Chapter Eighteen Sophie #3
"Do you..." I start to ask hesitantly, worried about his answer. "Do you feel some type of way about me? I mean, I was with your bully for six years. There should have been signs for me to see. I keep asking myself if I was willfully ignorant or—"
"No! No, Sophie," Callum says, his voice sharper than I've ever heard it.
His eyes are blazing now, lit with a fire that startles me.
"I didn't know Paul as an adult, but you did, so I have to believe that there were good qualities in him for you to be with him like that.
Because you, Sophie, are extraordinary and any man would be lucky to be with you. "
My breath catches in my throat at the passion in his voice, his hand tightens around mine just a fraction, reminding me that we're still connected, and I turn my palm over so our fingers can lace together.
"Mom always says no one is all good or all bad. It's the choices that we make that truly define us. Paul chose wrong with me, and Paul chose wrong with you. That's that. I don't think Paul is some terrible, awful, evil monster, but I do think he makes the wrong choices when it counts."
Choices. We are defined by our choices.
Our choice to stay, our choice to leave. Choices we make out of love, out of desperation, out of fear, out of pride. Some choices seem right, but they end up ruining us. Some choices may seem wrong, but ultimately lead to a better path. Ultimately, everything comes down to a choice.
In the end—in love, in life, in happiness—it all comes down to what we choose.
"But, when Paul and I weren't around our classmates, I probably had a peek at the person you were engaged to, because that Paul was funny and he could be really nice," Callum smiles fondly.
"His mom would pack him those Hostess cupcakes for lunch, and he would split one with me on the walk home sometimes without making a barb about my weight like other kids did.
I think that was the Paul you saw, because I think you seek out the kindness that you give so freely. "
"I wish I had met you sooner," I confess in a whisper, smiling at his words. I know meeting him sooner wouldn't have been possible, at least without Paul bringing me to this town.
Huh, guess I can at least thank him for that.
Callum smiles at me, squeezing my hand in his.
"I think we came into each other's lives at just the right time."
I don't think I can speak through my closed throat, his words hitting me in my chest like a physical blow.
So instead, I choose action. I lift his hand up and place a kiss on the back of it, his skin warm under my lips.
His pupils dilate at the contact, and I grin at him as I brush my thumb against the back of his hand.
He keeps his eyes on our joined hands for a long time, but I just keep my eyes on him.
A couple of minutes later, he checks his watch and downs the rest of his coffee. We reluctantly break our contact, and he stands up, rinses the mug, and places it in my dishwasher before I can even open my mouth to tell him that I'll get it.
"I gotta get to the store," he tells me when he turns back around. "Wanna shower beforehand. I probably reek."
"I think you smell good," my mouth moves before my brain can catch up, and I close my eyes, cringing at myself. I mean, it's true—he smells fantastic, but I didn't need to just blurt it out like a starstruck moron.
He pauses, turning his head to look at me with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I answer, my voice a little breathless, but honest. "You always smell good."
He doesn't move at first, and then suddenly he's bending down, leaning in until his face is level with mine. His eyes, warm and steady, catch mine, and he smiles. "You always smell good, too, Sophie."
That puts a large smile on my face.
He notices how I smell. He notices the way I've been noticing him.
He pats his pants, checking for his keys and wallet, before turning back to me. My breath catches in my throat when he leans down once more and kisses my forehead, my eyes falling closed at the contact of his lips.
"Happy birthday, sweet girl," he murmurs against my skin, before stepping back and smiling at me. "I'll see you tonight. Seven. Enjoy your day till then."
◆◆◆
Enjoy the day, I do.
After Callum leaves, I clean the kitchen and pack away the fruit neatly in my nice containers, snacking on some here and there.
Then I take a nice, long shower, ignoring the hair that falls out as I wash it.
It's just going to keep happening till it's all gone, and I'm not going to let something inevitable steal this joyful day from me.
Two more packages are delivered.
The first is a delivery from my favorite bakery in town.
