His face twists with worry, and I regret my words, my gut wrenching. “Do you really think that?” he asks, his words hollow.
I shake my head. “No. I don't necessarily think I'm going to drop dead any minute, but I am worried I'll need radiation or that the cancer won't have responded appropriately this time around either. I also think that's normal though. How could I not worry?”
He leans forward to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering a beat too long, and my pulse hammers in response. “Dark humour has never bothered me before, but in the case of your mortality, I’m not sure I can handle it,” he admits, and guilt opens a pit beneath me, threatening to drag me down.
I push through my discomfort, resting a hand over his, knowing he needs the physical touch. He melts into it, shiftingcloser. “It’s just how I cope with shitty things that scare me, but I’ll be more mindful,” I promise.
“Thank you,” he whispers, brushing his lips over my cheek. The touch is featherlight, almost imperceptible, but my pulse flutters all the same.
He relaxes against the trunk of the tree. “How are you feeling about Tuesday?”
I shrug. “I know my scans weren’t perfect last time, but they showed significant improvement. Just not enough to call it quits, so I’m hopeful.”
He rewards my honesty with a small smile. “Good. And for what it's worth, I feel confident this is it.”
His words are always worth far more than he gives himself credit for. They set me at ease, even when he doesn't mean for them to.
We shift under the tree, scooting to a spot better covered by a canopy of orange and red leaves, now facing the water fountain at the centre of the botanical gardens.
I settle back against the trunk, and Elijah’s bark of laughter startles me. I fall towards him, my hand shooting out to catch myself, but as he shifts to grab my shoulders, my hand smacks down on his bulge. He yelps in pain as I hurry to right myself.
“What the hell were you laughing at?!”
He groans, adjusting himself in his shorts. “The squirrels over there,” he says, pointing to a paved walkway ahead. Two chunky squirrels are getting it on, chasing each other around the base of the tree, stopping to hump for a moment before continuing the chase. “I’ll make a note not to laugh around you. Apparently, the sound is so foreign that it puts my dick at risk.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms. “You could try not doing it directly in my ear,” I chide.
“I’ll remember that next time I find something humorous. Step one: hold back laughter. Step two: place two metres of space between my mouth and Adhira’s ears.”
“Three,” I scold.
“Ah yes, step three: laugh,” he says with a low chuckle.
“No, I mean three metres of space. You said two, but I have good hearing.”
“I’m not sure I can handle that much space between us,” he admits, and whether it’s true or not, my heart doesn’t care as it does a happy little flip.
I stare down at the grass beneath my arse as if it’s burning a hole in my skin, unable to meet his eyes. I pluck one of the bags from beside me, sifting through it until I find the perfect thing to keep us occupied while distracting me from the rising tension.
I toss him the round plastic toy, and he catches it effortlessly, his forearms flexing.Not that I’d notice such a thing.
“Twenty questions?” he asks, pressing the button at the back to power it on. “I thought this was a present for Archie?”
“We’re just breaking it in, making sure it works,” I assure him.
“Alright, first question: person, place, or thing?”
“Person,” I answer without a second thought.
He nods, selecting the appropriate answer. “Does it come in pairs?”
“Yes.”
“Always or sometimes?”
“Always.”
We continue like this until all twenty questions have run out, and the asinine, outdated ball guesses a married couple. I roll my eyes, and Elijah tracks the motion.
