Page 173 - In Five Years

“Don’t talk like that,” I say. But if I know Bella’s tells, she, of course, knows
mine. She is no less equipped than I am at reading the impressions of my moods
and thoughts as they saunter and sprint across my face.
It works both ways.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her. “We’re going to fight this just as we
always have.”

And in that moment it’s true. It’s true because it has to be. It’s true because
there are no other options. Despite that chemo hasn’t kept it at bay. Despite that
it’s spread to her abdomen. Despite. Despite. Despite.
“Look,” she says. She holds up her hand. On it is an engagement ring,

perched daintily on her finger.
“You’re getting married?” I ask her.

“When I’m better,” she says.
I get in bed next to her. “You got engaged and you didn’t call me?”
“It happened at home last night,” she tells me. “He was bringing me dinner.”

“What?”
She looks at me, her eyebrows knit. “Pasta from Wild.”
I make a face. “I still can’t believe you like it there.”

“It’s gluten free,” she says. “Not poison. They have good spaghetti.”
“So anyway.”
“So anyway,” she says. “He brought me the pasta, and on top of the Parmesan

was the ring.”
“What did he say?”
She looks at me and she’s right there—Bella, my Bella. Her face bright and

her eyes lit. “You’ll think it’s corny.”
“I won’t,” I whisper. “I promise.”
“He told me that he’s been looking for me forever and, even though the

situation is less than ideal, he knows that I’m his soul mate, and that he was
always fated to end up with me.” She blushes pink.
Fated.

I swallow. “He’s right,” I say. “You always wanted someone who would just
know it was you. You always wanted your soul mate. And you found him.”
Bella turns to me. She takes her hand and places it on the duvet between us.