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I nod. “It’s the park where I fell in the pond. I took a picture and had it made into a puzzle.”
“It would be better if you were in the pond.”
“Har har.” I roll my eyes.
“Let’s go, Scrot.” He stands. “Let’s get your breakfast.”
Scrot jumps up from his bed and follows Koen to the kitchen. Our precious Scrotum hasn’t decided what he thinks ofPenelope, but he whines when she cries, so we believe he’s her advocate and protector.
“Have you checked the weather? Will your parents have good weather to fly down here tomorrow?”
“I think so. Mom will lose her mind if the flight is canceled. She’s itching to hold my baby.”
“Your baby?” He sets Scrot’s food bowl on the tile and joins me on the sectional.
“Yes. She’s mine. I grew her in my garden. I harvested her. I feed her. What do you have to offer, buddy?”
“Baby, I planted the seed.” He slides off one of Penelope’s socks because he’s obsessed with kissing her baby toes.
“And for that, I let her carry your last name. But that’s where it ends. You get your name in the credits.”
He smirks, settling on his side so his mouth can reach her toes.
I love this life we’re making.Thismoment trumps all others before it.
CHAPTER FIFTY
SHE’S WORTH THE LAST BREATH.
Price
I thinkmy cancer is pissed off that I tried and nearly succeeded at its eradication. The pain has reached a new level at warp speed. In a matter of weeks, it’s dug its claws into me, bringing me to my knees just in time for chemo.
I’m grateful we had one last Christmas together.
I’m grateful I got to see the look on Astrid’s face when she unwrapped her scooter.
I’m grateful that Amelia and the rest of my family didn’t treat me like a lost cause, even if I knew they were thinking it.
My dad was the only one who let the words “it was too good to be true” slip out at dinner. My mom quickly corrected him with her declaration of gratitude for miracles.
As I slide on my T-shirt, my back protests. Everything protests. I don’t remember giving my body permission to give up, but my mind hasn’t been where it was the first time I tried to fight this. Today feels like an official waving of the white flag. Cancer, you win.
And I hate that I can’t trick my mind into believing I can beat this despite the highly toxic drugs that will be dripping into my veins by ten o’clock this morning.
“I packed several books, your headphones, water, and snacks,” Amelia says as I descend the steps to the foyer. “Your mom’s in the kitchen making breakfast for Astrid. I’m interviewing several personal chefs next week. I want you to have whatever you need. I should have suggested it a long time ago.” Her gaze drops to her feet.
I nod slowly.
A brave smile touches her lips as she glances back up at me. When she digs her key fob from her purse, her shaky hand drops it on the floor.
We squat at the same time. I grab it, and my other hand takes hers as it shakes. When we stand, she eyes me with regret and unshed tears.
Cupping her hand, I bring it to my lips, closing my eyes while kissing her wrist, palm, and fingers. When I open my eyes, she blinks out her tears.
“Are you scared?” she whispers, her words trembling as much as the rest of her.
Keeping my lips pressed to the pulse point on her wrist, I shake my head. “No, my love.”
