Chapter 131: Showing Up
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cade
The heartbeat follows me home.
I hear it while I brush my teeth that night.
I hear it while I fold laundry before bed.
I hear it when I wake sometime after three in the morning, staring at the ceiling with one hand resting over my stomach.
Fast.
Steady.
Alive.
It almost doesn’t seem possible that someone so small can make such a tremendous amount of space inside my heart.
The nausea that greets me when I sit up is a less welcome reminder.
I barely make it to the bathroom.
By the time I’m finished, I’m leaning against the cool tile floor, exhausted.
A quiet knock sounds against the bedroom door.
“Dad?”
Jordan’s voice. “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I answer automatically.
A pause. “You don’t sound okay.”
I smile despite myself. “I’m just…still getting used to this.”
The door opens a crack.
Jordan peers inside. “You need anything?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He studies me for another second before nodding. “All right.”
He starts to leave, then stops. “Oh, Charlie texted.”
My heart skips. “What did he say?”
Jordan glances down at his phone. “He wanted to make sure you got home all right.”
Warmth settles quietly in my chest. “Tell him I did.”
Jordan smirks. “You could tell him yourself.”
“I know. But you’re already standing there.”
He laughs. “Lazy.”
“Efficient.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically before disappearing down the hall.
A moment later, my phone buzzes anyway.
Charlie: \[How are you feeling?\]
I stare at the message for a long moment.
Then I type.
\[Still nauseous.\]
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Charlie: \[Have you eaten anything?\]
\[Not yet.\]
\[Can you try some crackers?\]
\[I’ll try.\]
\[Don’t “I’ll try” me.\]
A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
\[Bossy.\]
\[Someone has to be.\]
\[Thanks for today.\]
This time the dots linger.
When his reply comes, it’s simple.
\[Thank you for letting me be there.\]
I read it twice before setting my phone aside.
He doesn’t say he was glad I invited him.
He doesn’t say I owed him.
He only thanks me.
Somehow, that means more.
By Wednesday morning, I’ve discovered exactly three foods my stomach will tolerate.
Toast.
Plain rice.
Apples.
Everything else is a gamble.
I stand in the faculty lounge staring into the refrigerator, wondering if yogurt counts as adventurous.
“It doesn’t.”
I turn to find another teacher, Melissa, smiling knowingly.
“You’ve been standing there for almost two minutes.”
“I was negotiating with my stomach.”
“And?”
“It isn’t interested in compromise.”
She laughs. “Rough week?”
“You could say that.”
She pats my shoulder sympathetically before heading back to her classroom.
I grab my container of apples and decide that’s enough excitement for one day.
Teaching keeps my mind occupied.
My third-graders don’t know why I’m moving a little slower.
They don’t notice that I sip ginger tea instead of coffee.
They only know that Mr. Logan still reads stories with funny voices and still cheers louder than anyone when they solve a difficult math problem.
For a few hours, life feels wonderfully ordinary.
Until lunchtime.
The smell of tomato soup drifting down the hallway turns my stomach instantly.
I pivot toward the nearest restroom before I can think twice.
When I get home that afternoon, there’s a grocery bag sitting on my front porch.
I frown.
No note.
No delivery receipt.
Just one paper bag.
Inside are saltine crackers.
Ginger candies.
Apples.
Plain oatmeal.
Lemon tea.
A loaf of bread.
Peanut butter.
Bananas.
Every single thing inside is something I’d mentioned at the doctor’s office.
My phone buzzes.
Charlie: \[Didn’t want to interrupt your day. Figured these might help.\]
I shake my head, smiling helplessly.
\[You didn’t have to do this.\]
\[I know.\]
\[Then why?\]
His answer takes only a few seconds.
\[Because I wanted to.\]
Nothing more.
No expectation.
No scorekeeping.
Just…
Because I wanted to.
The next morning I discover another unexpected change.
Coffee.
I have loved coffee for years.
Needed coffee.
Survived on coffee during report card season.
One sip sends me running to the sink.
I stare mournfully at the abandoned mug.
“I miss you already.”
Jordan walks into the kitchen just in time to hear me.
“…Are you talking to your coffee?”
“It betrayed me.”
He snorts. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“I didn’t either.”
He opens the refrigerator. “Charlie’s stopping by after work.”
I blink. “He is?”
“He wanted to drop something off.”
