Derek's car is filled with the scent of take-out food, we are heading towards Manassas, and I feel like if my heart could beat out of my chest and jump out the car door, it could easily keep pace with the vehicle I'm in. He said this was to celebrate the end of chemotherapy and my birthday, which is in a couple of days, but there's a different emotional charge in the vehicle.
I'm not sure what "celebrate" means in his mind, and I'm not sure I can give him what I think is his idea of celebration. I've got not a strand of hair on my body, I've got about eight pounds I'd still like to gain at minimum, and I've got a whole list of insecurities about our future now that it's actually starting to feel like we might have a future.
I stare out the car window at the last minutes of evening light before full darkness overtakes the sky. There are leaves on the ground and it definitely feels like an east coast fall, something I didn't realize I missed so much until a couple of hours before when I was outside with Charlie and Derek and stomping on crunchy orange and red leaves on the back lawn, a crispness in the air and color on my cheeks that I hadn't felt or seen in far too long.
I'm so caught up in my own thoughts and nerves that I don't notice at first when Derek pulls his car over to the side of the road, right on the edge of a neighborhood, where homes give way to fields. We're about two miles from his property in Manassas and I turn to look at him; he's wearing a grin and has a sleep mask in his hand.
"Humor me," he says.
"Derek," I whisper, unsure.
"Trust me," he implores quietly.
Heart skipping a beat and then catching up, all the reservations in my mind don't quite make it to my lips; he looks so happy and excited, and I do trust him, more than anyone. So I grin slightly and take the mask from his hand, placing it over my eyes and looping the elastic over the scarf that's covering my head.
He takes my hand in his and the car starts moving again. A couple minutes later it comes to a stop and I'm surprised to feel tears in my eyes, hidden and being absorbed by the cloth against my face. I feel overwhelmed, here with a mask covering my eyes and what feels like a surprise I'm not sure I can handle on the horizon, even if I don't know what it is.
No matter how much I now know he loves me, and no matter how much I love him, I still don't feel quite worthy of his care, understanding and forgiveness. Still, when I hear him get out of the car and then hear my door open and feel his hand in mine, I move my hand to release my seat belt so I can stand beside him. His hand in is mine and his lips brush against my cheek.
He tugs slightly on my arm, and keeps my body close to his, and I follow him on a short walk; I feel the unevenness of grass and dirt under my feet and hear the leaves crunching as we walk.
"Almost there," he whispers in my ear.
I'm expecting to come to the steps that lead up to the little house on his property, but that doesn't happen. I hear what sounds like material being shifted and then I am pulled forward a couple of steps and against his body. His hands land on my shoulders and he says, "Stay right here."
I stay still while I try to get a sense of my surroundings; it's still cool but I don't feel quite like I'm outside. I see the faint glimmer of light suddenly filter past the edges of the material covering my eyes, and then hear a whir and a light blast of air that quickly turns warm. I hear Derek walking back towards me and then feel his body behind me.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nervously lick my lips and manage to nod. I feel his hands on the mask and feel it being lifted up, away from my eyes. I blink and take in the twinkling lights, the small table with a lit candle on it, the bag of food next to it, and the blankets and pillows on the ground. We're under a covered canopy.
"Where are we?" I ask.
He moves his body so he's standing in front of me and I can see the the thousands of lights he's strung up reflecting in his eyes. "Our dining room," he replies.
I'm confused for about a second, but then my eyes take in the small stakes I see near the corners of the canopy and something clicks in my head. He's not kidding; this is what he's hoping to eventually be our dining room, in a house that's yet to be built.
I blink at him, too stunned to speak, too shocked to cry. He smiles at me, a little uncertain. "I have the plans here," he rushes out, "so you can see. We can pick out the cabinetry and paints and flooring and everything else together when the time comes. It won't be ready until late spring, probably. It depends on the weather this winter. And I talked to Claudia. She wants to stay and keep being Charlie's nanny, and she can live in the little house next door, so she can have her own space."
I glance beyond his body again, thinking that I need to sit down and wondering if I can make it the few steps to the pillows. And then my eyes glance up and I see the lights around the edges of the canopy - really take them in for the first time - white lights encased in in little bronze suns lining the entire edge of this space we're in.
Suddenly, I don't feel like I can breath. I need to say something, because the smile on Derek's face, which was uncertain a moment ago, is now faltering into heartbreak, and I don't want to hurt him. But my fear is right on the surface. The past few months have emotionally scarred me deeper than any of my brushes with death in the past, scarred me even deeper than my time and encounters with Ian Doyle. Because this time I had someone to live for - Charlie. And now I have Derek to live for, too.
Before I can get a handle on my emotions, they rush forth in tears and a cry. "What if I get sick again?" I ask somewhere between a wail and a whimper.
