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)
And if I wasn’t pregnant two seconds ago, I am after this kiss.
He squats and lifts my dress, hiding under it like a fort. “Hi, baby. I can’t wait to see you.” His hands grip my hips while he deposits kisses below my belly button.
I giggle. “Stop. She’s the size of a raspberry. I don’t think she can hear you yet.”
Koen paws at my dress, digging his way out, hair all mussed as he eyes me. “She?”
I shrug. “My sister has all girls.”
“Yes, but my sperm decide the sex of the baby.”
“Are you saying you don’t want a girl?”
“No.” He stands, backing me into the counter, hands on either side of me. “I’m saying he could be a boy. That’s all.” That grin of his is so contagious.
“We’re having a baby,” I whisper. “But I don’t want to tell anyone. Can we keep it a secret?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sikes, we can keep it a secret. After all, my grandpa will be told it’s a honeymoon baby, and we haven’t left for our honeymoon, so mum’s the word, Mommy.”
My arms wrap around his neck. “Let’s go celebrate. This dress was made for dancing.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
THERE ARE NEVER ENOUGH MIRACLES.
Price
Amelia wore her mother’s bridal gown. An ivory dress with a high lace neck. By all accounts, it was the ugliest thing either one of us had ever seen. The back of the dress had twenty-seven tiny buttons. Needless to say, we fucked like maniacs with the dress still on because we were both a little drunk, and I wasn’t allowed to tear off the buttons that seemed too big to fit through the tight holes.
Her mom died of colon cancer three weeks after our wedding.
The dress resides in a white box on a top shelf in our closet. Amelia hasn’t decided if she will pressure Astrid to wear it one day.
I vote no. Fuck sentimentality. Let the girl wear her own beautiful dress. I’d say with fewer buttons if I weren’t her father.
Not once since my diagnosis have we discussed her mother’s death. But I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought my wife doesn’t deserve to lose another person in her life to cancer.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she says while we watch the happy couple cut their small, two-tiered cake adorned with pink roses that look real.
I reach under the table and take her hand. “I was thinking about our wedding and all those damn buttons.”
She snorts. “So many 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 wife and love 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.”