Forever Checking (Checked Series Book 3) (28 page)

THREE MONTHS LATER

BUZZ.

My eyes open. My hand wipes the drool off of my mouth.

I pick up the phone next to me on the couch.

And I have one text. From him.

Open.

Want to get blood work this afternoon before we go out to dinner?

Reply.

Nope.

Send.

Back to napping.

THREE HOURS LATER

The mail just came.  And I have one letter from Pierce University. A letter I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting for.

Deep breath.

Please. Please. Please.

One. Two. Three. Open envelope. Pull out letter.

One. Two. Three. Unfold letter.

One. Two. Three. Skip the words in the letterhead. Skip the heading.  Skip the salutation. Skip right down to the first sentence. Read.

It is our pleasure to accept you into our PhD program in Creative Writing.

There are lots of words after that sentence. But none of them matter right now. Because I got in.

I got in. I got in. I got in.

I jump up and down a few times. Then I read the first sentence about three million times. And then I pick up the phone to call my siblings, my parents, and Dr. Bl—

Aiden.

THREE MONTHS AFTER THAT

I’m at his house. On his couch. In his arms.

We’re watching a movie.
Ocean’s Eleven.
Or is it
Ocean’s Twelve
? Or—

Okay, I definitely don’t know which one it is. I’m only half watching. I’m also reading a magazine. Catching up on the royals and popular red carpet summer looks.

I—

“I took tomorrow off.”

I stop reading for a moment. “Why?”

“I thought we could spend the day together.”

I sit up, closing my magazine. Suspicious now. “Doing what?”

I look right at him as I say it. And he looks…off somehow. I can’t quite put my finger on what is off, though. I can’t quite read his expression, his—

“Whatever you want to do. You pick.”

“Really?” I look at him, searching his eyes.

Really? It’s just a day off? Even though you never really take days—

“Sure. Is there something that you’d like to do tomorrow afternoon? If you can’t think of anything, we can just hang out here until it is time for you to go to the writing center tomorrow night. Either way is fine with me.”

I do have an idea. I actually do. “Maybe we can go see Melanie and Abby and the new baby again.” I know I just saw them last weekend, but I swear that little Alyssa changes every single day. And Abby had another therapy session this week, so I can talk to her about that. It would be nice—

“Sure. We can do that.”

“Really?” He really took a day off. He really doesn’t seem to have a secret agenda. I thought that—

My mouth opens as my body slowly relaxes back into his arms. “I thought you secretly took off so you could make me try to get blood work again.”

His arms freeze around me. Arms and legs and, and everything. Still. His body is completely still.

He breathes in and starts to talk. Quietly. “Well, I thought that we could do that too, in the morning before we—”

I push up, out of his arms. Breaking away from his frozen embrace. Looking into his eyes again.

Now reading his face rather perfectly. He’s nervous. Manipulative and nervous. Oh, and he’s out of his freaking mind.

“No.” I shake my head.

I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I’m not ready.

“But we decided that we’d finish everything within a year. And we—”

“And we have three more months left in that year.”

He sighs. Shakes his head. And pulls me back into his arms.

“Okay. Then tomorrow is wide open, I guess. What time do you want to leave for Melanie’s house?”

THREE MONTHS, THREE DAYS, AND THREE + THREE + THREE HOURS LATER

It’s Halloween. 6:30 a.m.

My year is up.

So I’m in his office. Again.

In my chair. Beside him. Again.

With Judy. AGAIN.

{Whitesnake comes in with “
Here I Go—”}

“I’m almost ready, my dear.” Stupid Judy.

I’m sorry, Judy. I’m sure you are very nice. And you are probably smart. I’m sorry I don’t like you. It has nothing to do with—

He squeezes my shoulders.

I close my eyes. Pick my nails. Bounce my legs.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.

And I probably can’t do this. I couldn’t do it last—

Wait.

Eyes open. Looking at Judy.

Mouth open too. “If I pass out this time, just keep going. Don’t stop.”

Judy begins to shake her—

“No, Callie.” Him. Still right beside me. Speaking as though I’m being ridiculous. As though—

“We’ve got to take care of you. That’s our top priority.” He pauses and squeezes my shoulders again. “But you aren’t going to pass out this time.” He leans down, leans in close to my face. “You’re not. You can do this.”

He’s nodding, looking at me with big, focused eyes, and—

“I’m going to begin now.”

Ugh. JUDY.

Eyes closed again.

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.

I tell my legs, my feet, to stop bouncing. I stop picking at my nails and force my arms onto the armrests of my chair.

His hand grabs one of mine, the one far away from Judy, and he squeezes—

Judy lifts my other hand, my other arm, turning it over. She starts to tie that awful tourn—

“I love you.” He whispers in my ear.

My lips mouth the same words back to him. No sound comes out, though.

So much arm pressure. So—

Stop thinking about it, Callie. Stop. Stop. Stop.

It’s going to be okay.

He is right here. He insists that everything is clean. He is adamant that all of the tests are going to be negative, that I’m—

“Okay. You will feel a little pinch.”

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my—

A little pinch. It doesn’t hurt.

But now it’s in my arm. Taking my blo—

CALLIE!

STOP. STOP. STOP.

He is here. Everything is clean. It’s almost over.

{Leona Lewis blasts in with “
Bleeding Love
.”}

He is here. Everything is clean. It’s almost over.

{Refrain over and over. Super speed.}

He is here. Everything is clean. It’s almost over.

{Louder and loud—}

Fuzzy head. Wet, sweaty back. Neck falling forward. Limbs—

“Callie. Callie. You are almost done. Stay with me.” Him. Whispering in my ear. Squeezing my hand.

{And louder and loud—}

Body draining. Slumping further into the—

A release of pressure on my arm. A release of—

“All done, honey.”