It is my greatest fear, that I'll have to do this all again at some point, that I'll have to make him live through this again, that I'll never truly be well, just sicker and sicker with shorter times in between treatments, until I die. That life with me will be nothing but worry and heartache, and, eventually, loss.
When he leans forward and puts his arms around me, I can't at first return the hug. I sob against his shoulder, letting out tears of both relief at the end of my chemotherapy and absolute terror at the idea of having to repeat it at some point down the road.
"If you get sick again, I'll be right there beside you," he breaths out against my ear.
I shake my head slightly, "I don't want that for you."
"Too bad," he responds immediately, his voice completely serious.
Something about his tone and that two word response makes me huff out a laugh around my tears. I reach my arms up and place them around his waist while he continues talking. "Do you know what my mother said to me on the phone the first time I called her and told her about you and Charlie?" he asks.
I shake my head against his chest again.
"She said that if someone had told her when she first started dating my father that sixteen years with him was all she'd get, she would still have stayed with him. She said that you don't walk away from love just because you're worried about an end date. She said even if someone told her she'd only have a few months, or a year, or a few years, she would would have stayed with him and just enjoyed every moment."
He moves away from my body slightly and places his hands on my cheeks, rubbing away my tears with his thumbs. "We have dangerous jobs, Emily, and nothing is certain. I'm banking on the fact that your liver treatment is going to go well and we won't ever have to talk about cancer again, I really believe that in my heart. But I'm okay with the uncertainty of your health just like you have to be okay with the uncertainty of mine, because there are no guarantees. There's only the time we have, and the power we have to choose how to spend it. I want to spend it with you and Charlie in a home - this home. I want to roll up my pants and splash around with him in the creek next spring and summer. I want to catch fireflies and roll down the hills here. That's my bucket list. It was there in my mind the day before your chemotherapy even started, Emily. You and me and Charlie on this property. And I still want it now."
I take in a deep, shaky breath and absorb his words. "Okay," I whisper.
His eyes search mine. "Okay because I want it, or okay because you want it, too?"
It's the hardest thing I've ever admitted, the idea of having my own little family with Derek, the concept of loving a person and wanting to be emotionally open and vulnerable with him for the long haul, however long that is, but I do. I want it. I've wanted it since the moment I first saw that positive pregnancy test, but distance and fear kept me away to the point that I could have totally missed my chance. But I've got that chance again, for however long it lasts, and I'm going to take it. "I want it, too," I say, my voice trembling slightly. I clear my throat and try again, try to say it in a way that he'll believe me. "I want it," I say more firmly.
Derek's smile is back, and it's no longer uncertain. It's bright and real and for me.
I stretch my neck up to kiss him and he returns the kiss, keeping my cheeks in the palm of his hands. The past several weeks, I've kept my body at a distance from him in a lot of ways, snuggling close only in sleep, and always surrounded by layers of baggy clothing. I've stiffened when his hands have wandered over my body in any way, to the point that he's been keeping his hands on my face or neck only, any time we've kissed.
The air is warm in here from the heater, almost too warm. His lips are soft against mine and his body feels like it fits against mine even though I'm not in my best physical shape right now, not by a long shot. I've been embarrassed about how I look and hiding that from him, but in that canopy surrounded the soft, twinkling lights, I don't feel as embarrassed anymore. We're alone, I'm done with chemotherapy, I feel truly alive and awake for the first time in months, and I find myself wanting to celebrate that.
Without thinking too much about it, I reach down towards the edge of my sweater and pull it up, breaking our kiss long enough to get it over my head, the scarf on my head falling off as I do so. I close my eyes briefly, in embarrassment, as I toss the sweater on the ground, but open them when Derek whispers reverently, "Emily."
In his eyes, unlike my mirror, I don't see my protruding rib bones or feel ugly. He's breathing more heavily and if I accept what I see on his face, I am beautiful to him.
"I didn't bring you out here for this," he murmurs while running his fingers on my skin, just above the edge of my bra.
"Too bad," I say, with a small smile on my lips. A laugh bubbles up from out of nowhere and my fear and nerves that were all I could feel a few minutes ago seem a long way away. His fingers are on my skin, and it's like how I remember them, all those years ago. There is him and me and twinkling lights in the space that will someday be our dining room.
She seems to be giving me the green light, but I'm not taking it that way. I see flashing yellow just behind the smile in her eyes: proceed with caution.
I make no sudden movements and make frequent eye contact as we kiss and slowly remove our clothing. My shirt, her bra, my pants, her pants, our underwear - they all come off one piece at a time with no rush and plenty of time in between for her to put a stop to this if she wants to. But she doesn't.
