Goodbye to You (28 page)

They’ve got to understand her reasons. How could they not?

“Shay. Shay?” Marcy is trying to get my attention.

“Oh, yes, sorry. What were you saying?”

“Want to help get dessert ready?”

“Sure. Plates are . . .” I go to the cabinet she points to and pull out four stoneware plates, grabbing some plastic bowls for the kids.

Thea’s still talking, but everyone’s stopped crying. A good sign. Burt doesn’t appear angry, which Thea thought he might be.

Like I was angry about her withholding the information. Was I petty to be infuriated? Maybe. Now, though, I can help her through recovery. The entire process, from mastectomy to reconstruction, could take months, and she can’t do this alone, or rely strictly on her friends. They have lives, jobs, and responsibilities. I do too, but the most important thing I can do is take care of my future wife.

I run the idea through my head.

This is my wife.
Thea Kelly.

The name has a nice ring to it.

The proposal needs to be spectacular.

Deserving of Thea.

My future wife.

That was easier than I expected. Both of them had considered this a possibility.

I think Jen wishes she’d had a mastectomy instead of letting the cancer progress under an ineffectual treatment.

Daddy was relieved. Not happy I waited to tell them, scoffing at the idea of me “protecting” him. The protection role fell to him, as the father, he said before squeezing Jen and me into a rib-crushing group hug.

Luckiest girl in the world. That’s me.

We should get going, but I hesitate to pull Shay away from his fun. He’s running around the backyard with the kids, giving them piggyback rides and chasing them around the yard. Their delighted squeals sparkle in the air.

Jen squeezes in next to me in the rocker on the back porch and lays her head on my shoulder.

“That’s a good one you got. He’s okay with this?” Jen reaches over and pretends to squeeze my chest.

I’m relieved the old Jen is back. When she was at her lowest, retching and not eating and weak, she had no energy to be the spunky girl we all loved.

“Yeah, he is. He’s a professional. Well, he will be. He gets the medical implications. He understands it’s the smartest thing to do.”

“How is he, emotionally?”

I face her. “What do you mean?”

“Logically he knows it’s for the best, but these,” she motions to my chest, “are some spectacular girls you’re giving up. He’s okay with this? Is he a boob man or a butt man? Because you have enough of both to make any man happy.”

I slap her on the arm. “I thought boob man, but the other day, in the shower, he . . . I think he may be a butt man.”

A heat creeps from my neck to my cheeks. I fan myself with my hand and check the porch clock.

“Shay,” I call out, “sorry to break up the party, but we need to get back so you can study.”

“Thea Michelle McBride, you will tell me about all the dirty things this boy does to you.”

I jump from the rocker and dart off the back porch, calling back, “Never!”

The twins are fighting over turns for piggyback rides, and I settle the argument for them. “My turn!” I shout, jumping on Shay’s back and throwing my arms around his neck as he catches my legs in his arms. We chase the kids around the yard before we collapse in giggle fits, tangled up in tiny hugs and sticky lipped-kisses.

Shay catches my eye, and a knowing moment passes between us. I imagine being a mom, years down the road, holding his baby in my arms.

The first night we met in Key West was one of the best ever.

This night tops that one by a country mile.

Life is so good.

Tomorrow.

It’s tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I lose my breasts.

Even though they might try to kill me, I will still miss them.

I can’t help it. I’m obsessing, standing in the bathroom, staring at them in the mirror. My nipples, stiffened by the cool air, stare back at me. At least I get to keep them, for what it’s worth.

My new breasts won’t be totally foreign.

I jump at a knock on the door.

“Hey, are you coming out? I’m ready to start this binge-fest. Four hours left to eat whatever you want.”

He is ridiculously thoughtful. He picked up Tortellini Alfredo, sesame chicken, tacos, and a burger, all for us to share. Oh, right, and popcorn and chocolate ice cream.

“Yep, be right out.” I slip on my sports bra, panties, and pajamas and head out.

