I sit in the theater with my leg bouncing so hard, my notes come out in jagged, illegible streaks under the pen. At least, they would, if I were taking notes instead of doodling. In reality, I’m not following the movie at all.

Since I’m the only one in the matinée, I check my phone again. It lights up in a blue fire, blinding me. No messages.

Screw it, I think, and walk out. I’ve got two articles due soon, but if today goes the way it’s supposed to, I’ll gladly sit through a double-feature on Monday.

My car glides through the streets too easily, like it’s lost traction. Work calls me once, but I ignore it. There’s only one message I’m waiting for, today.

The house is dark when I pull up. I do a U-turn in the cul-de-sac and keep driving, aimless. Like if I stop moving, I’ll ruin the outcome.

Finally, it rings.

“Hello?” I’m panting. I pull over at the gas station outside the neighborhood and yank the parking brake up so hard, it hurts my wrist. “Did you get it?”

“I did.”

I wait. He’s silent.

“And?”

“And,” he says, and now I can hear the smile; now, I can breathe again, “all clear.”

I put my head on the steering wheel. The phone slips from my hand, echoing his words—“Mel? You there?”—as I fall apart, sobbing and laughing and thanking God, all at once.

“Dad?”

I move my briefcase over as Banner gets into the car, all limbs and jaunty angles, the way I was at eight years old, too. He hates it, no matter how much I assure him things will change.

He doesn’t have to ask the actual question. I know what it is. It’s all inside the way he says my name.

“Yeah,” I tell him.

“Yeah?” He grins, like he can’t believe it. “Did you tell Mel?”

“I did.” I shift into gear and pull away from his school, getting in line behind a minivan with about forty stickers on the back. “She dropped the phone and cried.”

Banner laughs. I see him wipe his face.

“What, you’re crying, now?”

“No,” he snaps, but I know he’s lying.

When we pull up to the house, the first thing I notice is a tangle of balloons on the mailbox. Mel works fast.

Banner’s so excited, I think he’s about to jump out of his seat. “You’re gonna do it, right? You said you would.”

“I did, and I will.” I reach into my pocket and flick open the box with my thumb, showing him the ring again. It’s white gold, her favorite, with five diamonds set inside: one for all five years we’ve been together now, official. No giant fights. No stupid mistakes.

“Can I please be here when you ask?” he begs, for about the millionth time since I told him I was going to propose. He stretches out the please impossibly long.

“No deal, bud. Your mom wants you there for that benefit tonight.”

He pouts. I ruffle his hair until he pushes me away and laughs.

Inside, there’s a cake on the counter, more balloons, and a big “Congrats” sign over the fireplace. Everyone hugs me as soon as I walk inside: Josh and his wife, Emma, Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher, and Mel.

She’s wearing my favorite of her dresses, a black one that looks like it was made for her. “I’m so happy,” she whispers, and kisses me while she’s smiling, her teeth knocking into my lip.

I kiss her back. “Me, too. And I’m happy you’re happy.”

“To five years in remission,” Josh toasts. “It’s official.”

We lift our soda cans and knock them together. Everyone talks at once. Mel is crying. Banner keeps looking at my pocket, where I put the ring.

“No,” I mouth to him. He rolls his eyes and pouts again.

“Does it feel real yet?”

He looks up from his second plate of cake, while I untie the balloons from the cabinets. “Kind of. I mean, I’ve spent the last five years in this...in-between place, you know? Where I’m not sick, but I’m always on edge, too. Waiting for it to come back, hoping it doesn’t....”

Blake trails off. I step off the footstool and hug his shoulders; he reaches to hug me back, grabbing my ass more than anything, and we laugh.

“But five years,” I tell him. “That’s officially cured.”

“I know. I just wonder if I’ll ever stop looking out for it, I guess.” He pauses and sets down his fork. “Thank you for the party, by the way. You really didn’t have to do anything.”

“Of course I did, this is a huge deal!” I kiss his ear, fully intending to get back to my cleanup while he finishes his cake. But then he turns his head and kisses me back, and everything else starts to fall away.

“You want to celebrate upstairs?” he smirks. His breath smells like sugar and vanilla, irresistible. I can’t answer fast enough.

In our bedroom, he folds back the comforter for me, undoing the corners carefully. His hyper-cleanliness has gotten better since Banner was born—it’s hard to be compulsive when you’ve got a kid—but some things never change.

