Page 47 of Write Me For You

June

Jesse and June’s Happily Ever After

“ H ow are you feeling?” I asked, as June looked out of the car window. The bookstore had sent a car for us—how fancy. The weather was bright and warm, and the sun was blazing in the blue sky.

June wore a floor-length, fitted, sleeveless green dress which made her eyes look like dark chocolate swirls.

I was still staying in the hospital, but as of last week, my latest test results had returned as “no evidence of disease.” I had only a few weeks left of my treatment, and soon, I would be out and fully considered in remission.

I couldn’t believe it. After months and months of chemo and immunotherapy, sickness and June never leaving my side, we’d gotten through it.

I was exhausted, a little weak and sore, but I wasn’t going to miss this event for anything in the world. June turned to me and took a deep breath. She still wore her dark hair in a bob, and she looked beautiful. But then, she always was to me.

“I’m beginning to regret my choice,” she said, lips twitching in nerves. I kissed the back of her hand. Her skin had paled a little with anxiety. “What if no one turns up? What if the event is a bust?” she said, panicked.

“Junebug,” I said, shifting closer to her on the back seat. “Look at me.” She did, and I cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply at my touch. “Our story has millions of reads online. I’m pretty sure you have no idea what you’ll be walking into.”

Her eyes opened wide.

“Not in a bad way, baby. But in a good.” I kissed her forehead, her short bangs tickling my nose. “I’ve read the comments on every chapter you post.”

“You have?” June asked. She had stopped reading them long ago, when the sheer number of people reading her words made her more terrified than not.

This was our story she was writing. The story of us had we not made it out of Harmony Ranch.

It was special to us, and it made June feel vulnerable.

She was determined to protect that Jesse and June with everything she was.

She adored them. We adored them—we were them.

We held them tightly in our hearts. She didn’t want anyone’s comments to hurt them in any way.

I nodded. “They are loved,” I said. “Your words have helped so many people, Junebug. You have no idea. You’ve given terminally ill Jesse and June a chance to live in millions of peoples’ hearts. You’ve done them justice.”

“We’re nearly there,” the driver announced, interrupting us.

I looked out of the window, and I had to rub my eyes to be sure I was seeing what I thought I was. “June,” I whispered, dumbfounded. Pride, thick and strong, flooded my veins, and with my arm around her shoulders, I pulled her to the window to look.

“Oh my gosh,” June said in utter disbelief. The line to the bookstore stretched around the block. It was so long that we couldn’t see its end. “They’re not…” she trailed off. “They’re here for me?”

As we got closer, we saw the excited faces of hundreds of people—mainly teens—waiting patiently in line.

They were here for my Junebug. They were here because of our story.

The car came to a stop where Emma and Chris were waiting, at the back entrance. Like they had at my Longhorns games, they wanted to support June too—Chemo Club for life! Plus, Emma had worked with June to make all this happen, and she wasn’t going to miss it for the world.

We had traveled to A in real life, you are writing Write Me for You .” The reader tilted her head. “Which story feels more real to you?”

June thought about the question, then said, “Both.” She looked at me.

“Long ago, Jesse talked to me about parallel universes, that maybe stories that we write in this life are happening in another. That’s why I decided to write the book, to explore what would have happened had our cancers not been receptive to the trial’s treatment. ”

“Jesse?” the reader asked, addressing me too. “What do you think?”