by AJ Matthews
“You’ve been pregnant. Maybe you’ve nursed your babies. I may not have kids. Who will risk a relationship with me, the young woman who may never be able to get pregnant?”
“A good man will,” one of the new group members blurts out.
I throw my hands in the air. “A good man? Good men still want families. They may say they’re okay with adopting or whatever, but in the end, how many are lying to you? To themselves?”
Gina pipes in. “Girl, what’s going on? Did you talk to your young man?”
I fold my hands in my lap, eyes down. “He found out.”
“Found out? How?” Dr. Luther asks.
“I’d piled my mail and stuff on the kitchen table, along with information I got from Dr. Jacoby’s office. He found flyers and pamphlets. Guessed what was happening. I’d told him about my mama and sister’s cancer. He figured the rest out.” I focus on my hands, picking at my fingers.
“Was he mad? What happened?” Gina pushes for more information.
I detail the events for them, and I’m rewarded with gasps when I tell them he’d left and was ignoring me.
“Baby, I’m sorry.” Gina rubs my arm.
I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. He affirmed my suspicions. He seemed like one of the good ones, and even he doesn’t want me. Who will?”
Despite my Herculean effort to remain calm, I erupt into tears, sobbing until I’m dry with nothing left to give.
Shay
I bombed the test.
I’ve been studying like a madman. Scratch that. I’ve been reading my notes and textbooks and listening to recorded lectures over and over for days, but I didn’t retain a single piece of information.
Thea’s been on my mind the entire time, her melodious laugh echoing in my head. Then she turns malicious, taunting me for being stupid and falling for her.
The cackle is so loud, I can’t process anything else.
“Wait, finish the story, man.” Before we walked into the lecture hall, I was telling Fred about what happened, and we had another class after so I couldn’t give him the whole story.
We’ve met back at the apartment a few hours later, and he wants more than the Cliffs Notes version.
I give it to him.
“You did what, man?” Fred’s incredulous, and I didn’t hurt him.
“I yelled. I swore. I punched the wall. I stomped out and left her crying as I walked away.” I pace circles around the kitchen island, wearing a path in the vinyl floor.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to do anything.”
Fred wrinkles his forehead and throws his head back. “For real?”
“Yeah. She’s clear about not wanting me in her life. She wasn’t going to tell me. Our relationship was a lie. I loathe dishonesty.” There’s nothing about me Fred doesn’t know, including that dark piece of Kelly family history.
“For a smart guy, you are stupid sometimes.”
I screw my face at him. “What?”
“Let’s see.” Fred’s hands are flying a mile a minute like he’s trying to convey with his fingers all the thoughts spinning around in his head. “Do you get why she didn’t tell you?”
“What do you mean?” I stop pacing.
“Man, she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to go away. Most guys can’t hack that shit. They want their girls with boobs, not blood and scar tissue.”
“You know I’m not like that.”
“Of course I do. Does she?”
Hmmmm. “She should. I didn’t run off because I can’t hack the hard stuff. I left because she lied. I told her back in Key West about Rose. How I hate when people hide critical information.”
Fred waves his hands in my face. “Whoa. Stop for a second. Dude, if you were in her shoes, what’s the first thing you’d think? This is scary to her. Imagine getting a part of yourself cut off . . . a part capable of growing cancer and killing you. People second-guess you and think you’re crazy.”
“She thinks I’m questioning her judgment?”
Fred shrugs. “Or she may think you’re a heartless dick who can’t stand the heat. When things aren’t all rainbows and unicorns, you jet. Think about it, man.”
Crap. Is that what she’s thinking?
“Speaking of jetting, man, I’ve got to go. Big date with the black-haired hottie I’ve been eyeing. She’s tutoring me on anatomy.”
I scratch me head and blink. “You don’t need tutoring. Heck, you could teach the class.”
“True, true.” He waves his hand in the air. “Cara, however, does not know this. What’s wrong with playing dumb?”
I shake my head and snort as Fred heads to the library.
What Fred said, he might be right. I left a week ago with my laundry, but she still holds my heart.
This sucks like nothing else.
Her surgery is in a couple weeks, and I’m the jerk who’s letting her go through this by herself. Does she think it’s because I can’t take the pressure? Or that I’ll be repulsed by her body?
She won’t be alone. Her friends and family will take care of her.
I should be there though.
I’m not angry about her getting the surgery. The medical reasoning is one hundred percent sound. I’m not scared about the blood and fluid and scars. If I were squeamish about the medical stuff, I’d chosen the wrong career path.
I’m angry she waited to tell me. Didn’t trust me with her secret.
We hadn’t known each other for long, but this is a case of everything between us being right. I loved her.
I love her. Present tense. You don’t get over love in a week.
I don’t want to.
I need to know why she lied. She took away my choice by withholding a vital piece of information.
I would have fallen for her anyway.
She needs to know I’m all in, no matter what. I ignored a couple texts and calls from her in the past week.
Because I’m a jerk.
I get to see if she’ll return the “favor” by ignoring me. I find her contact info in my phone and hit “call.”
One ring. Two rings. Three.