Like the way he instantly transforms from the sweet, easygoing Blake I remembered, to the one I knew at twenty-two, take-charge and dominating, as soon as we get into the bedroom. It’s a compromise, of sorts, his old and new selves combined.

“Allow me.” He takes my zipper and undoes my dress for me, a slow, sweeping motion all the way down my spine that makes my knees weak. His mouth presses into the small of my back as he kneels and tugs the dress off my hips, down to the floor. When he sees I decided against underwear, he laughs.

“You were waiting for this, huh?”

I turn around. Before I can answer, he pulls my hips towards his face, holding me against his mouth.

“Oh, God,” I gasp. My knees weaken; I have to hold onto his shoulders to stay standing. He was right. I have been waiting.

Blake ignores my requests to lie down and, instead, pushes two fingers into me. I put even more weight on him, sure I’ll collapse. No one could stay standing under the force of this much pleasure.

When I tell him I’m close, he stops. He scolds me for sulking. “You’re the one who wanted to lie down,” he reminds me, and guides me onto the bed, his hands rough and broad on my hipbones.

“Officially cancer-free,” he says, undressing while I arrange the pillows behind my head. “Gotta say, it did feel pretty damn good to hear Dr. Gull say that.” He climbs on top of me, hovering just enough so our skin passes an electrical charge back and forth, without even touching.

My fingers trace the long, white scars on his chest. He takes my hand in his and holds it there, letting me feel his heartbeat.

Official. It means so much more than “cancer-free.” It means less worrying when he gets a cold or has an asthma attack; it means no more awkward pauses when he talks about Banner growing up, no more wondering if he’ll still be around to see it happen.

It means I can stop staring at him, late at night when I can’t sleep, and wonder how many more nights I’ll have beside him. Maybe—though I don’t dare ask, not yet—it means he’ll want to get married, after all, or have kids. Maybe, now that he knows he’ll have a lifetime to share with someone, he’ll want to officially share it with me.

My thoughts dissolve into smoke when he pushes himself into me, filling me in a swift, effortless motion. I close my eyes and sigh at the fullness, this incredible feeling that never seems to dull.

“You’re about to have sex,” he says, rocking his hips forward and back, filling me and withdrawing, “with a cancer-free man.”

“And the last five years were...what, practice?” I joke, barely able to speak in between his thrusts, which are already picking up speed.

“Well, now it’s official,” he reminds me.

“Oh, of course.”

We laugh, our mouths just an inch apart. I lean up and kiss him, pulling him into me in every way possible.

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” he asks, pausing his movement. “Sound byte rules.” He pushes my hair out of my eyes. “Think we could? I mean, Banner’s gone, he won’t hear us.”

“He won’t hear me, you mean?”

“Well.” He smiles and ducks his head, tracing my nipples with his tongue. His eyes meet mine when I start to squirm, and he waits. By now, he doesn’t need to give me my lines. I know exactly how they go.

“That’s it, baby,” I whisper, willing to play along if it means he’ll keep doing what he’s doing. “That’s it, Blake, lick my nipples...God, it gets me so wet when you do that….”

Encouraged, he lifts his head and picks up speed, the force increasing. I hear the headboard hit the wall in time.

“You like that?” he pants.

“Ah, ah,” I chide. “Sound byte rules.”

He laughs, slips out of me, and turns me over. I feel him at my entrance again as he breathes into my ear, “You like taking it from behind, baby?” While he speaks, he pushes back inside.

I moan instead of answering.

“What was that?”

“Yes,” I cry out, feeling tears behind my eyes. “Yes, I like—I like taking it from behind.” There’s a pillow underneath me in just the right place, and this new angle makes every drive of his hips even more intense. “Blake, it...it feels so good, I can’t even think.”

“You don’t have to think,” he chuckles, holding my hips with his hands.

I’m already teetering on the edge, but his talk gets me even closer. We haven’t done his little sound byte rule in years. I didn’t realize I liked it this much.

Soon I’m nothing but nerves, each teased and enticed to the breaking point. Any second now, I’ll lose it.

“I can tell you’re close,” he says, almost arrogant. Maybe it shouldn’t turn me on, but it does.

“I am,” I confess. “I’m so close....”

“Come for me, Mellie,” he orders, just like he used to.

That’s all it takes. My orgasm crashes down, tearing through my body like a wildfire. I hear him groan. He sinks all the way inside and releases.