“Oh.”
Jordan looks at me over the refrigerator door. “You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed.”
“You sound nervous.”
“…Maybe a little.”
Jordan smiles knowingly but says nothing.
Charlie arrives just after five.
He’s wearing a dark winter coat, his cheeks pink from the cold.
In one hand is a small insulated bag.
In the other is a bouquet of bright yellow daisies.
I stare. “For me?”
He looks suddenly uncertain. “I wasn’t sure if flowers were…too much.”
“No.” My voice comes out softer than I intend. “They’re perfect.”
Relief washes over his face. “Good.”
He steps inside. “I also brought dinner.”
“I appreciate the optimism.”
He laughs. “I figured we’d experiment.”
The insulated bag contains several small containers instead of one large meal.
Plain pasta.
Rice.
Chicken.
Fruit.
Crackers.
Toast.
“I wasn’t sure what sounded good,” he admits. “So I made several things.”
I look at the spread on the counter. “You cooked all of this?”
“My mom taught me not to show up empty-handed.”
Jordan wanders into the kitchen.
“I can confirm,” he says. “He once brought three desserts to a barbecue because he couldn’t decide.”
Charlie points at him. “I stand by that decision.”
“It was too much pie.”
“There is no such thing.”
I laugh.
The sound fills the kitchen more easily than it has in weeks.
Charlie glances toward me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not a ‘nothing’ face.”
I shake my head. “It’s just…”
I search for the right words. “This feels…”
He waits patiently.
“…Normal.”
The room grows quiet.
Charlie smiles. “I was hoping it would.”
He doesn’t say because we’re building a family.
He doesn’t say because this is our future.
He just lets the moment exist.
Jordan clears his throat dramatically. “So…”
We both look at him.
“I’m going upstairs.”
Charlie raises an eyebrow. “…Congratulations?”
Jordan grins. “I’m giving you two a chance to eat before Dad starts claiming crackers are a complete meal.”
“I would never.”
Jordan points toward the unopened sleeve of crackers already sitting on the counter. “You absolutely would.”
He disappears upstairs laughing.
Silence settles over the kitchen again.
Charlie reaches for two plates.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“I’m listening.”
“You eat at least a little.”
“And?”
“If something doesn’t stay down…”
He shrugs. “We’ll try something else.”
No frustration.
No disappointment.
Just certainty.
We’ll try something else.
I watch him move comfortably around my kitchen as though helping has always been the most natural thing in the world.
Halfway through dinner, another wave of nausea hits.
I set my fork down.
Charlie’s chair scrapes quietly across the floor.
“You okay?”
I nod once.
Then immediately regret it.
He gently rests a hand between my shoulder blades while I breathe through the feeling.
He doesn’t rush me.
Doesn’t pepper me with questions.
He stays.
Eventually the nausea eases.
“I’m sorry.”
His head turns so quickly I’m surprised he doesn’t pull a muscle.
“For what?”
“I feel like every time we’re together—”
“Cade.” His voice is gentle but firm. “You never have to apologize for being sick.”
I look down at my hands. “I’m not used to someone taking care of me.”
The confession hangs between us.
Charlie is quiet for a long moment.
Then he says softly, “Maybe it’s about time someone did.”
Something inside me cracks open.
Not painfully.
Tenderly.
Like the first rays of sunlight after a long winter.
I realize, with startling clarity, that Charlie isn’t here because he feels obligated.
He isn’t keeping score.
He isn’t waiting for the difficult parts to end.
He’s just…
Showing up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
For so many years, I’ve believed love had to be earned through sacrifice.
That asking for help made me a burden.
That if I became too much, people would eventually leave.
Charlie hasn’t promised forever.
He hasn’t made impossible declarations.
Instead, he does something much quieter.
He knocks on my door.
He brings groceries.
He cooks dinner.
He rubs my back when I’m sick.
He asks how I’m feeling—and actually waits to hear the answer.
He shows up.
Sometimes, I think, that’s the most convincing kind of love there is.
As Charlie reaches for the dishes, I stop him with a light touch to his wrist.
He looks at me questioningly.
“Thank you.”
His smile is warm enough to chase away the lingering chill outside.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know.” I smile back. “But I want to.”
For the first time in a very long time, the future doesn’t feel quite so frightening.
Not because I know what comes next.
But because I no longer feel like I’m walking toward it alone.