It's only when I help lower her to the pillows on the ground and she is laying naked before me that I see uncertainty in her eyes and watch the flush of embarrassment tinge her cheeks. I pause, but she doesn't ask me to stop; she doesn't say anything at all, just keeps her eyes on mine.
I map her body like it's written in braille, trying to find the story of what the past several months have truly done to her, inside and out, and searching for the woman I remember from my dreams. She is sharp hip bones and a concave stomach. She is faded stretch marks on her lower abdomen from being pregnant with Charlie. Her breasts are slightly smaller and her collar bone meets her shoulder without any of the soft slope I remember.
Still, as my fingers play a tantric melody over her smooth skin, from her neck down to her ankles and back up, all of these changes make her even more beautiful to me because she's here and alive.
She stares at me as I stare at her body and her face and I see and feel her start to tremble. I look up and she's lightly crying again, but not sadly, not because she wants me to stop. She is scared, but she loves me and trusts me.
I lean over her body, keeping most of my weight off of her, and kiss her slowly. "I love you and you are beautiful, Emily," I whisper against her lips. And then, as a quiet, soft exclamation point to my words, I pull back enough so that my lips can blaze the path that my fingers just took.
She starts to respond to me then, letting go of some of the rigid tension I felt coiling inside of her before. Her hands reach for any part of me she can reach, running over my head and the skin on my upper back and shoulders.
I make my way back to her lips and settle gently over her again, wondering if it would be better if she was on top because, despite the fact that she is strong and resilient, her body seems so fragile right now. But she wraps her arms around me and pulls me more firmly down on top her her, her legs spreading and wrapping around my thighs.
I ask the question I asked her over three years ago. "Is this okay without a condom?"
But she's not drunk and there is no hesitancy in her eyes. She nods. I'm curious whether she's banking on the chemotherapy rendering her infertile or if she's on some form of birth control, but I don't want to get into a discussion right now. I trust her. I nod back at her and kiss her, trying to keep most of my weight on my bent forearms. I kiss her until she is squirming under me. "Now," she whimpers as she wrenches her lips away from mine and gasps in a few breaths.
This is not going to be the mind blowing sex from her bucket list, at least not the way I think she meant it when she said it. But it's going to be mind blowing in its own way, because we're here like this at all.
I shift my hips and adjust my lower body, reaching one hand down to get myself in the right position. She is hot and wet and ready and I have to bite my lip as I sink inside her.
This I remember. It doesn't matter that the room was spinning the last time we did this, my body and mind remember exactly how it felt to be inside her, and it feels the same now. I watch her moan and sigh and I remember that, too, how she sounded in those short minutes I was able to hold back the last time we did this.
I'm not drunk this time, either, and in that moment, my pleasure becomes completely secondary, my entire focus becomes her and keeping her making those sounds. After a couple of minutes of easy, slow movements, I can feel her squirming again and her legs slide up so they are wrapped around my waist, her hips moving, trying to get me to speed up, but I maintain my pace.
Her face is flushed and there are thin beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead and on her upper lip. I kiss her there, chasing the sweat away and she opens her eyes to look at me, moving her hips faster again. "Please. More," she whispers, and her face flushes with embarrassment.
I kiss her cheeks and start moving faster, moaning myself when I feel her inner muscles clench around me and her thighs squeeze my waist. "Yes," she whispers, and then it becomes a mantra, "Yes, yes, yes," and I know she's close, but I can't do much more from this position without worrying about crushing her, and I feel myself slipping closer to the edge myself despite my best efforts.
Using my strength, I get my knees under me, and my arms under her upper back. I rock back and haul her up with me, never breaking our connection. Her eyes snap open and she seems stunned when she finds herself straddling my thighs with me still on my knees. I move my hands to her hips and help raise and lower her on top of me and she throws her head back again.
My lips are on her neck, and I feel her plant her feet on the ground and she starts moving on top of me. Knowing this is probably the last of her strength, I reach my hand down and touch her, rubbing my thumb right above where we are joined, and she screams. Actually screams. Her arms wrap around me and squeeze me tight and she is the most stunningly gorgeous person I have ever seen with my eyes or felt against my skin. I hold her to me as she shakes and convulses, and then lay her back on the pillows.
A few gentle thrusts later and I find myself moaning my release in her ear, my resolve cracking and my emotions washing over me like a tsunami as my body empties into her. I swallow past the lump in my throat and clench my eyes shut because I don't want her to see my crying, which I'm very close to doing.
"I love you," she says. It's barely a whisper. She's exhausted after exerting her body more than she has in a long time. Her arms, which were holding me tightly a second before, loosen. I raise my head and see her struggling to keep her eyes open.
I roll my body off hers and reach for one of the blankets, pulling it over both of us. It's only when her breathing evens out and she drifts off to sleep that I let a couple of tears go. "I love you, too," I whisper back.
I can't lose her. Ever.