Page 363 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Accepting the little antelope from my hands, she leaves me sitting amongst the spreading whispers. All of them are a blur to me, as I can only hear the noise in my own head.
Two more kisses, or Dollie dies from this.
“Dollie,” I call out.
She turns in the doorway to the exam room.
And I blow those two kisses… just in case.
CHAPTER 81
Ambrose—present day
“Oh, tolerating Hawaiian pizza for me. This is a big deal.”
“We’re celebrating.”Celebrating that Dollie’s lump was no more than a cyst, one that had dispersed. No doctor, nurse, or ultrasound probe could find any trace of anything inside her that was malicious. And I’ve been playing on that joke since.
She hasn’t laughed, even after I explained it twice. But she did tell me she found it endearing, between her rehashing of what happened in that hospital room.
The doctor had reassured her that this is common, and I’ve been trying to convince myself since then that I no longer have anything to worry about.
It’s proving to be difficult in my loud head, whenever she goes silent.
Our other reason for celebrating is that we managed to find a sit-down place that’ll serve me—on the first attempt—and we’re only in the next town over. The best part about that is that I didn’t have to remind Dollie that even eating around here is an issue. Didn’t have to give her guilt more crumbs to feed on.Evenso, I keep my head low and my hood up, which looks a little anti-social, but given the scars around my mouth, jaw, throat, fingers, and anything else that can be seen, no waiters have asked me to remove it.
We sit in a quiet corner, and I shove in the first bite.
Some things don’t change, because she’s right, even after all these years, Hawaiian isn’t my preferred choice. I mean, it’s hardly a spicy veggie supreme, but Dollie asked to share, and veggies are still out of the question.
“We’re celebrating you, too. You should at least like your dinner.”
“It’s fine.”
“We never lied to each other before. You hate it.” She takes what might be the first bite of food she’s had in days.
On the way here, I brought up the bland hospital breakfasts to lead her into telling me if she had anything better, and she swiftly changed the subject, making me think she hadn’t eaten.
“It’s the best Hawaiian pizza I’ve had in years.”
That’s kinda the truth, as it’s the only Hawaiian pizza I’ve had in years.
Dollie eyes me as she sits at my side, practically glued to me. She takes another bite, knowingly, nudging me each time she directs her slice and puts a morsel in her mouth.
I keep one arm loosely around her because every time I move slightly, she tucks in that bit closer.
She takes another bite, pleasing my nerves. Being this close, it’s easy to see the tension in her jaw, the scrunching of her pretty little face.
“Is your face hurting?”
A few people eyed Dollie on the way in. The swelling on her face has gone down a lot, the purple bruises already turning yellow. They are barely hidden behind a layer of concealer. Each one is still noticeable.
“I’m okay.”
That’s a yes then, and the fact that she didn’t answer the direct question is how I know.
With my stare on her, she takes another full-size bite. Her slow chewing is another indicator of pain.
“We never lied to each other before,” I repeat, using her choice of words, and look away.
