He scoffs bitterly. “Along with the other fun side effects of recovering from rounds of chemo, I was blessed with occasional ED. My junk wouldn’t function properly for years, fucking years after my last round of treatment. There I was, supposed to be at my sexual peak, and I couldn’t get it up at times for my drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend.”
I gawk at him as the pieces begin to click.
“I know what you might’ve thought, but you were so fucking wrong, and I didn’t correct you. The truth is, I wanted you twenty-four seven. Every minute of every day, but my body refused to grant me the privilege of acting on it—even after all the misery it had already put me through. Even with that curveball from hell, I was feeling better physically, but I just couldn’t get there mentally. It was always coming back. My time was running out.” He blows out a breath. “And while I loved your demanding nature, you had expectations. So many expectations. It was written in your DNA. The cruel part was—in my mind—I wasn’t going to live long enough to try. Even years into remission, I fully believed it was coming back. That combined with the fact that I was sterile by age twelve, I couldn’t stop robbing you of the dreams I saw in your eyes.”
“Eli—” I choke.
“Whitney, you were ready, so ready to start your life, and I was still just surviving.” He exhales again, running a hand through his hair. “You and I weren’t anywhere near the same place. So, when you took that pregnancy test…I made the decision to end it then and did it in a cruel way to deserve your anger. I thought it would be easier for you.”
Anger and understanding war in my chest as I think of all the times he let me feel rejected. He reads it easily.
“I couldn’t tell you. You wouldn’t have left me, and I needed you to because you were the only thing that kept me from bottoming out. I had to bottom out Whitney. I had to bottom out to decide to live and get the help I needed. For me, not for anyone else, for me.” His stare bores into me. “I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have left me, Whitney.”
I grapple with his reasoning, knowing it’s the truth.
“I know how selfish that is. The way you looked at me, fuck…it made me feel like I was superhuman, and after being sick half my life, that look meant everything to me. I lived for it. I clung to it like a lifeline.” He pauses, his voice filled with the emotion shining in his eyes. “I wanted to be the man you saw. I would’ve given anything to be him for you.”
Concern mars his beautiful face as I slip into a shuddering puddle of tears. His voice is filled with gravel when he speaks.
“Burying my parents was hard but pushing you away and watching you leave was just as painful. As much as I missed you, to me, we couldn’t have a future because I didn’t have one. I considered you my first love and tried to keep it in that respective drawer. Until one day, I decided to live. As the days and months passed, then months became a year, and then two, and the scans kept coming back clear, reaching out became a foolish notion. Like…how could you possibly think of me that way after so much time apart? But it didn’t matter because I carried you with me anyway, and every single year on my birthday,” he nods toward the book in my hand, “open it.”
Hand shaking, I untie the ribbon, the porch light enough to read the cover—Whitney’s Birthday Bucket List. Flipping the hard cover, I gape as I scan through the first few photos in the book. The first picture is of Eli and an instructor skydiving, both with thumbs up, a tropical-looking ocean behind them on the horizon. The second page is an image of Eli’s freshly-inked tattoo, two distinct heartbeats, a dotted line between them. I flip more pages as my vision again blurs. Eli taking a selfie while standing at the finish line of The Boston Marathon, his run time on the clock behind him. Eli standing on The Great Wall of China. I flip through each page, mind completely blown.
“You did all of them?”
“All but two,” he admits softly. “I stopped last year when I caught up to your age. I think secretly, I always hoped we would do the last of them together. It just didn’t feel right carrying on anymore. The irony is, that list was the only thing you left behind. In a way, your list saved me. Your goals became my goals. I’ve spent every birthday since we broke up—with you.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“When I got restless in Chicago to the point I knew I needed change, all I could think of was moving back here, to North Carolina. When I realized Brenden was your brother—shortly after we started working together—and saw that picture, Jesus Christ, talk about being struck by lightning.”