Ever since, when I have a moment of doubt or stress, I press my fingers to the stone, close my eyes, and breathe through it. It might be the placebo effect, or maybe it really does have some of Maeve's magic infused into it, but I always feel a sense of calm wash over me.
Walking into my bedroom, I open my closet and grab one of my new hats, a gorgeous red beanie that matches my lipstick, with a cute teddy bear patch stitched onto it. I smile as I secure it on my head and turn to look in the full-length mirror in the corner.
April had gifted me three beautiful beanies she had crocheted herself: the red one I'm wearing now, a blue one with a daisy stitched into the pattern, and a sage green one with an adorable fox patch. I only cried a little when I opened them, and the nonchalant redhead said just to let her know what other colors and patterns I wanted, that my cancer would be good for her ADHD. That just made me laugh and hug her tighter.
Butterflies start moving in my tummy as I take in my entire appearance as it finally hits me—I'm going on a date tonight.
My first'first date'in years.
With Paul, our official first date was at a nice Italian restaurant, not overly expensive, but still nice enough that I wore a pretty dress and ate some bland chicken carbonara. Paul kissed me gently at the end of the night, and it was really nice.
That memory is now tainted, not by the setting, but by the man in it. I can think fondly of the vacations we went on and the beautiful sights we saw on our road trips, but any time I think of my ex-fiance, I don't feel in love anymore. I don't feel trust, or respect, or... well, I don't evenlikehim anymore.
At one point, Paul was everything to me. I enjoyed talking to him, laughing with him, hearing about his day, easing hisworries, and taking care of him. I liked being needed by him, because that was love as I understood it, and I did love him—past tense.
But the more time away from him, the more clarity I get.
I didso muchfor Paul. I did the laundry. I vacuumed, organized, decorated, and maintained the shared space. I cooked our meals, packed his lunch, and made sure his coffee was ready in the morning. I listened to his problems, offered advice, and provided comfort. I carried the emotional load for him when he needed me to, and I did it with a smile on my face.
Two very enlightening truths came from those thoughts.
Firstly, I don't care if Elise is doing those things for him. Thoughts of them together don't burn, not anymore. Elise knew about our relationship. She knew I existed. I met her once, briefly. She listened to Paul speak about me, confided in her about me, andstillpursued him. The fault will undoubtedly lie mainly with Paul. He was the one in the relationship with me, knowing my boundaries and crossing over them anyway. But she knew about me, and still went for him.
So, she can have him.
Anyone taken that easily from me wasneverworth keeping in the first place. They seem perfect for each other, in a twisted sort of way. So let them be perfect together and stay away from the rest of us.
Secondly, my life, besides the cancer, has remained relatively unchanged. Well, no, actually, it's gottenbetter.
What did Paul really do for me?
He could barely manage to schedule his own dentist appointments without my persistent reminders. I used to laugh about it, thought it was just one of those funny quirks he had. He'd groan and tell me he didn't need me to nag him, but then he'd forget—every time, so I'd do it for him.
Financially, he contributed by paying half of the bills, but I'mmanaging just fine on my own. I always have, I always will. Sure, I'm unable to save as much as I used to, especially with my out-of-pocket costs toward the cancer treatments, but I still have my half from our joint savings account. That's been a nice comfort, just in case this sickness worsens and I'm unable to keep working and lose my insurance.
That's the worst-case scenario, but I've got contingency plans.
Paul introduced me to his family, including his parents.That, I'll admit, was the best thing he's given me. Donna and Rich are the parents I dreamed of, and I'm so glad they were invited to my birthday and actually came to celebrate me. Folding into their hug felt healing, and Donna and I have remained in contact now.
So, other than that, what did Paul do to make my life easier? Why did I ever think I could rely on him through these cancer treatments?
You know whodoesmake my life easier?
The one who shows up for me. The one who drives me without complaint to and from chemo and doctor's appointments, and listens to me drone on and on about plot devices and character arcs. The one who drops everything if I need help. The one who makes me feel like I'm not a burden, but a person with thoughts and feelings and problems, and I'm not less because of them.
Knock-knock.
That sound brings a smile to my face.
"Callum."
???
"Really?!"
My voice comes out in an excited squeal, laughter bubbling up and out of my chest. Callum grins at me from the driver's side, arm draped over the wheel as the truck idles in the grassy parking lot. He shrugs, trying for nonchalance, but this man isanything but. His eyes always give him away—watching me with that soft, searching look like he's hoping he got it right.
"Yeah," he says, almost shy. "I figured you'd like it."
