking at my gentle giant's face—handsome and relaxed and so peaceful in sleep—I can agree to that.
A new, better path.
To some of the best people I've ever known in the book club.
To Maeve.
To Callum, my best friend.
My smile widens even more, and I rest my head back against his shoulder, feeling his strong arm pull me in closer as he sleeps. Closing my eyes, I sigh contentedly, taking greedy inhales of Callum's clean woodsy scent.
Yes, I prefer this path.
Two nights ago, I witnessed my ex-fiancé passionately kiss his mistress against his car, much like what they had been doing with each other while he was still engaged to me. That pain, compounded with my hair starting to fall out, had felt monumental. Excruciating. Devastating.
But, I think in a twisted way, I needed to witness it.
To actually see the betrayal in front of me, so I could just stop wondering. So that I could stop letting it just sit and fester in the back of my brain while I tortured myself with conjured images. It was like cauterizing a wound. Insanely painful, but necessary.
And now, healing.
We apply medicine to it, monitor it for infection, tend to it, and bandage it when necessary. One day, it'll be a scar to look at and remember the pain, but most importantly, remember the lesson.
That trust takes years to build and can be shattered in an instant, and may never be rebuilt.
That respect is something absolutely integral to a relationship, and when disrespect occurs, especially by someone you love, it feels like being stabbed.
Integrity is easy to declare, but harder to demonstrate.
And that love is never enough to sustain a relationship.
Paul chose his path, and I'm going to choose mine.
Away from Paul.
Toward healing.
Toward Callum.
His chest rumbles under my head, sounding like a bear waking up, and I have to hold back a giggle.
I feel him slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, but I stay right where I am.
It's cold, Callum is warm, and I'm just too comfortable to move.
He tenses for only a moment until he feels me snuggle deeper into his embrace.
"Good morning," he rumbles in my ear, his voice scratchy and raspy from sleep. Good lord...
"Good morning," I reply softly, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
Now he's the one who looks a little sheepish at our position, just like I had been last night after I fell asleep on him during Matilda. His cheeks darken above his beard, he opens his mouth to say something—apologize without need, most likely—but I don't move.
No, I just grin up at him, showing that I'm not displeased. Quite the opposite.
The flush on his cheeks remains, but the expression on his face relaxes into a grin that matches mine. His arm tightens around me, and I just snuggle into him once more with a contented sigh.
"Sorry for—"
"That was the best sleep I've had in a while," I cut him off, keeping my voice soft. "Thank you, Callum."
"I didn't do anything," he tries to brush my words off, minimizing his impact, but I refuse to let him do that to himself.
"I needed you to stay, and you stayed," I shrug, once again lying my head down on his shoulder. "That's all I needed."
I feel a slight pressure on my head, and I bite my bottom lip to somehow tame the happy smile on my face, knowing he just kissed my head.
Twenty minutes later, my bladder is screaming at me, too insistent to ignore anymore.
Reluctantly, I untangle myself from Callum, who immediately lets me, though his face reads a little disappointment, too.
I stand and stretch, groaning a bit at the small pops up and down my back.
Callum then stands too, his own back cracking, and he stretches the arm and shoulder that I was lying on.