Chapter Forty-Two Sophie #4
Callum can't speak anymore because I've launched myself into his arms and have pulled his mouth down to mine.
He freezes for only a moment before his arms lock around me like a vice, and he responds eagerly to the kiss.
I'm not upset he bought the house. How could I be?
Callum bought back his childhood home—this beautiful home I was falling in love with—just for us.
He bought us an entire house to live in. It's ours. This whole house is ours.
Our home.
"You bought us a house," I breathe, blinking rapidly. "You bought us a house! Callum, you bought us a house! Oh my God! We own this house!"
"It's ours, baby," Callum laughs, kissing me once more. "And I will do whatever you want to it, name it and it's yours."
"When can we move in?" I ask, breathless and ecstatic.
"Whenever you want," he says. "Tonight, if you want."
"Can Plot live with us?"
Callum laughs, "I think he'd love that."
"Where did you even find the time for all this?"
"The realtor came to the store while I was working to finalize everything," Callum shrugs. "I didn't need to see it, I was taking it as is."
"You... amazing, wonderful, incredible—" I punctuate every compliment with a kiss, "sneaky man!"
"I just... even if we didn't get good news today," Callum says, brushing some hair away from my face. "I wanted to at least give you something good and safe... a place that's ours."
"Ours..." I repeat, smile so wide it feels like it's cracking my face. "Our house."
"I'll add your name tomorrow," Callum promises, "I love you, sweet girl. I'm so proud of you."
"God, I love you too, otter," I squeal, practically bouncing on my toes. "This was the best day ever!"
Callum's eyes shift to the window, and his smile widens, before looking back to me.
"Not over yet," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the bedroom.
There's a knock on the front door, and I frown in confusion. "Who's here?"
"That," Callum says, twirling me around in a circle and making me laugh, "is your celebration, sweet girl."
◆◆◆
Three hours later, the sun is setting, casting the world in a golden glow.
Or maybe that glow is coming from somewhere inside me, radiating outward, because that's exactly how I feel.
Warm and full and golden. I'm full of pizza and a little buzzed on champagne, and for the first time in so long, life looks easy. There's no next step looming over me.
There's nothing but good times to be had.
Parker, Tess, and Tonya had been at the door earlier, six pizzas in Tonya's hands, bottles of champagne in Tess's, and a box of beer in Parker's.
They yelled "congratulations!" the moment Callum opened the door.
The pizzas were shoved into his waiting arms, and then I was swept into a tangle of arms and warmth and laughter, being bounced around as they chanted "fuck you, cancer! "
One by one, each of my friends showed up for me. I popped the champagne as they all cheered me on, and Tonya took a video. We all ate our weight in pizza and lounged on the living room floor on blankets brought by April, talking, laughing, and living.
Now, I sit in Callum's lap in the grass. We watch my friends—our family—spread out across the yard, and something inside me clicks into place. This feels like a glimpse of our life years from now, a warm slice of the future.
Atticus and Jane are playing cornhole—a lovely homecoming gift from Atticus and Tonya—against the team of Tonya and Parker.
Jane is apparently a sharpshooter, carrying her and Atticus on her back as she sinks another bag into the hole.
Or maybe that's because Atticus is so distracted he can't pull his attention from her enough to focus.
"Oh, come on!" Parker wails dramatically in defeat. Atticus barks out a laugh, his arm immediately sliding around Jane's shoulders as he presses a kiss to her temple.
"My girl," he declares smugly, beaming with pride as Jane blushes and melts into his embrace.
Tonya laughs at Parker's misery and turns toward Tess, who's handing her a bottle of beer.
They clink their bottles together and wear soft expressions on their faces as they stand shoulder to shoulder, just happy to be in each other's presence.
On the deck, Bailey is cuddled into Michael's side, sharing a conversation too quiet for anyone else to hear. April sits near Maeve and Donna, the three of them picking at leftover pizza and laughing as April tells the tale of another crazy encounter at Rise N' Grind.
"Do you want to see the treehouse?" Callum whispers in my ear.
My eyes light up immediately at that, and I nod eagerly.
