Perfect Strangers

“Maybe. But it was my move, and I’m owning it.” When I can’t stand the intensity of his gaze anymore, I glance down and pick at the bed covers.

“And it wasn’t only about you. I got a call yesterday that knocked me off kilter.” My laugh is small and bitter. “Knocked me off kilter and brought back a lot of old, painful memories. I guess I should’ve gone jogging or taken a long walk to work it out—or journaled, like my two dozen therapists suggested—but honestly sometimes the only way I know how to cope with pain that huge is to drown it.”

Fighting tears, I draw a long breath. My voice comes out choked. “I guess you were right about me and the blue pill.”

There’s a brief pause, then James is out of his chair and closing the space between us.

He takes us down to the bed, rolling to his back and pulling me on top of his body so I’m lying on him with my arms wrapped around his shoulders and his wrapped around my back.

I rest my cheek on his broad chest and struggle not to cry.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just holds me, giving me the occasional squeeze and a kiss on top of my head. When I’m fairly sure I’ve got my emotions under control and my breathing has gone back to normal, he whispers, “So how do I compare to the boyfriend pillow?”

I huff out a small laugh. Even when he’s mad at me, he’s still angling for compliments. “Meh. You’ll do.”

His chuckle stirs my hair. “I know something it can’t do for you.”

The suggestive tone of his voice makes me look up. James is smiling down at me with a devilish twinkle in his eye.

His moods change even faster than mine do, and that’s saying something. “Like what?”

He traces his fingertip along the line of my jaw. “First you have to tell me what you decided about us.”

Feeling how solid and strong he is underneath me, how his body can comfortably support my weight, how damn healthy he looks and feels, it’s impossible to believe he could be sick. I don’t want to believe it.

I want him to be well. I want him to live a long, happy life and die an old man surrounded by family.

Realizing how fiercely I want both of those things, I understand the true value of what I’m being given.

When I told Chris on the phone that I was grateful for every moment we had our daughter, for every beautiful memory we made, that was the truth. Even knowing as I do now that we’d only have a few years with her, I’d still do it all over again.

It wasn’t how long we had that mattered. It was the strength of love we shared as a family. It was all the joy and indescribable pleasure that being a mother brought to my life.

A joy that hasn’t been diminished by the agony that came after.

Maybe I am a red pill girl after all.

Looking into James’s beautiful blue eyes, I say softly, “I’ve decided that meeting you is a gift, and it will always be a gift, no matter how long we have together. So what I promised still stands: I’m yours until September. If you still want me.”

He swallows. Eyes burning, he says in a husky voice, “You know I still want you.” He rolls me to my back and kisses me, deeply, his big hands cradling my head. His voice drops to the barest whisper as he speaks against mouth. “I’ll always want you. That’s the problem.”

I feel a tightness in my chest, like a vise clamping down on my heart.

God help me, but I already know that when September comes, I won’t want to leave.