Page 120 of My Best Years

Callum has been a complete mess ever since we got home from the clinic.

The second we walked through the door, Ollie knew something was wrong. Ollie’s currently trailing behind Callum as he paces back and forth in the kitchen, running his fingers through his tousled hair.

“Callum, please just sit down,” I beg, motioning toward the kitchen table.

I convinced him to let me drive us home due to his state of mind. We sat in silence the entire ride as Callum rubbed his sweaty palms up and down his thighs. He grew more and more anxious with each mile that passed. When I tried to start up a conversation to get his mind off of everything, he just shook his head.

“Please sit down, babe.”

He’s making me a nervous wreck with all his frantic pacing.

“I can’t,” he retorts. “I can’t fucking think straight right now.”

“I understand that,” I say calmly. “But you don’t have to have it all figured out at this very moment, Cal. Like I said, the next step should be getting a second opinion–”

“I’m not going through all those tests again,” he interjects. “The past month has been pure hell. I’m tired of being poked and prodded.”

I arch a brow, folding my arms over my chest.

“First off, they probably won’t have to run all the tests again. The doctor will most likely want to take a second look at your results,” I clarify. “And secondly, you should be open to doing anything if it means taking care of your health. Don’t be so careless, Callum.”

He stops walking to turn and look at me. Dread pools in his blue irises.

“I have it, Birdie,” he says, defeat lacing his tone. “I have MS. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’ve been looking up my symptoms for weeks, and I just knew it. Before Dr. Sharpe revealed my diagnosis, I felt it deep in my bones.”

I’ve been looking up my symptoms for weeks, and I just knew it.

If he only knew how many patients I see per week that self-diagnose through Google and get it completely wrong.

“So, you’re a doctor now?”

“What?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“Are you a doctor, Callum?”

“No.”

“Exactly,” I clip. “So you’re getting a second opinion because that is what you do when you get a major diagnosis like this.”

He scoffs, looking up at the ceiling before returning his gazeto me.

“And what’s the plan when I find out from a second doctor that I have MS?”

“Then, you’ll start making treatment decisions, such as dietary changes, medication, physical therapy…You have options, Cal.”

He pushes a hand through his hair.

“And what do you want, Birdie?” he exhales. “Do you want to be with someone like me for the rest of your life? Someone who’s going to be a financial burden. Someone who needs a fucking caretaker?”

I furrow my brows in shock at his crass tone.

“What are you saying?”

He continues pacing. Ollie whimpers before getting up to trail behind his dad.

“For all I know, I could be wheelchair-bound by the time I’m fifty,” he continues. “What if I’m not able to pick up our kids or teach them how to play sports? What if I can’t take care of you in the way that a husband should?”

“I’ve taken care of myself for twenty-nine years, Callum. I don’t need you to take care of me. I just need you to love me.”

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