We walk over to the giant Maple, and Callum frowns, testing the ladder that leads up to the treehouse twice with firm tugs, before nodding in satisfaction.
I snort at his protectiveness, and he shoots me a dry look, "We just got you cancer-free.
You think I'm letting you climb anything questionable? "
"I didn't say anything," I protest, lifting my hands as if in surrender.
"That adorable little look on your face said plenty," he narrows his eyes, trying to fight a smile. My cheeks flame, and he kisses the heated skin tenderly before telling me. "Wait here. I'll go up first."
I watch him, a little awed, as he deftly maneuvers his way up the ladder. That image of a tiny Callum scurrying up the ladder hits me... and then the vision shifts to our own children crawling up into the treehouse, reading and playing, their imaginations running wild.
Callum pops open the small wooden door and climbs inside, disappearing for a moment before he peeks out his head. He reaches a hand down and says, "All good, baby."
I carefully climb up the ladder, reaching my hand to him once I get high enough, and let him pull me inside.
It definitely needs cleaning, as scattered leaves and dirt litter the floor, but the place is actually kinda cozy.
Two windows cut into the sides let in sunlight, and it's big enough for both of us to fit comfortably.
Callum brushes a bunch of dead leaves away from a spot on the ground, before sitting down and then patting his lap for me.
I crawl over to him and curl myself into his waiting arms, sighing happily.
"You ever imagine you'd have a girl in here?" I tease him, and he chuckles, kissing my temple.
"Not in my wildest dreams," he says, his expression full of wonder. His hand traces along my hip, the movement slow and gentle, and he pauses when he feels the letter tucked into my pocket. "What was that letter?"
"Oh!" I smile, reaching into my pocket and pulling it out. It's a little bent and crumpled, so I smooth it out against my thigh. "This is a letter I wrote to myself, after Paul confessed... I wrote this right before I met you."
His eyes are like melted chocolate as they meet mine, and I hold it out to him.
"Do... do you want to read it? For me?"
"If you want me to," he says, and I nod, handing it to him. Snuggling deeper into his arms, I watch as he opens the envelopes, pulls out the letter, and clears his throat.
"Dear Sophie,
Paul cheated. Right now, it feels like a meteor just crashed through the ceiling and ripped a hole straight through the middle of my life.
This morning he was here, and now he's not.
That's his choice, and he has to live with it.
And I hope he can. Or not, Tess is plotting his demise as I write this, and I'm not really inclined to stop her.
I keep forgetting how to breathe and then remembering, because I still have Tess. We'll always have Tess. She told me to write this letter to you because we love making lists. So, when you read this in a year, because of who we are, you will have accomplished the following:
You are going to live.
You are going to have survived chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation.
You are going to endure—and no, not just endure: you are not writing this year off. You will have had a life during the hard parts, not just after.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me even closer into his embrace like he wants to fold me into his skin, and he presses a long kiss into my hair.
"Keep going," I whisper, and he nods.
"So, here is the plan for us right now:
1) We are going to kick cancer's ass.
We will show up to every chemotherapy appointment and read, nap, and relax. We will stay hydrated, let people help, wear those cute little hats when we go bald, and forgive the mirror on bad days.”
Callum pauses, and his voice is warm as he leans close to my ear.
"You have always been beautiful to me," he whispers. "Every moment. Do you know that?"
"I know," I whisper back, my throat thick. Because I do know that. I never had to forgive the mirror. Even when I had no hair, even with no breasts, even when he had to bathe and feed me and help me go to the bathroom, he looked at me like I was beautiful.
"2) Build and rebuild.
Not literal things, but build a support network. Say yes to new opportunities and offers of friendship. All of our friends right now are more Paul's friends, so we will make our own.”
"And I did," I chuckle, hearing their laughter drift in from outside the treehouse.
Ever After Always, this hodgepodge group of best friends I've acquired. And also Sasha, Michael, the Salvatores, my nurses, doctors, and hospital support team. All of these friendships that I've forged through this journey.
"3) Buy things.
Silly little knick-knacks that make the apartment mine, not ours: a ridiculous mug, that ceramic lighthouse you've been eyeing, a page-weight shaped like a cat.
