I cannotknow my future and still build one anyway.
For the first time in a long time—since long before my diagnosis—I’m not just surviving my life. I’m living it. Fully.
And that is all I could ever ask for.
I look down at our joined hands, imagining a ring on Fletcher’s finger.
Correction—it’salmostall I could ever ask for.
There is one tiny thing that would make it better, and I’m going to make it happen.
Fletcher is going to be my husband. Sooner rather than later.
26
FLETCHER
TWO MONTHS LATER
Spring is well underway in San Diego. The flowers I planted last fall have finally come up around the house, offering stubborn little bursts of color everywhere. Vince has made it his mission to clean up the backyard—with Georgie’s and my help, of course. We’ve trimmed back the bushes, added flowers along the stone path, and even cleaned off the brick stove that hasn’t been used in two years. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy using that until we baked a pizza in there last weekend.
Vince has found a balance between jobs, working four days a week for Declan as the office manager and two afternoons a week at the music shop teaching guitar. He’s enjoyed being at the shop so much that he’s considering adding a third afternoon class. It helps that Georgie and Avalon have been spreading thenews at school. Kids have been coming in left and right, wanting to learn.
The way Vince smiles whenever he comes home from those lessons is the most beautiful thing.
His symptoms are the same after trying a second medication—but at least they haven’t progressed. We take it a day at a time, and rarely make plans too far ahead since we never know what Vince will be able to handle. But the uncertainty doesn’t bother him anymore. If anything, it’s given him—or ratherus—freedom to embrace each moment as it comes.
Darren hums as we walk through the back room of an abandoned home. I can tell from his expression that he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“It’s not the one, is it?” I say.
Darren shakes his head. “Definitely not the one. It looked better on paper.”
“Agreed.” I tap his arm. “We’ll find it, though.”
My brother presses his lips together. “I hope so.”
Darren and I have been talking about flipping another home for profit. It’s one of my favorite things to do—a full floor to ceiling remodel. The only downside is, it’ll take us away from the business so we need to be sure it’s one we’re fully committed to it. Jose and Carlos will step up and be team leads while we focus on the house.
He glances at his phone for the tenth time.
“Are you waiting for a date or something?”
He laughs. “No, sorry.” Looking around, he spots a diner across the road. “Want to grab a burger?”
“Sure.”
My heart is soaring. It’s been a good morning—one of those rare stretches where my brother and I actually get to have a conversation. It’s a treat for us. Being co-owners of Rhides Renovations, work usually pulls us in opposite directions.
I’m halfway through a basket of fries I absolutely did not need when Darren leans back in his chair and squints up at the sky like he’s trying to read the future in the clouds. “Life is good,” he says off-handedly.
I hum. “Yeah, it is.”
“I’m serious, man. Life is… God, I never thought we’d be here when we were kids, you know?” His expression softens as he looks at me. “I’m really glad we went into business together.”
I grin at him, throwing a fry across the table. “What are you being all sappy for?”
He shrugs. “It’s just nice. We’re coming up on twelve years of running the place. We’ve come a long way. Both of us.” His tone implies this is so much more than just the business. Darren has seen how happy I am lately, and he’s proud of me.