Inside a pink-striped box are four decadently decorated cupcakes, each topped with a swirl of banana cream frosting and crowned with a single golden vanilla wafer.
My mouth waters when I smell them, and I bring them to the kitchen, reading the note tied to the top.
Happy birthday, honey!
Wishing you a day full of peace, warmth, and love. We are so sorry that life has thrown so much at you this year, but we are incredibly proud of how you've faced it all with such grace and strength.
We're keeping you in our prayers and rooting for you every step of the way.
All our love,
Donna and Rich
Smiling and feeling so warm and loved, I send them a quick thank-you text.
The next one is a basket from Avery and my coworkers—a cute little charcuterie basket that I put right in the fridge and texted Avery to thank her.
My phone explodes with texts from the book club, wishing me a happy birthday in our emoji-only language. My heart warms at the influx of all of these people in my corner, their texts a visual reminder that I am not alone.
I call Tess around lunchtime, and we talk for about an hour. She asks what I'm doing tonight to celebrate. I happily inform her that we'll be celebrating at the store.
I can hear the smile in her voice, "Good. I'm glad you're being celebrated. You deserve it, Soph."
"I..." I clear my throat, my voice a little sheepish as I tell her. “Callum, kinda... spent the night last night..."
"Oh?" Tess asks, sounding incredibly amused and intrigued.
"No, not like that..." I sigh and flop down on my couch. "After chemo, I fell apart. I saw Paul and... her outside the bar two nights ago, and I just lost it."
"Soph..."
"No, I'm okay. I needed to see it. Like firmly snapping a book closed," I tell her honestly. "Not that there was any possibility that I would want him back, but seeing it—seeing an... echo of what he did—I think it broke something that needed to break."
Tess is silent for a minute before she asks softly. "You ever hear of kintsugi?"
"The pottery, right?"
"Yeah, so back when I was in Japan, one of the guys I worked with told me about it.
It's an art form. They take broken pottery and, instead of throwing it away, they'll fill the cracks with gold.
Not just to fix them, but to show off the damage.
The cracks don't make it ugly—they make it more beautiful.
It was shattered, but someone took the time to put it back together.
Like a message to the world: I was broken. And I survived."
My eyes fill, a few tears spilling over at her words, and she continues on, like she's not tilting my world on its head.
"I think your little book club—especially Callum," she teases, emphasizing his name, and it makes me blush. "They're your gold, Sophie. They're filling the cracks, and you're letting them. I think that's the most beautiful thing."
"They are," I whisper, my voice hitching a bit.
"So don't hide your hurt or your pain from them, or from anyone.
It's not ugly, Soph, and people who truly care aren't going to run screaming.
It says you survived that, and you'll survive this, and anything else life tries to test you with.
Your friends will be there for you. Callum will be there for you. And I will too, obviously. Okay?"
"Okay," I nod my head, and wipe my cheeks. "Yeah, okay.
"So have fun tonight with your friends, enjoy the time in the moment. Heal a little more, eat a concerning amount of cake, and have fun."
"I will," I promise her, my voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks, Tess."
"Anytime, Soph."
I started getting ready around five-thirty, after lounging all day in my robe and slippers.
I decide to dress up a little tonight, even though it's just going to be Callum, Maeve, and Plot.
I still want to look nice. I pull out a cream cardigan, a brown skirt that hits mid-calf, and a pair of black boots.
I arrange my hair to cover some of the bald spots, using clips to pin it down and hairspray to keep it in place.
I put on a little makeup and smile at myself in the mirror, feeling pretty for the first time in a while.
I know this reflection might—will—change, probably within the next couple of weeks, but I have tonight. My thirtieth birthday. I'm wearing a pretty outfit, my hair looks good, my skin is glowing, and my smile is real and bright. I'm going to go spend my birthday with my friends.
I'm going to spend my birthday with Callum.
"Thirty, flirty, and thriving," I tell myself out loud in the mirror, before turning off the bathroom light and heading out the door.