Maybe get a cat? We've always wanted one. New soft towels. Fresh sheets. A new lamp that throws warm light. Donate the old couple-things to every thrift store in town with a firm thank you and goodbye.”
"Plot!" I laugh, "I feel like I didn't get a cat, though. Plot just acquired a human."
He chuckles softly, "And the otters."
"And the otters," I nod.
"4) Grow the library.
Happy-ever-afters only. If it ends well, it comes home with us and sits pretty on our shelves. I'll buy us one of those fancy library stamps with our name on it and annotate where a sentence catches my breath."
"Happy endings," he jokes, squeezing me, and I laugh, remembering our first conversation. I had thought he was adorable, the way he stumbled over his words, the way he put his foot in his mouth.
He made me laugh on the worst day of my life.
I met my soulmate on the worst day of my life.
How lucky am I?
"5) Work gently.
Laptop, fuzzy socks, soft deadlines. Let "good enough for today" be enough for today. Don't kill yourself working. It's not worth it."
Callum stumbles when he sees the next one, the most important one, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I can feel my own eyes stinging in response, and I reach up to cup his cheek, "Keep going."
He clears his throat, but his voice is thick as he reads.
"6) Let love be a possibility.
Falling in love is on this list, not as a requirement, but as a suggestion, to not let one cowardly man ruin this experience for us.
Because while love just burnt me with the worst pain I've ever felt, there were good times.
There had to have been. So, while love and dating is not on my radar right now with the battle I'm about to fight looming, I still want to keep hopeful that I will fall in love again.
I will not cut my nose off to spite my face.
I will fall in love, maybe not before you read this, but I will fall in love again one day.
He will be a reliable, dependable man. Someone who stays through the good, but especially through the bad.
A man who chooses me when it's hard, who puts a steady hand at my back and doesn't flinch when life is not pretty.
Who won't flinch when he sees my scars, who will call me beautiful even when I'm not feeling like I am. Someone who thinks kindness is sexy and gentleness is rebellion. Someone who accepts me as I am, in whatever state I may be in. That will be my future partner.”
"It's you..." I whisper, my voice cracking. "I love you."
"I love you," Callum responds fiercely, pressing a hard kiss to my mouth. "I love you so much, sweet girl—my otter—my Sophie..."
"When you read this next year, I hope you're cancer-free, confident, and happy.
I hope the apartment feels like yours in every corner.
I hope the bookshelf is heavier and your heart is lighter.
I hope your closet is stuffed with new cute clothes and your drawer has many, many new, cute hats to cover up our bald head.
I hope there are new names in your phone who feel like family.
I hope I can give that to you. You deserve it.
And...
I hope there's a man in the future who proves that love is a verb.
I will fall apart tonight, I will get up and plan tomorrow. Then I will do both as many times as it takes, until we have won.
We are going to be okay.
Love,
Sophie"
Callum and I sit in the heavy silence for a few moments before he carefully folds the letter and places it back into the envelope.
I take the letter and place it back into my pocket.
I'm not quite sure what I'll do with it—maybe I'll burn it as a ritual of release, or maybe I'll frame it and hang it somewhere I can read it and remember the girl who wrote it while her life fell apart.
Either way, I will never forget that girl.
Callum reaches up and cups my face, turning me to face him, and he drops his forehead against mine.
"You won, Sophie," he whispers, the words full of reverence.
He's right. I did.
I won this battle against cancer. I won against the heartbreaking betrayal of Paul cheating on me. I won against my own insecurities telling me I wasn't enough.
I fucking won.
I lean in, and our lips meet in a kiss that feels like home. Our lips move against each other in a slow, steady rhythm. We kiss and kiss and kiss until the entire world fades away.
There will be more battles, more appointments, more scans, more bloodwork. There will be nights when the fear creeps in unbidden, when I wonder if the cancer will return, or if Callum and I will one day be able to hold a baby of our own.
But I will worry about them when the time comes, because none of those worries can touch me right now.
At this moment, I choose joy. I choose hope. I choose to be loved so completely and to love in return.
I choose Callum.