I hang up. I’m going to her place. She may not be home, but I need to see, and if she is, tell her what I need to say face-to-face.
This whole thing started with me taking a risk—breaking out of my rigid mold—and another risk may be the ticket to fixing things.
Here goes nothing.
Thea
The doorbell rings, making me jump. The Flying Pie delivery guy never gets here in under half an hour.
I shuffle from my bedroom and to the front door. I don’t even check the peephole. Ha. The one time I don’t check, it’ll be a serial killer targeting ratty-haired, puffy-eyed, unwashed ex-coeds.
I grab my purse from the entry table and yank a couple bills from my wallet.
“That was quick. There’s an extra tip for speedy . . .”
Shit.
Not the pizza guy.
Hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, his ridiculous perfection is unmarred by the pouring rain.
“Sh-Shay. Hi.”
That’s all I can spit out. What is it with this guy, looking like a damn model all the time and rendering me speechless?
Today, of all days, I am in a sorry state. I don’t need a mirror to tell me this. It’s written on his face. “Did I wake you? Are you okay? I can come back later.”
“Uh, no. Come in. Sorry.” I open the door wider and step back.
He pulls off his windbreaker and hangs it on the hook in the entryway.
“Please, sit.” I point at the couch. Duh. He’s been here before. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea? Pop?”
A shot of vodka? Because I need one.
“No, I’m fine, thanks. Thea, we need to talk.”
It’s like a movie where someone says something ominous and the camera zooms in on the other person. I
am not ready for my close-up.
“I’m sorry. Do you mind if I go change?” I tug on the bottom of my ratty gray North Carolina University tee shirt.
“No, go ahead. I’m not going anywhere.”
Unlike the last time when he wanted to be anywhere but here.
Once in my bedroom, I find a pair of comfy, worn jeans that still fit. Thank goodness they’re clean. I pull off the threadbare shirt and put on a real bra, instead of the wire-free sports bra I sleep in.
I find a three-quarter-sleeve, fitted tee shirt, casual but not frumpy.
Like I’m not trying too hard. In reality, I am putting way too much thought into this. Especially if he’s come to get a few things off his chest before leaving for good this time.
My hair is matted from lying in bed and resting my head on the arm of the sofa. I tear a brush through the tangles and manage a simple braid. I step into the bathroom and brush my teeth, which I am ashamed to admit, I’ve skipped the last few days.
When your heart is breaking, oral hygiene may be the last thing you worry about.
I steel myself and walk out. Shay set plates on the de-cluttered kitchen table and pulled two beers out of the fridge.
The pizza’s here. I missed the pizza guy. Too preoccupied with putting together the perfect outfit, so I don’t appear too put-together.
The hot sausage and onion scent makes my stomach growl. I’d eaten mostly sugary junk for the past week, and my mouth is watering.
I scratch my chin, covertly checking for possible drooling.
All clear. Phew!
I serve us each a slice and sit at the table. He sits across from me, his out-of-character stubble lending his face an ominous cast.
His forehead wrinkles like he’s thinking.
But this expression is accompanied by a frown, instead of his usual devil-may-care grin.
I’m famished and had forgotten there’s serious talking about to happen.
I eat, chewing and swallowing and drinking in silence, keeping my eye on him for any changes in his face.
Nope. Still the same.
I eat one more slice and finish the beer.
He balls up his paper napkin and tosses it on the plate. “Thea, I . . .”
His voice is firm at first, and I assume he’ll rail at me for lying. But then it softens, and guilt bubbles in my throat. “No, Shay, oh my God, I am sorry I—”
He holds up a hand. “Please, let me talk. Please.”
“O-okay. Sorry.” I stand and walk to the couch, curling into the corner, surrounding myself with throw pillows and crossing my arms over my chest.
He follows, sitting on the other end, legs open, elbows leaning on his knees, hands clasped together.
He’s not sitting too close. Good for me, because the sharp, pleasant scent of his soap can be distracting.
A tad disappointing, though because he’s avoiding me.
I’m a walking, talking, breathing mess of contradictions. No wonder he’s frustrated. I frustrate myself.
“Do you trust me?” He stabs a hand through his hair.
A large knitting needle pierces my heart. Will he trust me again?
“Of course. We haven’t known each other long, but I think I trusted you right away. I can’t explain why, I just did.” I let go of a shaky breath I’d been holding on to, and my stomach settles.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rubs the worry line on his forehead.
“Because I didn’t want this perfect, new-relationship thing to be tainted by reality?” A question more than a statement. Yes, and more. “Because in Key West, I never thought I’d see you again. There was no reason to tell you.”
He tilts his head to one side. “Fair enough. Why not tell me when we met again?”
“The look you gave me after you found the pamphlet. I wasn’t a woman anymore, but a patient. I never wanted you to see me like that, be so analytical, clinical. I wanted you to remember me as I was on vacation. Relaxed. Happy. Whole.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I shut my eyelids to block them from falling.
The cushion next to me sinks beneath his weight. His fingers on my shoulders burn through the thin fabric of my shirt as he turns my body to face him.
“Open your eyes.” I comply, and tears glisten in his eyes too. “Don’t ever think of yourself as less than whole. I never once thought otherwise.”
