Twenty-two
Peter
Our entwined fingers bound us as rain pelted the windshield of my Accord. I knew Sarah was trying to put on a brave face for me, but I didn’t want her to do that. Sometimes, she tried to corral me with her positive attitude and relentless determination.
But I was so tired.
I didn’t want to see the bright side anymore or try to give every single thing a positive spin. I didn’t want to pretend like we were going to be okay. Because what if we weren’t? We had to face the possibility that we might not see this to the other side. I barely escaped with my life last time.
More than anything, I wanted to tear down her walls. I wanted to find the part of Sarah that could weep and hold me without making promises. Every part of me needed to fall into her arms because I was scared as hell. And I knew she was too, even if she refused to admit it.
But that wasn’t how Sarah was wired.
She would fight and fight until someone forced her to put down her weapons.
My right hand held her left, and the little engagement ring I slipped over her finger in June glinted in the melancholic gray light. Had I known I’d be facing chemo a mere eight weeks later, I never would’ve asked her.
I would’ve waited.
Now, I didn’t know how to undo what I started.
My car idled a few streets down from my house in a partially developed subdivision where no one lived yet.
We’d set out to go to a drive-in theater, but they canceled due to the rain.
So I just drove around until the rain grew too thick to see.
Now we just sat and stared. Unsure what to do.
What to say. How to tackle the mountain ahead of us. Or how to broach the looming what ifs.
I lifted her hand and kissed it. The touch startled her out of her trance-like stare, and she turned her weary eyes to mine.
“We need to talk,” I said.
She nodded, understanding we couldn’t keep avoiding this.
“I…” The words started, but I didn’t know how to finish them. “Sarah, we…we can’t get married. Not like this.” Averting my eyes, I glanced out the windshield. “I feel like I never should have asked.”
“Why?” She frowned. “Your relapse doesn’t change anything.”
It was now August, and according to our original date, Sarah and I would be married September 21st. There were so many problems with that plan now.
“I don’t want you to marry me when my future is not a given.” A relapse in acute myeloid leukemia typically came with a significantly lower survival rate. Granted, I’d spent a lot of time in remission, so maybe the treatments would be effective, but if they weren’t, she would be a…a…
I couldn’t even think it.
A painful lump rose in my throat. “I won’t leave a wife behind, Sarah.”
“But I want every minute I can get with you.” Her voice was strong, but wavering. “Even if you die.”
“I don’t want that.” I shook my head. “I don’t want you to go through that.”
“Even if I love you?”
“Especially because you love me.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Peter.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” I shoved a hand through my hair. “You’ll be widowed, Sarah. At nineteen years old. The rest of your life will be defined by that.”
“And losing my fiance won’t define my life?”
Our age hit me like a ton of bricks. Was I irresponsible to even ask her right smack in the middle of college?
We hardly had enough money for proper dinners between us, and I popped the question like a stubborn bull.
All I wanted was her with me forever. But maybe I’d been selfish not to prepare a better future for Sarah.
And now, even if I survived cancer, I’d be chasing my tail, dealing with a flux of medical bills and so many doctor visits we’d be dizzy with them.
I’d fall at least a semester or two behind in school and I might even lose my scholarships. Then what would I do?
She deserved a decent house, a stable income, and a husband that wasn’t teetering on the brink of death.
Sighing, I dropped my head on the headrest and closed my eyes.
The rain intensified, nearly drowning out the ability to have a conversation. “I think we should…not be engaged…during this time.”
Even though I wasn’t looking, I felt her glare shooting daggers at me. “So what? You want to break up? Or just go back to being boyfriend and girlfriend again?”
“No, I don’t want to break up.” I shook my head. “I just want to hit pause for a bit. This could change the landscape of our future, and I want to prepare and take care of you.”
“I don’t understand. I want to get married. No matter what that looks like.”
“You’re not thinking.” I shook my head. “This won’t be like a romance movie, Sarah.
If you’re my wife and I die, you’ll be dealing with so much shit and paperwork and phone calls and doctors and a thousand other things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Let alone my brand new wife. If I had assets that could go to you or even some freaking life insurance, that might be different, but I don’t. ”
“But what if I want all that headache?”
“You don’t, trust me.”
She scoffed, angry now. “How would you know what I want?”
I laughed a little then, casting her a smirk. “I’ve spent four years studying your fantasies. You don’t think I know you pretty well by now?”
“Apparently not. Because I sat by your side the first time.” Her white face pinked with anger. “And I’ll do the same thing regardless of our relationship status.”
“You’re going to miss your classes if you—”
“I don’t care!”
“I care, Sarah. You need to get your degree so that you can take care of yourself.”
“Why? Why does it matter? Seriously, Peter. Who cares? I don’t give a rip about getting a college degree when the man I love is fighting for his life again.”
“I don’t want to be engaged while we walk through this because…
” I scrubbed a hand over my face, frustrated.
“It’s pressure, Sarah. Pressure on me to be something I’m literally going to be incapable of being.
I’m not going to be able to provide while we go through chemo, and maybe I won’t even be able to after the fact.
What if I have long term health complications?
That happens to plenty of repeat chemo patients.
