That's why I'm here, sitting in this office, on this comfortable sofa. To fix what I fucked up. To fix me because I'm fucked up.
Isn't it strange that you think everything is fine, that what has gone wrong in your life is not your fault at all? That you're the poor unfortunate victim of life's circumstances, and how unfair it is that bad things happen to good people?
Sophie getting cancer? Something that happened to me.
My cheating on Sophie? Something that happened to me.
Me, me, me.
Dr. Gillian Forseti's green eyes don't leave mine after she asks her question. She's older, probably around my mom's age, with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed more casually than I would have expected of a therapist—a purple cable-knit sweater, jeans, and a pair of well-loved sneakers.
I had walked in shaking like a dog, and she greeted me with a smile, shook my hand, and introduced herself. Her open demeanor, her soft voice, her soothing office cracks me open like an egg.
I clasp my hands tightly in my lap, watching as my knuckles turn white from the force, as if holding them together could somehow keep myself from falling farther apart. My gaze drops to the dark carpet, unable to meet Dr. Forseti's eyes as I mutter, "I think I'm a selfish asshole who ruined the best relationship I ever had because I'm also a coward. I hate who I've become. I want to change..."
Dr. Forseti doesn't even blink. She picks up a pen and jots down a quick note on her notepad, and she meets my gaze with a steady look.
“Why don't we start from the beginning.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sophie
Soft music plays from the speaker on my vanity, an acoustic playlist I made late last night, full of lo-fi anti-anxiety tracks and gentle love songs. It's been keeping me calm as I've taken my time getting ready for the date.
Surprisingly, everything appearance-wise is going well for me today. The light-tinted moisturizer is settling nicely on my skin, not cakey. My eyeliner is clean and cooperating. I didn't even have to use pointed Q-tips to fix the wings. Mascara coats my lashes, though they're thinning more each day, just like my brows, which I've carefully penciled in. A rosy blush gives me a healthy glow. My favorite red lipstick—smudge-proof and long-lasting—covers my lips. Good for eating...
And kissing.
Not that I'm expecting any kissing. Even though the thought of kissing Callum and having his big hands cradling my face, his beard tickling me as he places those lips against mine, is something I've had someverypleasant dreams about.
So, you know—it's good to be prepared for anything.
Outfit-wise, I opted for a more casual look and dressed for an outdoor activity, as per Callum's instructions. An oversized cream sweater, the one with the chunky knit and slightly ballooned sleeves, the dark denimpeach jeans,and dark brown boots.
Overall, I feel really pretty.
My outfit and makeup aren't my issue—it's myhair.
Turning my head side to side in the mirror, I lean closer to examine my scalp, which has become more visible in the weeksince my birthday. Every time I fix one part, I reveal another patch of skin, another gap where the hair has fallen out.
It feels like each hair that falls out takes a piece of me with it. I find hair on my pillow when I wake up, in my hairbrush, and in the shower drain as I try to wash my tender head gently. I bought a soft-bristled brush, the kind you use on babies. I know I won't need it much longer.
My brows and lashes are going a little more slowly, and the hair on my arms and legs is patchy and sparse. It's probably the most depressing of the side effects of chemotherapy.Inevitable, but knowing that doesn't lessen the sting.
The timing feels especially cruel because I'm going on a date with the most handsome man I've ever met, and I'm going to be bald soon.
Sighing in frustration, I'm tempted to just buzz it off at this point, but I don't even have an electric razor. Paul took the one we had with him.
Maybe Callum would...
Thoughts for another time, I only have twenty minutes before Callum will be here to pick me up, so instead I opt for one of my soft hats. Massachusetts in the Autumn can be brisk, and I imagine I will be wearing many hats in the coming seasons. You never truly realize how much your hair keeps you warm until you start losing it.
The moonstone necklace shines from my neck and catches my eye. I reach my hand up to touch it as I've been doing since Maeve placed it there the night of my birthday. The gorgeous opalescent stone is small and dainty on a delicate gold chain.
Moonstone—for new beginnings, balancing emotions, and healing stress.
"It's been used for centuries by women to tap into their feminine intuition. Their power. Their resilience. My little dove, you are power, wrapped in grace. This stone doesn't give youstrength—it simply reflects back the strength that's already inside of you.”
