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“How can you say that?”
“Because she’s ten. And she’s resilient. When she’s old enough to process this properly, she’ll be brokenhearted thatshe’s had to grow up without her father. And it won’t matter how many friends she has, how accomplished a dancer she becomes, or what worldly possessions she’s accumulated. Nothing will make this right.
“Or … she will experience a new way of living that truly values life. And maybe, by some miracle, we’ll look backtogetheron this moment and laugh at how ridiculous it was that we gave the decision a second thought. So this has nothing to do with Astrid and everything to do with you and your fear of change. Your fear of losing control. Your fear of losing me. But if I stay, this is the beginning of the end because I’m not going to let them cut me open or dump toxic chemicals into my body so that you can feel good about the choice a doctor thinks I should make. I can either livewithyou or dieforyou. It’s your decision.”
She returns a blank stare. No more tears. Barely any detectable emotion. “Price, everything you do is for us. You’re the sacrificial one. The martyr. And I’m being truthful when I say that. I’ve never taken for granted how hard you’ve worked for our family. But in that process, I’ve been raising our daughter. I’m the one who comforts her when she’s sick. I’m the one who listens to her when she’s had a bad day at school. When you left, I was the one left to explain your absence without breaking her heart. I’m the one who’s done everything possible to keep her from feeling this pain that’s been residing in our house for over a year. And if you die, I’ll be the one to pick up the tiny pieces of her heart and put them back together. So you say this isn’t about Astrid, but that’s just convenient for you. If you die on my watch, Astrid will blame me. If you die on your doctor’s watch, she’ll chalk it up to life. But at least she’ll always believe we did our best to fight it.”
I rub my eyes and then my temples. “You have me dying in both scenarios.” I turn. “There’s nothing left to say.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I’M DYING. GO AHEAD AND TALK DIRTY TO ME.
Scottie: Hi. Can we talk about my boobs? They’re leaking uncontrollably. And my little girl won’t stay awake long enough to help her mommy out. But we have our Christmas tree up. Look!
It’s beenthree days since I’ve talked to my wife.
Three days since I’ve gone to work.
I spend all day in my miserably gloomy office. When Astrid comes home from school, we play the part of happy parents. We interact with her without saying a word to each other.
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
