35
Finally, it’s the day Ben comes home, and I am as excited as a child on Christmas.
I’ve been scrambling the last few days to figure out what is the same in this world and what I must have done to cause such
ripple effects in my current reality. Once Ben bursts through that door, however, his voice bright as he calls for me, all
I can think of is seeing him, holding him, kissing him.
I run inside from the balcony to jump into his arms, which feel sturdier than when I last saw him. Finally, I pull back to
assess. He looks well-fed and rested. It’s still jarring to see the physical differences from the Ben I glimpsed in Brooklyn,
but I know that version of my husband was not real. This is real. I kiss his lips and tug him against me.
“Oh my God, I missed you so much,” I say. “It feels like you’ve been gone a year.”
“I know.” He threads his fingers through my hair and finally pulls back and whistles as he studies the condo. “You’ve been
stress-cleaning, I see.”
I roll my eyes. “Guilty.” I follow him into the bedroom as he unpacks, not wanting to pepper him with too many questions but still wanting to devour every detail. Mostly I want to know how he feels, if he’s better, and what we are supposed to do next. When will we know if he’s healed? I didn’t ask the other version of Ben that question. How soon he’d known. If he’d gone to get testing to confirm and how he could be sure the cancer wouldn’t come back.
To my surprise, Ben doesn’t talk so much about himself as about what he witnessed at the workshop. People bound to wheelchairs
walking for the first time. People who were blind suddenly able to see. People with multiple sclerosis running by the end
of the week. He met and made so many new friends, and my heart swells listening to all of it. I cling to the hope that maybe
he will be one of these miracles too—that he got his energy elevated to such a level that the cancer had nowhere to go but
up and out. I know spontaneous recoveries can happen; I’ve just never allowed myself to think that Ben could be one of them.
But after what I’ve experienced, I’m open to believing just about anything is possible. I’m living proof that there’s more
to this world than we think.
“How does it feel to be back?”
He looks around our bedroom and then sits on the bed. “Great to see you, obviously, but harder than I thought.” He rubs a
hand over his head. “If I’m being honest, it was nice to be somewhere else. I love our home, Harp, but I also associate it
with being sick.”
I nod, because I completely understand. My thoughts drift to the version of him who was nomadic for so long before deciding
he wanted to settle down and start a family. “What if we sell?” I ask. It’s not something we’ve really talked about since
his treatment ended.
His eyes spark with interest. “Where would we go?”
“Anywhere we want.”
He taps me on the knee. “Close your eyes.”
I smile and do as I’m told.
“If you could move anywhere, where’s the first place that comes to mind?”
I ponder the question. We’ve never talked about moving because he’s never wanted to. In our original lives, we moved here
because I got my teaching job. In this version, I’m not sure how we ended up here.
Brooklyn pulses through my head, almost like a heartbeat. “I don’t know. New York, maybe?” As I say it, my mind surges with
images of Liam: Liam in his loft, Liam in his bed, Liam’s lips on mine. I don’t know how to tell him that I’ve just been there,
that I’ve seen this alternate reality that I’m still trying to interpret. I don’t know if I like that New York version of
me. I also don’t know if I could ever leave this place, because it has so much of Ben in it. I don’t know anything right now,
except that I’m beyond relieved to see my husband. I open my eyes. “But I know you hate New York.”
“Harper.” He rests his warm hand on my thigh and squeezes. “You can’t make decisions based on me anymore, okay? You have to
start thinking about what you want for yourself. If New York is where you want to be, then that’s where you should be.”
My eyes fill with tears, and I shake my head, confused. “But I thought you went to this workshop to get better, Ben. Wasn’t
that the whole point?”
He shrugs. “I mean, there’s the hope of getting better, but what I really took away from my time there was peace. I’ve been
avoiding really, truly thinking about the end, and now I’m not running from it. I’m making peace with what comes next, whether
that’s now or in another fifty years.”
“Let’s go with another fifty years.” I sigh and flop back on the bed.
“Hey, you. Don’t be sad.” He strokes my cheek and trails his hands down my neck and stomach. My body aches for him. “Three
things,” he whispers now.
I sit back up. I’ve missed our little game. “You, me, hope. Your turn.”
He smiles. “Hope is a good one. I’d say you, the workshop, and coming home.”
We’re quiet for a moment as I gather my next thoughts. “Do you ever think about having a family?” The words are tentative
coming out of my mouth, and I can tell I’ve caught him off guard.
His eyes darken momentarily, and he shakes his head. “The doctors are pretty sure the chemo wrecked me, Harp. You know that.”
“Let’s say it hadn’t. Would you want a family?” I don’t know what I’m saying. Ben just got back, and now we’re talking about
moving and starting a family? My mind is all mixed up, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm him.
“I want a family. Especially with you.” He leans in to kiss me, and I wrap my arms around his neck and pour everything I have
into the moment.
“Then let’s try.” The words escape my lips, shocking us both. Even as I say it, I’m not sure that I really mean it, but Ben
pulls back long enough to look at me.
He smooths the hair away from my face. “But what if I don’t live to meet them?”
I kiss his lips, his hair, his cheeks. “But what if you do?”
We fall into each other, and it is slow and tender. Ben and I only briefly talked about kids before we got married. We assumed we’d have them after a few years, but in the beginning, we were mostly focused on having fun and enjoying each other. Then, when he got diagnosed, all future plans flew out the window. But this could be a way to keep him with me, to carry on his legacy, to give him another reason to live.
Afterward, I kiss him deeply, then curl into him, never wanting to let go. I feel guilty for what happened with Liam, even
if it was all make-believe. As I cling to his chest, I remind myself that this is the man I love.
This is where I belong.