The tightness in my throat won’t allow me to answer for a few long moments.
"She looked at me like I was a stranger," I whisper, my voice breaking on the last word.
"She'll get over it," Elise smiles, reaching up to kiss my jaw. Trying to be helpful, trying to distract me. Her hand traces down my stomach, lower and lower. "Once she sees how happy we are..."
I don't answer her and tell her that she's wrong. I can't say anything.
I just roll over and fuck Elise again, thinkingmaybe this time I'll feel the relief.
I don't.
Chapter Seven
Sophie
My to-do list feels a mile long at the moment.
I sit at my small secretary desk, fingers hovering over the keys of my open laptop, trying to get ahead of some work.
The screen is barely visible beneath a mess of sticky notes in every pretty pastel color. Each note is a cheery little reminder of something urgent, something I haven't done yet, and something I absolutely must complete before the port surgery on Wednesday—the day after tomorrow.
Those words alone thrum in the back of my mind like a second heartbeat. My oncologist, Dr. Rajab had said this procedure would be easy, but completing that procedure means we're one step closer to three months of chemotherapy. That's an infinitely more daunting thought.
I read through my notes again, each one feeling heavier than it should.
—Email HR the doctor's note/paperwork for remote accommodation.
That one's easy. I just have to forward the attachment. Dr. Rajab already sent over the note for me earlier this morning.
— Double check your hospital bag.
I packed it once already. Then I unpacked it. Then I packed it again, twice. Phone charger. Tablet. Headphones. E-Reader. Soft socks and a fuzzy blanket. A change of clothes. Another change of clothes, just in case.
—Confirm the ordered car for Wednesday, 5AM.
This one hurts a little more than the rest, because it'll be a rideshare dropping me off at the hospital. Not someone I loveparking and walking in with me. No comforting presence waiting beside the pre-op bed. Just me and a stranger, at an hour when the world will still be dark.
—Meal prep for the week.
The idea of prepping casseroles and easy-to-heat meals feels monumental, but I know there will be days when I won't want to cook. I'm trying to be kind to future-me, even if present-me is dragging her feet.
—Send Tess the updated calendar.
Because she'll text me again and again until I do.
—Do laundry, clean bathroom and kitchen, fresh sheets and blankets on bed—clean spaces to promote healing!
I added the little note at the end myself, a nice little pep-talk in case I try to talk myself out of it. The idea of coming home and sliding under soft blankets and fresh sheets that smell of clean linen—not sterile hospital antiseptic—gives me something to look forward to.
I have all these things to do...
And yet, my eyes can't stop wandering over to the coffee table.
The two books I bought fromRivers & Rhodesare in the same spot where I left them. I started the farmer-librarian story first, pulled in by the promise of a small-town romance and something light, something that wouldn't hurt.
I didn't expect to laugh. Not likethat.
The banter was ridiculous in the best way, warm and clever and a little bit flirty. Before I knew it, I was halfway through chapter five, giggling out loud at a scene involving a library card and a very uncooperative hungry goat.