We ride the peak out together, both of us shuddering as the sensations engulf us. I feel his weight drop against me, arms finally giving out.

I start to cry. It’s been a while since our sex included that element, too.

“Hey,” he says gently, pushing my hair off my forehead, “it’s okay. It felt good, didn’t it?”

“So good.” He laughs again. “I’m just…I’m so happy.”

“Me too, baby.” His lips press against my back, right between my shoulders, as he slips out of me. “Me too.”

We fall asleep, spent and smiling. I rest my head on his chest. Even when I wake at dawn with a crick in my neck, I keep it there, enjoying the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Hi.”

I start, looking up at him. “I thought you were asleep.” He slides out from underneath me and picks his clothes up from the floor, getting dressed. “You said you had the weekend off.”

“I do. I just felt like getting dressed. It’s kind of cold in here.”

“Oh.” My voice is sadder than I mean it to be. “I was hoping for another round.”

He smiles at me over his shoulder. “Yeah? You aren’t sore?”

“No,” I lie, which he sees right through.

Blake stands there a minute, in just his jeans and undershirt, which is smeared with charcoal. He’s given up the suits when he’s not at work, and even started sketching for fun again. More than once, I’ve woken to the scratch of pencil on paper, him drawing me while I sleep.

I notice his muscles are tense. Alarm bells sound in my head, and I sit up. “Are you okay?”

“Relax,” he smiles. “I’m fine. Just…nervous.” I’m about to ask him why, when he pulls a small box from his pocket.

This time, it’s my pulse that surges. “Blake,” I manage, my voice tight, “what is that?”

He laughs. “I think you know.”

I take a breath, exhaling with another laugh as I open the box and show her the ring, shimmering in the gray light.

“Oh, my God.” Mel covers her mouth. The tears start again.

I kneel beside the bed. “I promised myself,” I explain, keeping my voice as steady as I can, “that if I beat this, I was going to propose. And now that I’m in front of you, about to do it...I just keep thinking, God, why didn’t I do this sooner?”

Mel sniffs as I take her hand and hold it in mine. As always, it feels like it belongs there. That simple.

“Melanie Thatcher,” I ask, “will you ma—”

“Yes!” she shouts, and jumps on top of me, our laughter drowned in a clap of thunder, just outside the window.

We watch the rain all day. He sketches me while I wrap myself up in the sheets, until we have to stop and celebrate again. We reminisce about the past, daydream about the future.

“I don’t know if I want a big wedding,” I muse. It actually makes me grimace: a traditional and giant wedding in my family’s church, every pew stuffed with ancient people I don’t know, the whole place smelling like cough drops and incense.

“We could do a destination wedding,” he offers. “Just us, your family, and Banner. Who else do we need?”

“True.” I look at the ring again, touching each stone. “One for each year we’ve been an official couple,” he’d explained, as he slipped it onto my finger. Only now, I’m seeing something else.

“Eighteen,” I say, pointing to the first stone. “Twenty-one...twenty-two...twenty-five.” I look at him. “One for every time I looked at you in a new way.”

“Not always the best way,” he adds, which I have to agree with. “Besides, what about this one?”

I stare at the last stone, exactly the same as all the others—but seeming, somehow, a little bit brighter.

“This one,” I say, “can be thirty.”

Blake laughs. “Right now? How are you looking at me in a new way?”

“Well....” I look from the ring to him. Into those icy blue eyes I’ve known almost all my life, this face I know even better than my own.

“I guess now I’m looking at you in a…rest-of-my-life kind of way.”

He hooks my chin with his finger and lifts my face to his. “I always looked at you that way. Ever since that day at track practice.”

“Not always,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Yep. Always.” He pauses, our foreheads touching. “I didn’t always think I’d actually get you forever…but I always hoped I would, somehow.”

He kisses me so deeply I forget, for just a moment, that we’re thirty. We’re eighteen again, or every age in between then and now, making up for all those years we were apart. Or starting to, at least.

And I realize, as I have before, that I don’t like the Old Blake or New Blake: I don’t want to choose between the sweet, sensitive guy I called my best friend, or the sexy, dominating man who could make my head swim and my toes curl. I want both. I’ve had both the last five years—and now, officially, I can have both forever.

“My Mellie girl,” he whispers, starting to drift as the sun sinks into the horizon.

I press my ear to his chest and listen to his heartbeat, clear and steady. Strong. “Call me that again.”