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I reach under the table and take her hand. “I was thinking about our wedding and all those damn buttons.”
She snorts. “Somany buttons. You unbuttoned half. We fell asleep. Then you finished unbuttoning them in the morning. How many brides can say they slept in their wedding gown?”
“It was a rough night. All pussy, no tits.”
“Shh … stop!” Her other hand reaches for my mouth to silence me. “You are terrible.” She laughs.
“I should have been given something … like a Purple Heart. My fingers were nearly bleeding after all those buttons. Talk about wounded in the line of duty.”
She slides over to my lap, and I push back in my chair to make room. “I love our life.” Her hand presses to my face before she kisses me.
I love this soft kiss. And I love her and Astrid. But something about our life or lifestyle led to my cancer. We’ve been inching our way back to how things were because it comforts my wife and daughter. It doesn’t feel sustainable.
If Scottie had said yes to getting on a plane with me and jetting off to an island, I might have done it.
Not because I don’t love Amelia more.
Not because I want to abandon my daughter.
Not because I regret my life.
I would have done it to live.
I’m not ready to die. Why does living have to feel so selfish?
Scottie would live in the moment with me. Our life would be simple and beautiful in its own way. And I would love her. My love for her would grow. Had she not lost the baby, I would have married her, and we would have had a good life.
How can I love my wifeandlove another woman?
I wouldn’t have had the answer to that question a year ago. But when you let your mind step outside social boundaries, the rules lose meaning, and love feels limitless.
“Let’s sell the house and leave Philly,” I say while we watch the bride and groom eat cake and laugh with Scottie’s nieces, who can’t decide if they want to lick the frosting from their fingers or twirl in circles to the music.
Amelia leans to the side to look me in the eye. “What?” She laughs.
“We can live anywhere in the world. Let’s pick someplace that feels new. Someplace with lots of sunshine and fresh air. Far away from the city. Astrid can learn from books and life experiences. Her social network won’t involve likes and follows. She’ll make real friends and communicate real emotions and words instead of abbreviations and emojis. Maybe we’ll give her a brother or sister.”
The confusion on my wife’s face softens with that last part. “Astrid loves her life in Philly. She loves her friends and her activities. My dad lives two hours from us. And your parents are a ten-minute drive away. My brother just started working for you, and he’s engaged. Also, I love my job. We … we’re already living the dream.” She runs her hand along my tie. “And you’ve been given a second chance. Are you unhappy?”
“Ihavebeen given a second chance, which means it would be foolish not to make a change so that I don’t waste it by repeating the same thing.”
“You’re not doing the same thing. You’re eating better. And you’re only working three days a week.”
“I’m eating worse than I was eating to get better. And last week, all three of my days were ten-hour days because I have the kind of job that relentlessly takes until I have nothing left to give.”
“You’re your own boss. Delegate. Or quit. You don’t have to work. And if you want to move, let’s look for a place in Chesterbrook or Ardmore so Astrid can still see her friends.”
I frown. “Amelia … it’s more than that. I don’t want to live in the burbs. And I don’t want to live in a polluted city where we endure months of cold weather. I don’t want Wi-Fi in my house, and I don’t want to carry a cell phone. I don’t want my daughter glued to an iPad and complaining that her friends have a phone, but she doesn’t. It’s not just about me. I’ve changed. And this isn’t the life I want for you or Astrid, either.”
She chuckles. “You want to leave our families and live in the middle of nowhere?”
“That’s a simplified, lackluster version of what I’m suggesting, but … yes.”
She gazes around the tent, slowly shaking her head. “You can’t ask this of a nine-year-old.”
“What happens when the cancer comes back?”
“We’re not going to let that happen. Even though you didn’t want to make a follow-up appointment, I did it for you. We’ll monitor you and catch anything before it gets too advanced again. But it won’t. You’re better. I feel it.”