I’m greeted by the buttery, spicy, and savory aromas of my favorite foods.

The table is set with real dishes and silverware. Even stemware though we’re not drinking tonight. The lights are dimmed, and a single vanilla-scented pillar candle in the middle of the table illuminates the area.

The scene is so romantic. Like I should expect anything else from him.

“What’s this for?”

“I wanted to make the night special for my girl.”

His girl.

He still makes the butterflies flit around in my stomach when he says things like that. He pulls out my chair for me. “What shall I get you first, m’lady?” He bows with a flourish, and I giggle like an adolescent with her first crush.

I push my chair back to stand. “Shay, you don’t need to wait on me.”

“Oh, but I do. Where shall we go? Mexico? China? Italy?”

“Mexico! And bring the guac.”

“As you wish.” He bows again, and I throw my napkin at him.

So silly and considerate.

This has me worried. I know he says he can handle the nasty side of this—the drains, the potential infections, changing pads and cleaning incisions.

The emotional side will be far worse.

I am a raging bitch when I get my period and I’m cramping and my boobs are sore from water retention. What demon from hell will possess me when the incisions ooze and burn and the scars tingle and itch?

My pain threshold is low, and they won’t give me the “good stuff” for too many days. After I come home from the hospital, then what? A week or so on codeine before moving to ibuprofen.

Then I will mourn. Everyone in the support group who’d had their surgery described the aftermath like any other loss, with all its stages of grief.

Except there will be no denial. The girls will be gone, the tissue tested and relegated to the status of medical waste. So weird to think of my blood and ducts and flesh casually discarded.

I’m sad.
Bye, girls. Nice knowing you all these years. See you later in the big medical waste incinerator in the sky.

Morbid.

Shay slides my plate of tacos and guacamole in front of me and retrieves a couple bottles from the kitchen.

“Caffeinated, or decaffeinated?” He holds up two different bottles of pop.

“Definitely caffeinated.” I want to stay awake as long as I can. With him, with the girls.

With him touching and kissing the girls.

I want him to stay all night and bury his head in my chest, leaving me with warm memories of my last night with them. Maybe it’s silly, but it’s what I want.

He pours my drink, gets his own plate, and sits across from me, scooping pasta with his fork, soaking up sauce with the tangy garlic bread.

I wonder what I’d be doing tonight if he hadn’t come back into my life. Doing a girls’ night with Bennie and Leesh, I guess. Not sure we’d be eating like this since Leesh is low-carb since vacation. They’d probably want to drink.

I don’t want to party anymore. I like this. The quiet comfort of home. Of him.

Music plays in the background from my phone in its docking station.

We finish eating and move to the couch.

It might appear mundane to someone from the outside looking in, but nothing could be more meaningful than this. The raunchy comedy I’ve wanted to see since summer came out on DVD. The film’s hijinks might hold my attention any other night, but not tonight.

“Let’s go to bed,” I blurt out.

“But there’s still a ton left to eat.” He unfastens the button on his jeans. “I made room for more.”

It’s not even ten o’clock, and I’d insisted earlier we keep eating until midnight, after which I can’t eat per my pre-surgical orders. There are more urgent things to do. Like helping him finish taking his pants off.

I straddle his lap, his hard cock pressing into my thigh. He nuzzles my neck, dropping a kiss on the top of one breast peeking out from my tank top, and then the other as he stands.

I wrap my legs around his waist as I twine my arms around his strong neck, my body giving into primal urges beyond rational control.

He carries me to my room and sets me on the bed, undressing before sliding in next to me. I want to drink in the sight of him loving me tonight, so I turn on the light.

I undress like he did, leaving my panties on, and lay back.

The air is cool in my room, and gooseflesh raises on my skin. He leans over me, propped on one arm as he runs his fingertips along my side, skimming the side of my left breast.

I gasp at the faint brush, and I want more.

He must be able to read my mind, or else he has learned what I crave.

What I need in this moment.