With us—with me, I should say—she remained brittle. Which was okay. She had her reasons, and she’d never been cruel or angry toward me. Just resigned. She got her man back, but with the stiff price tag in the form of a toddler.
“Oh, honey, this is gorgeous,” said Eric’s mom, Judy, pouncing on me with a hug. “You’re so wonderful, you know that? And look at you! So beautiful!”
“Thanks, Judy!”
“Candy, how are you? Isn’t this a special day?”
“It is.” My stepmother forced a smile, then backed away. Judy and I exchanged a look. We’d gossip about everything tomorrow. Tomorrow, when I’d be engaged.
“I love your dress. Perfect for tonight!” she said.
So she knew. Excellent. “Well,” I said, feigning innocence, “white for a clean start.”
She pressed her lips together so as not to blurt out the news. Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what he’d do without you, Ainsley,” she said. “You’re a treasure.”
“Oh, Judy,” I said, my voice husky. I gave her a hug, and my sister aimed her camera at us. Kate did take the best pictures.
“Where’s my second-best girl?” Eric’s dad asked, joining us. “You look beautiful, darling. Both of you do.”
The Fishers were the best. “You’re a daughter to us,” his mother had been saying for the past decade. They had the kind of marriage I wanted—affectionate, open, happy and fun. My boyfriend had great role models, that was for sure. We went on vacation with them every year, and we always had a great time, a fact that befuddled my friends.
Judy and I would go crazy planning the wedding. It could be Jewish, since that would be important to them, and would win me even more points as best daughter-in-law ever. We’d have the canopy and the breaking of the glass and the fun dance with the chairs...
I looked over at my honey. He stood next to the huge montage of pictures of himself he’d put up. Eric before cancer, a little chubby. Going into the hospital for surgery. Lying in the recovery room afterward. Hooked up to an IV bag. (He asked me to take all these, for the record.) Just after he shaved his head. Wearing his Fuck You, Cancer T-shirt, sitting in his favorite chair, seven prescription bottles next to him.
He met my eyes and smiled, then clinked a fork on his champagne glass.
Oh, God, it was time. I looked around, my heart revved up and my toes clenched in the red shoes. Jonathan and Candy were talking in a corner. The frat boys were doing shots. Rachelle was taking a picture of Kate and Nathan, calling them Kate and Nate, and asking Kate about camera settings.
“Folks, if I could have your attention for a minute,” Eric said. I swallowed hard. Everyone quieted and gathered around, ripples of laughter and conversation fluttering out. I hoped Kate would get a picture of the big moment. Oh, man, I was nervous! All these years waiting, and I was shaking!
“Folks,” Eric said again, “I just want to thank you all for coming to this party. As of noon today, I am officially cancer free!”
A cheer went up, and glasses were raised, and I felt tears slipping down my cheeks.
“It’s been a long, hard road,” he said, “and I wouldn’t be here without all of you. So this party is for you, all my friends and family who stood by me in this dark time. To life!”
“To life!” we all chorused back.
“L’chaim!” Aaron said. So Fiddler on the Roof! I loved that musical!
“And if you’ll indulge me here,” Eric continued, “there are a few people I need to thank specially. My parents, of course, the best people in the whole world. I love you, Mom and Dad. More than I could ever say.”
Judy sobbed happily, and Aaron wiped his eyes. “Love you, too, son,” he managed.
“My awesome team at St. Luke’s, Dr. Benson, Dr. Ramal, Dr. Williams, and all the incredible nurses and staff at the infusion center.” A round of applause followed, though none of the team had been able to make the party.
“My workmates, who were so great while I went through this ordeal.”
The Wall Streeters gave themselves a rowdy cheer, and Blake shouted, “I’d give my left nut to be half the man you are!”
Eric pretended to smile; he hated that joke. He went on to thank his boss, his assistant, the receptionist.
Come on, Eric. If he went through the entire list (as he seemed intent on doing), he’d be here all night. Alas, he loved to give speeches. Next thanked: his cousin, who’d flown up from Boca to visit—for nine days, and let me tell you, that wasn’t exactly a favor. Eric’s golf buddy—Kate’s husband, Nathan—for keeping his spirits up, though to the best of my knowledge, they’d played golf only once.
Next on the list: everyone who read and commented on The Cancer Chronicles. I sneaked a look at Jonathan, who remained stone-faced. Eric thanked Beth for her good cheer, the Hoffmans for plowing our driveway (once; I shoveled the other times). He thanked Ollie, “my little buddy when I was too weak to do anything other than nap.”
Come on, Eric.
“And last on the list, but first in my heart, of course, is someone very special I need to thank.”
He looked at me, his dark eyes wet, and my irritation vanished. My heart stopped, then surged forward, hot and full of love.
“Someone who stood by me every minute, who kept my spirits up when I stared down Death, when I was too weak to lift my head.”
Granted, there really hadn’t been a moment when he was too weak to lift his head, but yeah. I’d been great. Judy’s quiet sobs resumed, and she gave me a watery smile. Aaron squeezed my shoulders.
“Babe, come over here,” he said, and I went, my heart thudding, practically levitating from happiness and adrenaline. I was hyperaware of everything, like Peter Parker is in Spider-Man—the tag sticking up from Rachelle’s neckline, the nice orange blossom smell of Beth’s perfume, Ollie being fed an appetizer by Esther, Jonathan’s constipated expression, my sister’s sardonic smile.
Eric touched his pocket, where the box-shaped lump sat so promisingly, and I smiled through my happy tears.
It was about damn time.
Kate
I tried to remember a time when I loved parties. College, maybe?
This kind of party was the worst. I didn’t know many people aside from my family members, and I’d talked to Esther and Matthias as long as they tolerated me, then trailed them down to the basement cellar, where they booted up Mad Max: Fury Road. When guilt forced me upstairs, I saw Nathan getting a plate of food for my grandmother.
An aching, lovely pressure squeezed my chest. He saw me looking and smiled.
“Kate, your husband is so wonderful!” Gram-Gram chirped. “I didn’t know what I wanted, so he got me some of everything!” She popped a mozzarella ball into her mouth and chewed. “Delicious!”
“My pleasure, Lettie,” Nathan said, sliding his arm around me. “Is it me, or does all the food here look like testicles?” he whispered.
I choked on a laugh. Come to think of it, yes. Mozzarella balls, melon balls, grapes, cherry tomatoes, little round onion puffs, scallops...
Gram-Gram patted my cheek. “It’s so good to see you happy, dear,” she said. “Nathan, thank you for marrying this girl! We