I nod, unable to speak for fear of sobbing.
“The choices you’ve made are beyond comprehension for most other people. I’ll never understand the full measure of the stress this caused you. I respect you for making this decision. You chose life above everything else. I’m glad you did.”
“Yeah?” My voice cracks.
“Yes. Because you’ll be in my life for many years to come.”
“Really? You still want me?”
“Still want you? Do you understand why I was angry?”
“Be-because I lied to you like your family did about your mother.”
He nods. “Yes, but the thing that kicked me in the nuts was you cheated me out of the choice.”
Like Dr. Luther said.
“Relationships are hard work. I’m overstressed with classes.”
“I-I am sor. . .” He covers my lips with his forefinger.
“I worked my butt off to get into med school. The responsibility of taking care of a girlfriend after surgery is immense. If you told me earlier, I might have bailed. I can’t say. If that makes me a jerk, I’m sorry.”
He may have bailed. A boulder settles in the pit of my stomach.
“You believed I would run. None of it matters. I’m not in love with your breasts, Thea. I’m in love with you. A surgical procedure doesn’t change my feelings.”
In love with me.
Is he for real?
I pinch his arm to find out.
He jumps at the unexpected contact. “Owwww! What the heck?”
“I’m making sure you’re real. My sister’s husband, her ex, is a total asshole. When Jen was diagnosed with stage two earlier this year, her doctors recommended mastectomy. The ex told her if she got the surgery, she would be less than a woman. She went against the doctor’s advice and started radiation, but the tumor didn’t respond. She got a lumpectomy and started chemo. Asshole, as he’s known in the McBride clan, bolted because he couldn’t hack the side effects of her treatment.”
“Wait, he couldn’t hack it? He wasn’t the one vomiting and losing his hair.”
“No kidding. But she’s getting better. Anyway, Asshole’s words started echoing in my head after I met you. ‘Not a real woman.’ I was afraid you’d think the same.”
“I’m not him. Your family history—I get the risks. I assume you tested positive for one of the brca gene mutations.”
“brca1.” It’s refreshing to talk to someone outside of group who understands.
“Your risk is sixty to eighty percent? Smart money is on the prophylactic mastectomy.”
Seriously? Any other guy would flip the fuck out.
Not Shay, not this time. I mentally kick myself for not telling him sooner.
I crawl into his lap, and he squeezes me until I can’t breathe. He kisses my head and says, “One more thing, Thea. Please don’t hold back again. I’m all in. The good, the bad, and the post-op ugly. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble against his strong chest. “And Shay?”
He kisses my hair. “Mmmm hmmm?”
“I love you too. Since the night we met, I think.”
He pulls me closer. I sleep more soundly than I have in a week.
Even though my breasts will be cut out soon, life couldn’t be any better.
Shay
This. Is. Awesome.
Things will work out fine.
I mean, it sucks my girlfriend is getting a mastectomy.
Huh. My girlfriend.
I like the sound of that. As far as girlfriends go, mine is the prettiest, funniest, and bravest, ever.
I wasn’t
kidding, though, when I said if surgery means I get to keep her around for a long time, it’s all good with me.
Breasts can be replaced.
Thea is irreplaceable.
Exhaustion kicks in. Thea slept on me for hours. When we moved to the bed, all I wanted to do was lie awake and admire her in the pale silver moonlight filtering through the blinds once the rain subsides.
I need to get home and study. I’d bring my books over here, but there are too many distractions for me to get my work done.
This cold shower is doing the trick at waking me, that’s for sure.
My eyes are closed tight against the scented shampoo streaming into my face when the rings of the shower curtain scrape against the rod.
The water warms up, and steam rises. The tub creaks.
I rinse my hair and open my eyes. She sneaks in under the water.
“Ah, you’re a water hog?” I flick my fingers at her, splashing water in her face.
“I’d rather share.” Her arms snake around my waist and pull me closer. Water streams through her hair, pulling the curls loose. She presses into me, everything on her soft where I am sinew. She has no idea how hot she is.
My hands move from her waist to cup her butt. I’ve paid so much attention to her breasts, I’ve never noticed how gorgeous she is from behind.
Of course, I’d noticed. I’d always been a breast man, but I could learn to love butts.
Her butt.
She turns up her cute nose. I kiss it, then trail more kisses from her chin to her eyelids, which flutter closed as my lips approach.
Her fingers massage my triceps, and her groans of approval make me happy I stay fit.
If it pleases her, I’ll keep doing it.
I capture her mouth with mine, drinking in her kiss, her tongue darting out to massage mine.
She moves my hands to her chest in a frenzy. I hesitate.
She wants me to pay attention to them, but I don’t want her to think I only care about her breasts. I linger for a few minutes there as I knead the pliable flesh. I turn her around, pressing her into the wall, and kneel. My hands splay across her hips, her lush curves inviting me to kiss them.
My lips touch the skin where one thigh meets glute, and she sighs. I kiss the back of each leg, behind each knee, working my way back to the rounded curves. She giggles when I lick at the small of her back, and shivers when I trace my tongue along her spine.
