Brisé (24 page)

The traditional wedding march begins, and I stare at our back door, impatiently waiting to see her walk down the aisle towards me. We decided no attendants, just us standing there, promising ourselves to one another. Brett is walking her down, and nothing could prepare me for seeing her for the first time. She chose a pale blue dress, strapless and simple. It makes her hair shine and her eyes glisten as she makes her way to me. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life, and no dream ever lived up to the reality of my forever.

“The bride and groom have decided to pledge themselves to each other with their own vows. Phoebe, go ahead.” The minister steps back, and I’m left holding her hand, hoping I have conveyed how much I love her.

“Luke, from the day I met you until this moment, you’ve made all of my dreams come true. You calmed my fears, flared my temper, absolved my guilt, and through it all you loved me. Endlessly. Every dream had you in it and every nightmare you were absent. You were once my best friend, but now you’re so much more. I don’t think there’s a word that can define what you are to me. Not my other half, but my entire being. I need you in the highest of highs; the lowest of lows, darkest of darks. You are the light in my life. I love you yesterday, today, and tomorrow.” I watch her smile take over her beautiful features, speaking so clearly and sure, pledging her love to me.

I clear my throat and hope my words depict her meaning to me. “Phoebe, for as long as I can remember I’ve had you on a pedestal. You’re the epitome of grace, the kindest soul. Your life wasn’t easy, but I never wanted you to carry those burdens alone. I shouldered the weight when you allowed it and will continue to be the one to take your burdens away. Your strength inspires me, your passion for life drives me to be a better man, and your love completes me. You have never been without my love and long after my heart stops beating, you will still be inside it. Today just joins us legally, but the day I laid eyes on you we were already one. Soul mates is cliché, but you are the one who was made for me, created for my love. It’s all yours and will be forever. I love you today, tomorrow, and always.”

After exchanging rings and signing the marriage license I lead her to the middle of the gazebo where I proposed. “Phoebe Wells-Nichols, may I have this dance?” It couldn’t be more perfect. ‘Everything’ by Michael Bublé begins and swaying with her my arms, I whisper in her ear, “They would’ve been happy.”

“I know. I’m happy, and that’s all they ever wanted.”

“It’s what I’ll always make you.” I leave one hand on her back bringing the other one to cup her stomach and dance with my wife.

Chapter 28

Phoebe

Month six of pregnancy is draining. I’ve had such an easy time until now. I can’t keep my eyes open, can’t keep food down, every inch of my body aches, and I’m short of breath. I’m not even that big and have continued teaching at the studio until this last week. Luckily, as soon as Brett learned he was going to be an uncle he ditched the big life and moved to Georgia and is picking up my slack. James has enjoyed collaborating with Luke on projects, and it has kept Luke occupied so he isn’t a total basket case. I’m headed to take a nap when I suddenly feel dizzy and can’t catch my breath. I let my body slide against the wall until I’m in a seated position and try to control my breathing. The cramping in my stomach isn’t helping my anxiety level. I crawl into the room, grab my cell phone to call Luke. He’s just outside, but I can’t scream. “Luke, something’s wrong.”

I hear the back door slam and within seconds he’s on the bedroom floor next to me. He runs his hands over my stomach, arms, and when he gets to my head he yanks his hand back. “You’re burning up. What happened?”

I start crying … I’m that miserable. “I don’t know.” I have to stop to get a breath. “Can’t breathe.” My hysterics are only making it worse.

“Calm down. Breathe, Twinkle, I’ve got you.” He gently lifts me and carries me to the car. Once we arrive at the hospital his resolve slips. They aren’t moving fast enough, he calls Dr. Marks’s office demanding for him to be sent to the ER and speed things along. According to Luke’s world, I’m VIP, and stitches to the head aren’t as important as his pregnant wife. Finally, I’m brought back to a room where blood is drawn, a monitor placed on my heart, an ET looking thing on my finger, oxygen mask over my mouth and nose, and then everyone leaves but Luke. He isn’t going to have any hair left the way he keeps grabbing it. “Are you feeling better?”

Not at all. I can’t tell him that, so I just nod my head. I’m sleepy but can’t rest because I feel this pain in my chest that’s stifling. Dr. Marks comes in about thirty minutes later followed by a resident doctor who is on-call for the OBGYN. “We’re going to hook you up to a fetal monitor, and I’ve already called your obstetrician, Phoebe.”

“What’s wrong?” Luke immediately wants all the information.

Dr. Marks shakes his head, not looking too happy to be in this room. “Her blood work is alarming. I’m going to look at some different aspects but the fever needs to be managed.”

“What’s wrong with her blood work?” I’m still lying here, watching this unfold like I’m not present. I feel like I’m witnessing someone else’s life before me.

