Page 43 of Healing You
He paused and she watched as he licked his lips nervously, sending her a sheepish grin. “Already? Damn, woman, at least let me finish eating first.”
“I mean, I'd love to come to the party,” she said, pushing his hand away as he circled his fingers against her thigh. “I'd love to go with you.”
His grin widened. “I suppose it's a... date.”
There was that flutter in her chest again.
“One more thing—” Scratch, scratch. Little paws scratching at his back door interrupted the conversation and Steve smiled, popping up to let all the dogs in. Gatsby immediately walked to Yvonne's other side and plopped right down beside her. Her loyal, gentle giant. While the other dogs ran around the living room, exploring the new house, he stayed right by her side.
“So?” she asked. “You were saying there was one more thing?”
“Yep.” He pushed onto his knees, pulling a simple white envelope from his pocket and handing it to her. “Here.”
“What's this?”
Steve rolled his eyes, paralleling the motion with a smile. “Why do people always ask that? Just open it and see.”
She opened the letter and pulled out a few pages of something that looked like an official paperwork. “Biotech Labs,” she read. “Gatsby's lab results?”
Steve's smile spread wider. “Yep. Keep reading.”
She scanned the pages, most of the wording far too technical for her understanding. “I don't really know what I'm reading for, Steve...”
“You'll know it when you see it. Second to last paragraph.”
She skipped down and froze as her eyes landed on the word: Remission. Her gaze darted back to his, moisture brimming her eyes. “Remission?” her hand fell to Gatsby's back, gliding down his soft fur.
Steve nodded. “Yep.”
“Gatsby's in remission!” She didn't wait for his answer and pushed to her knees flinging her arms around Steve's neck. “This is the greatest gift I could ever ask for. Thank you.”
“It doesn't mean we can stop chemo... it just means that the medicine is working, which is great.”
“How much longer do we need to continue treatments?”
“Maybe another four to five months. But we'll start scaling them back in a few weeks to where we only give him medicine every two weeks or so. Then after those five months, we'll wait and see how long his remission holds.”
“I can't believe it.” She smoothed the paper out on the coffee table in front of her, careful not to ruin it. As though wrinkling or tearing it could make the truth disappear. She dropped her cheek to Gatsby, squeezing him in a hug. “Good boy, G.” Almost as though the dog knew something great was happening, he sat up, tail sweeping across the floor in excited wags. He slurped a kiss across her cheek and even though Yvonne knew it was ridiculous, she could have sworn her dog was smiling at her. She chuckled, giving him another kiss on the nose.
They finished eating and watched some bad reality television as the sun dipped below the horizon outside. Yvonne stood, stretching her arms over head, and Steve popped to his feet right behind her. “Don't tell me you're leaving already?”
Yvonne shook her head. “Just need a restroom.” The relief in his eyes was so evident, so obvious, and he was fearless about showing it. It gave her courage to go all in with him, too.
He pointed around a corner to the back of the house. “Just in that inlet over there,” he directed her.
She turned into the corner off of the living room and was met with two closed doors. Not thinking anything of it, she tried the door on her right first and found herself peeking into Steve's garage. It was dark, but a little bit of light from the house gleamed against a strip of metal propped in the corner. Yvonne forgot all about needing to pee and instead slipped into the garage, feeling the wall beside her until she found the light switch.
Slowly, she made her way over to the wall where Steve's—well, his dad's—motorcycle was leaning against its kickstand. The thing looked perfectly preserved. In better condition than it ever looked in high school. Polished, and though he had clearly worked on it in the years since high school, it looked like it hadn't been ridden in ages. It was too clean, too perfect. And someone had put a lot of time, effort, or money into repairing it after his father's accident.
“As tempted as you might be, don't pee on that bike.” She turned toward Steve's voice, finding him leaning against the doorway into his house. With a casual step, he moved toward her... toward the bike, and dragged his hand gently down the sleek lines until his grip landed at the handlebar.
“It's even more beautiful than I remember from high school.”
He nodded, a sadness tightening around his eyes that she hadn't seen before. It was a different kind of sadness. Not the same regret he had when giving her updates about Gatsby or even about their history. No, this was something altogether different. “She is beautiful, huh?”
“But you don't ride anymore.” It wasn't a question. She knew he didn't ride. She hadn't seen this bike around town since high school. Hadn't even seen it randomly parked anywhere, let alone speeding through the streets.
“Nah. I kind of grew out of all that.”