I might have heart issues or nerve damage or chemobrain for that matter—maybe I won’t even be able to finish college or think through math problems anymore. Then what?”
My heart squeezed in my chest as possibilities flooded my brain, sending jittery feelings down my arms and up my spine. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck.
So much could go wrong.
A few beats of silence fell before she spoke. “So, let me get this straight…in your mind, it’s better for us not to be engaged so I can cut and run when things aren’t the best case scenario. Am I hearing you right? Because that sounds pretty crappy to me.”
“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.” I waved my hands in a horizontal line, noting the way they trembled. “I want you to have a choice—no strings attached.”
At that, Sarah threw open her passenger door and water spiraled into the car, instantly soaking everything as she jammed the release on her seatbelt and stomped off into the rain. “Sarah! What the hell?”
But she slammed the door in my face.
My seatbelt clicked and cool water doused my hair as I ran after her. “Sarah, wait!”
Right as my fingers connected with her elbow, she whirled to face me, driving her finger into my chest. Water had already seeped into her shirt, turning the fabric see-through.
Her face now hot with rage, she yelled, “If you think that we could ever go back to a no-strings kind of relationship then we clearly mean a lot more to me than we do to you.”
“Listen to me.” I held her elbows, not letting her escape, even though she struggled. “I did not say that. I adore you, and you know that. But I’m going to ruin your life if—”
“It’s too late!” She shrugged me off with almost manic laughter. “My entire life, since seventh grade, has been about you. Your relapse might as well be my own freaking relapse. If you die, I die. My life will be ruined either way, Peter. I would never come back from losing my best friend—”
As she continued her tirade, all I could think was how much I didn’t deserve her.
“All your attempts to protect me are just hurting my feelings.” Her voice began to crack from all the yelling. “I want you to want me in this with you. So stop pushing me away.”
Genuinely, I didn’t know how I ended up with someone like her.
She was funny, kind, selfless, loyal, brave, and full of life.
And so pretty. Suppressing a groan, I let my eyes wander over her soggy clothes that clung to every curve, the mascara running down her cheeks, and the strands of her fiery hair sticking to that perfect neck.
Once I started chemo, there would be days I wouldn’t even be allowed to kiss her due to all the drugs wrecking havoc on my body.
Something in me snapped. My hands reached for her, yanking her face to mine.
Undeterred, she continued, “And I want you to—”
But our mouths crashed together, angry and hurt and falling to pieces.
Our arms squeezed, pressing and pushing, unable to get close enough quickly enough.
Water ran between our lips as I tilted my head in the downpour, diving in.
My fingers shot up the back of her neck, tangling in and tugging on her soaked hair.
She whimpered into my mouth, fueling the fire of need in my torso.
Pulling back, just enough to speak, I whispered, “I want you with me, Sarah. Always.”
Her response was a heady humming sound and a shift of her hips, aligning us. Her kiss stoked an urgency that egged us forward, and I wondered how I could love one person so much. How I could be so ready and scared and hopeful and out of control all at the same time.
Letting my hungry groan free, I hauled her soft curves into the hard planes of my body. And she weakened, nearly slipping through my fingers as I backed her to the car, reaching around to jerk the Accord’s back door open.
“Get in,” I hissed, water flicking from my lips with my heavy exhale.
Without letting her waist go, I directed her inside, and she shimmied over until I could slip in beside her.
When I closed the door, the deluge muted, the dull thudding sounds mixed with the sound of our frantic kisses.
We were getting water everywhere, but I didn’t care.
Curling my arms around her lower back, I moved her to my lap then leaned, spreading our bodies across the expanse of the back seat.
There wasn’t much room. But it was enough.
I kissed her like we were running out of time.
But, for all I knew, we were already out of time. We could be in the final seconds and not even realize it. My mouth left hers, roaming down her neck and onto her chest. She turned her chin, granting me access, repeating my name.
What if I never got the chance to grow old with her?
My mouth returned to hers, so damn scared.
“I love you, Sarah.” I whispered, my lips grazing hers. “I love you.”
Her fingers tangled in my hair and her legs wound around my waist as I peeled off her shirt and then I took and took and took until we were panting and sweating and crying, too. And I couldn’t pull myself away from her as a very real truth swam over me.
I was panicking. This was panic.
I wanted to curse myself for jumping the gun on so many things. For asking when I should’ve waited. For taking when I should’ve given. For letting fear make my decisions. For hurting her with so much unknown. But I didn’t know what else to do. Dammit, I didn’t know.
The worst case scenario flickered into my mind—Sunshine Girl’s eyes growing dark, her shoulders drooping, her vigor for life and adventure whisked away by grief carried too early, too young. An era of night for the girl who only wanted the sun.
“My life will be ruined either way, Peter. If you die, I die.”
Her words echoed in my mind, but I could only pray to God that they weren’t true.
And even while I loved her, I promised myself—if I got a future with Sarah, I would be more careful, less selfish.
I would make her choose her own best, not mine.
I would protect her from any of my stupid decisions.
I would make sure she got the beautiful, to-the-brim life she’d always wanted.
And, as far as it depended on me, she’d catch that damn sun.