“Just going off the initial reports, it looks like her leukemia is back. I’m waiting on a more detailed report and some labs that aren’t back yet.” Dr. Marks is staring at me; I can see the sadness hiding behind his clinical report.

“No!” Luke won’t accept it this time if it’s true.

“We have to monitor the baby because of the fever, I’ve ordered a few tests on her heart, but we’re limited with testing because of the fetus.”

I rip the mask off my face, “It’s not a fetus. This is our baby. Everything will be fine, Luke.” I hold out my hand for him, needing him to comfort me, tell me it will be okay. He can make it okay for me, for us.

“Put the mask back on, Twinkle. Come on,” he puts it back over my face, softly stroking his hand across my head, soothing me. “Just concentrate on my little guy in there, I’ll worry about everything else.” He’s so sure we’re having a son. Both of us agreed we didn’t want to know, but right now, I’d give anything to know. This can’t be like the last time. We’ve come too far, overcome problems most couldn’t, and fucking cancer can’t wreck my life . . . again. “Don’t cry. It’s not like before,” still running his hand over my head, like so many years before.

“Phoebe, Lucas, don’t get ahead of yourselves. Let me go see what I can find out.” Dr. Marks leaves the room, and the doctor left in the room finishes hooking up the fetal monitor. In the silence of this cubicle, in the turmoil of emotions and fears, our baby’s heartbeat echoes all around us. I beg my parents, God, and anyone else who will listen to me to not take my baby. Not again.

Luke sits silently, listening to the steady rhythm our child is emitting, letting the tears go unchecked down his cheeks. This will break him; there’s no coming back from this. Crawling up beside me, he cradles our child and my body, holding on and showing no sign of letting us go. “Luke, we need to talk about this.”

“No, Phoebe. Not until we have answers.” He isn’t having any of this.

“Promise me this time, if there is a choice, you’ll choose correctly.” I need him to hear me.

“Not fucking now, Phoebe. Don’t do this to me.” He’s shaking, the sobs wracking his body.

I place my hand over his on my stomach. “This is us together, Luke. We created him together, and he deserves to live. We promised we would be together, and he is as together as we can get.” I know he’s listening, his sobs growing stronger, uncontrollable. “Promise me, Luke. Promise me, damn it.”

“No,” he shouts at me. His voice is hoarse from the tears, “I have you both, and I’m keeping you both. There’s not a choice here. This. Is. Not. Happening.” I allow him his denial, and I hope he’s right. In the end, I have faith in him that he will choose correctly.

We continue to stay in silence, connected as closely as we can while we wait for answers. I have an EKG done, my temperature is taken again, and when Dr. Marks walks back in I am about to crawl out of my skin. “Okay, good news. I looked at the blood under the microscope and additional tests show it isn’t leukemia. Phoebe, you have mononucleosis.” I take a deep cleansing breath. “You aren’t out of the woods. You’ve developed myocarditis, which is inflammation of the heart. It can right itself, or it could have been there undetected for a while due to chemotherapy. Right now, it’s weakening the heart muscle, but sometimes it can reverse itself once the infection is under control. We’re admitting you until the fever is stable, plenty of rest, fluids, and we can reassess after twenty-four hours.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. He nods and leaves us to ourselves. “Luke, did you hear him?”

He brings his forehead up to mine, “Yes.” His grin stretches across his face, his eyes still wet from the tears he’s shed, but he’s never been more beautiful to me. I pray for a little boy, just like his father.

Rest and taking it easy for the remainder of pregnancy. Two and a half more months. There wasn’t any further weakening of the heart muscle, it is stable for now, and once the fever broke, I was allowed to come home. It doesn’t bother me to be stuck at home resting because I am fucking exhausted. All the time.

I’m not restricted to stay in bed, but Luke is consistently suggesting it. He’s been neurotic, overbearing, caring, and downright unrelenting since I’ve been home. Drinks every two hours, food every three, naps at least four times a day, and he refuses to be more than fifty feet from me. Brett has taken over the studio and James is helping me with the nursery. From my
throne
I’m allowed to dictate colors, furniture placement, how I want the clothes arranged, but that’s it. I rub my swollen belly and am rewarded with a swift kick; reminding me all of this is worth it.

Talking names hasn’t been as hard as I figured. After a few rounds of eliminating and disagreements we both like Jayson for a boy, and Emma for a girl. “We don’t need a girl’s name, Phoebe.”

I roll my eyes, “Yes, Luke, we do.” They both mean a version of whole or complete . . . and it’s perfect because they helped heal us. “You know Emma is a version of my mom’s name.”

“We’d be lucky if she is anything like you or your mom. Either way, our child will have the best from both of us.”