Done. I’m done.

I did it.

Eyes open. My head flings up. Up. Up. Up to—

Up to a spinning room.

Nothing clear. Nothing focusing. Nothing—

Neck rolling forw—

THREE SECONDS OR SO LATER

Ammonia again.

Damn it, Callie.

OVER THIRTY HOURS LATER

5:30 p.m.

At home. On my bed. Typing my paper for tomorrow’s Literary Analysis III class. I need to—

The doorbell is ringing.

He’s here.

And he told me earlier that he is bringing something for me. Which has to mean that he got my blood test results back already. Which means that I’m about to find out whether I’m diseased or not.

Okay. One. Two. Three. I head downstairs.

Please don’t let me have any diseases. Please don’t let me have any diseases. Please don’t let me have any diseases.

But wouldn’t he have told me already if one of my results was positive or—

But maybe you have something that he considers to be a minor disease. Maybe he thinks that some diseases aren’t that bad.

If that is how he thinks, he is wrong. Way wrong.

I stop in front of the door.

Please don’t let me have any diseases. Please don’t let me have any diseases. Please don’t let me have any diseases.

One. Two. Three.

I look through the peephole.

There he is. Standing on the other side of my door. Anxious eyes. Hand running through his hair.

Shit.

If he’s nervous, then something is wrong. Something is—

He rings the doorbell again. I watch him do it.

Okay, Callie. It’s time.

Rigidly, I step back from the peephole.

It’s time. It’s time. It’s time.

Mechanically, I move my hand to open the door.

The rest of me remains frozen. Unmoving. Not functioning.
{Kelly Clarkson zooms in with “
A Moment Like This
.”}

Pull. Pull. Pull.

Open.

Him staring at me. Me staring at him.
{Kelly singing to me.}

Two sets of nervous eyes.

No breathing. No mov—

He moves. His arm reaches into his leather jacket. Into a pocket on the inside. His left chest pocket.

My eyes stare at his pocket, at his hand, as he pulls out—

A little box. A necklace box. Just like the one that held my prescription three trillion years ago.

He holds the box out to me.

A lurch in my stomach. Prickles of sweat on my neck.

This is it. My results are here. My list of diseases is—

Wait.

If I really have some horrible disease, he wouldn’t be presenting my results in a pretty box, right? Right?

That would just be mean. Horrible. Sadistic. He wouldn’t do that.

My stomach calms down. My neck starts to cool off.

My hands reach out to take the box.

I look at it in my fingers. I start to open it. I wonder why he still looks so nerv—

O.H.M.Y.G.O.D.

No piece of paper in the box.

No test results.

Instead—a cloud of white cotton beneath a sparkly ring.

A diamond ring.

I freeze again. My eyes jump to his.

His eyes. Still nervous. But there’s more there. More in his eyes. They have warmth in them. Happiness in them. Love in them.

I hold his gaze.

My eyes. Surprised. Happy. Wet.

{Damien moves in, sing—}

“I know I’m supposed to get down on one knee, but if I do that, you’ll think my pants are dirty, and then I won’t be able to hold you if you say ‘yes.’”

He smiles. A nervous smile.

My stomach bounces around. My throat tightens.
{Damien gets louder.}

My hands shake a little, holding the little box. The ring box.

The ring. My ring.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

So I nod my head instead, moving my face, causing the water in the corners of my eyes to run down my—

He grabs the box, the ring, from me. He takes my hand and slips the ring onto my finger. Then he pulls me in, in, in—into his arms.

{And Damien keeps on singing.}

THREE MINUTES LATER

Still in his arms. Wearing my ring. Engaged to—

“By the way, I got your blood test results back, and you have absolutely no diseases. Just like I keep telling you.”

I remain in his arms. Smiling. Shaking. Crying.

Best. Day. Ever.

THIRTY + THIRTY + THIRTY + THIRTY + THIRTY + THIRTY DAYS LATER

I’m getting ready for a nap. Wedding planning on top of PhD classes on top of OCD medication means exhaustion.

Good exhaustion. Busy exhaustion.

But still exhaustion.

TV on. Head on couch pillow.

Nap time.

THREE MONTHS LATER

Immaculate white dress. White tulle over my face. My arm linked with Dad’s.

Brand new white sandals walking down the aisle. Toward him. Me. Walking toward him.

There are people everywhere. Cameras flashing.  Candles and ribbons and flowers and—

And I can’t focus on any of it.

All I can see is him.

He looks right back at me. Looking. Smiling.

Waiting.

A piano plays as I walk down the aisle. “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”  I can barely hear it, though.
{My head is too busy. Chantal Kreviazuk is singing “
Feels Like Home”
on top of The Beatles singing “
The Long and Winding Road
” on top of John Legend singing “
All of Me
” on top of Il Divo singing “
Every Time I Look at You”
on top of Billy Joel singing “To Make You Feel My Love” on top of Dami—}

We are here. At the front of the church.

I’m here. With him.

Ready to say I do.

Ready to become Mrs. Blake.

Ready to marry him.

THIRTY + THIRTY MINUTES LATER

Father Patrick smiles at me. At him. “You may now kiss the bride.”

He leans in to kiss me.

Lips on lips.

Him. And me.

Husband and wife.

THREE HOURS LATER

My head on his shoulder. His arms around me. Dancing our first dance as a married couple. Dancing to “I Have But One Heart,” the wedding song from
The Godfather.

{And also to Damien’s “
The Blower’s Daughter
.” Um…obviously.}

THREE YEARS LATER

{Bruno Mars. “
Just the Way You Are
.”}

I’m in a hospital bed.

Voices are speaking all around me. Mandy’s voice. Melanie’s voice. Mom’s voice. Dad’s voice. Aiden’s voice.