Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Amelia sleeps in the guest room at night after Astrid’s in bed.
I lean back in my desk chair and inspect the Christmas tree on my phone screen. It makes me smile.
Price: This isn’t the torrid love affair I imagined us having. Don’t start with your boobs and then send me a photo of a tree.
She replies with a photo of Penelope in a wrap carrier on her chest.
Price: Still not boobs. But arguably more precious.
Scottie: Whatcha doing?
Planning my funeral.
Price: Trying to convince yet another woman to escape this life with me. It’s earned me the silent treatment. We’re on day 3.
She doesn’t respond immediately, so I put my phone on the desk and lace my fingers behind my head.
Scottie: Give her time. She’s making decisions for her and your daughter. She’s trying to understand this journey you’ve had to take without her.
Price: Time might not be on my side.
Again, there’s a long pause.
Scottie: Whatever you decide to do, it will be the right decision.
Price: How can you say that?
Scottie: Because I had a decision to make on my wedding day. And I knew either decision would be right. Make the decision. Then, make it right.
Price: Nothing is easier than not existing
Scottie: That’s my line
Price: I might need to borrow it
Scottie: Don’t leave without saying goodbye
I nod slowly to myself. “Define leaving,” I whisper.
Price: Merry Christmas
Scottie: Merry Christmas x
Swiveling in my chair, I gaze at the photos in matte black and gold frames. Amelia and I attended so many professional sporting events because she got tickets through work. And we took pictures at all of them.
So in love.
Best friends.
A perfect match.
There was never a time in our marriage that I thought we wouldn’t last, never a time where I imagined myself with anyone else. Not even Scottie.
Everyone who knows my wife knows she’s filled with life. Feisty. The life of the party. She knows no enemies. She loves so hard. But unlike Scottie, Amelia has many fears. With her, there’s no living in the moment. Her mind is always three steps ahead, anticipating everyone’s needs, or three steps behind, figuring out what went wrong with a proposal at work or why Astrid didn’t have fun at a friend’s birthday party. She’s a fixer.
But she can’t fix me the way she thinks I need to be fixed. She’s carrying enough fear over losing me for both her and Astrid.
“Dad! Guess what?” Astrid runs into my office with her backpack falling off her shoulders.
“What?” I turn in my chair.
“Emma’s sick. So, I get to be Clara instead of a fairy.” She hugs me.
God, I love this girl.
“My daughter’s the star of The Nutcracker. I’ll need your autograph.”
“My autograph?” She pulls away from me, wrinkling her nose.
“Yes. Right here.” I uncap a Sharpie and point to the top of my desk. “Write your name.”
“I can’t write on your desk.”
“It’s my desk. If I say you can write on it, then you can write on it.”
She giggles while writing her name in big letters. “Can we get pizza tonight?”
“No, honey,” Amelia says, stepping into my office, arms crossed. “I’m making dinner. Lots of veggies and cabbage soup.”
Astrid’s nose wrinkles. “Cabbage soup? Can we have blueberry muffins in case I don’t like the soup?”
“No.”
“We can have pizza,” I say, lifting Astrid off my lap and standing.
“Yay!” Astrid runs out of my office.
My wife opens her mouth but closes it just as quickly, turns, and leaves me alone in my office.
There’s nothing easier than not existing.
I head up the stairs and peek in on Astrid, who ignores me while playing with her iPad.
When I get to our bedroom, Amelia’s hanging the clean clothes in the closet.
“I’ll go back to the doctor. And we’ll see where I’m at on this. If they suggest chemo, then I’ll do chemo. We’ll let Astrid be part of this so she understands what’s happening every step of the way.”
She turns to face me. “Don’t do this for me,” she whispers.
“I’m doing it for her.”
After a few seconds, she nods.
Four days before Christmas, we get the news. The cancer is spreading again. It’s no surprise to me, and this time, I can see from Amelia’s composure that it’s no surprise to her either.
“I have the same options for you as before,” Dr. Faber says, folding her hands in her lap.
“Let’s do the chemo,” I say with a firm nod and fake smile.
“Do you want to discuss it?” Amelia rests her hand on my arm.
I shrug. “What’s there to discuss?”
Her forehead wrinkles while her teeth dig into her lower lip.
“We can start right after Christmas or wait until after New Year’s.”
“The sooner, the better,” I say.
Dr. Faber nods. “I’ll walk you out and get everything scheduled.”
I stand, and so does the doctor, but Amelia doesn’t. She stares at her lap, hands gripped to the edge of the chair.