I remove my sling and go ahead and lie down while I wait. On the ceiling is a poster of texting slang. The poster looks old; the bottom right corner has detached and is hanging down.
There’s a light tap on the door, so I sit up on my right elbow. The doctor looks at the opening in the gown, then at my left arm, and then the sling on the floor. “I take it you’re ready to be through with the sling?”
I nod.
“Everything looks good vital sign wise. Now let’s take a peek at your collar bone.”
I lie back again and stare up at the letters LOL as he touches my arm and says, “Any numbness, tingling, or pain in your left arm or shoulder?”
“No.”
“I’m going to look at your chest now,” he says, without any emotion in his voice.
I squeeze my eyes shut as he opens the gown all the way. His cool fingers touch my bare flesh, and I grimace.
“Is it painful when I touch here?”
“No.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
I open my eyes. “I just, no one has touched me there since you…. I don’t want anyone near my chest, but I know you need to make sure everything is healing properly.”
“Have you been talking to a therapist like we discussed?”
“I have.”
He says, “Good,” as he closes the gown. “You can sit up now. I’m all finished. Everything looks great. You can go back to using your left arm as you did before the accident. Your chest is healing nicely. I’m going to put in a referral for you to see a reconstructive plastic surgeon.”
I watch as he taps on his keyboard. My anxiety has been high and keeping me up most nights. I have to ask the question I’m unsure I’ll like the answer to. “Do I need chemo or radiation?”
“I have reviewed your scans, and I had two other colleagues review them as well. There will be no need for chemo or radiation at this time, but I do want you to follow up every six months for scans.”
I wiggle the fingers on my left hand and stretch my arm above my head. “I can do that. Am I free to return to work?”
“Yes, do you need a work release?”
“I do.” I’m surprised GrindHouse hasn’t fired me yet.
“I just want you to know your husband had a hard call to make, but in my professional opinion, I think he made the best choice he could with what little amount of time we gave him.”
“Ex.”
“What?”
“Ex-husband. We’re no longer married.”
GrindHouse said I could wait until next week to come back, but I’m pretty antsy just sitting at home. I would have written a novel while I was stuck at home, but I was unable to use my left hand the last couple weeks.
It’s Friday which means the boys will be gone to spend the weekend with their father before I even get home from work. I’m still ignoring Stephen, and I don’t think I’ll ever speak directly to him again.
I’ve only been at work ten minutes when Brice walks into my office. He reeks of infidelity. He sits on the edge of my desk with his right leg lying on some of my papers and his left foot planted on the carpet. “Glad to see ya back, toots.”
I try to pull the papers out from under his knee. “I’m sure you did just fine while I was away.”
“We did. The boss loved that book. He said he wanted to get me a new assistant, but I begged him to keep you.”
I give him a questioning look. “Why would you do that?”
“Oh, I have my reasons.” He picks up a pencil from my desk and uses it to flip a strand of my hair. “Did you do something different with your hair?”
“Nope, it’s been blonde my entire life.”
“I was just going to say it looks nice.”
I wish he would get out of my office. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah, the boss would like a coffee, and I want one too. And why did you hide the fact that you have published novels and that one of them is on the New York Times best sellers list?”
How does he know I wrote anything? I wrote them under pseudonyms. I didn’t know the one became a best seller. I knew it was close though. “I haven’t written anything.”
“You’re a liar. You wrote a book under that dead chick’s name. One of those sleazy sex books women like so much. Why wouldn't you want to take the credit for it?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he huffs as he removes himself from my desk, and when he reaches the door he barks, “Go get the coffee.”
I went out to dinner last night with Inez and Juliet. I didn’t really feel like it, but both the doctor and the therapist said I should try to do things that make me happy. The people who make me the happiest are Atticus and Sawyer, but they were gone. I’ve always loved spending time with Inez.
We ate and talked about childhood memories. Juliet had been investigating a person who supposedly had been suspected of having child pornography. She said although she didn’t find any child pornography in his trash, she did see him sit on his porch every afternoon and watch the children on his street get off the bus. He never moved from his spot on the stoop, but with some more time, she thinks he’ll slip up.
It was nice talking about something that didn’t have anything to do with me and my situation. They asked about Malcom, and I didn’t really know what to say, so I just acted like I didn’t hear them. I’m sure he’s reached out to Inez by now. He messages me good morning and good night every day. I never respond.
He no longer adds Sugar Tits. He still uses Sugar though, and I’m not sure why, but I’m glad he does that. It gives me hope. Hope that maybe after I get out of this funk, we can maybe try again. I miss him.
I want to ask how Elsie’s doing, but I don’t. I never respond. Sometimes I type a message to him, but I always end up deleting it before I hit send.
It’s Saturday night, and Inez and Juliet said they were going to watch Malcom and Diego play at the sports complex. They invited me, but I told them I didn’t want to go. I really do want to go, though. I want to see him, but I’m also scared he’s gone back to one of his females or maybe he’s found a new one.
One with boobs. One who isn’t so messed up and doesn’t have as much baggage.
I’m just going to go. I can sit with Inez and Juliet, and it will be a normal activity. I’m supposed to be doing normal things anyway.
As I get ready, I make sure not to look in the mirror as I change my shirt. I no longer have to wear a bra. I don’t even have nipples anymore. I don’t really feel like a woman.
I grab a pen and a piece of paper and write down that I no longer feel like a woman now that my nipples are gone. I think, even if I do not get implants, I will at least get nipples tattooed on. Maybe that would help.
It’s not time to leave yet, so I do a Google search on the best nipple tattoo artists. Looks like I’ll be making a trip to Maryland in the near future.
Stephen bought me a brand-new Subaru Outback. It was waiting at my parents’ for me. I hadn’t told him where my new place was, so he had the dealership leave it there. It’s hunter green. It’s nice. I hate it. I hate anything that reminds me of him. As soon as I can get my own vehicle, I’ll be giving this one back to him.
The boys got their learners’ permits while I was in the hospital, and they’ve already been looking at cars. Thankfully, Stephen has agreed to purchase them something more practical for teenagers.
I make sure to arrive late. On my way over, I decided to not tell Inez I was coming. I don’t even know if I’ll stay. My heart has been hurting on the way over, and my Apple watch keeps telling me to breathe. I took an anxiety pill before I left the house, but I don’t think it’s kicked in yet.
I pay and walk into the complex. I stand at the back of the bleachers and search for Malcom out on the field. I find him protecting the goal on the right side of the field. I see Diego doing some cool footwork side to side, and then he turns around a player before kicking the ball into the goal on the left side. The anno
uncer yells, “Look at that hat trick by Diego Suarez.”
I’ll have to ask Malcom what a hat trick is, but I’m not talking to Malcom right now, so I’ll just have to Google it.
At halftime I go wait in my car until the game starts again. I watch as Dropping Balls puts a hurting on the other team. When there is only a few minutes left, I leave. I don’t want Inez or Juliet to see me and ask why I didn’t sit with them.
My phone vibrates in the cup holder as I click my seatbelt into place.
Malcom: I saw you. Why’d you leave?
I ignore it and drive to my house. When I get home, I find the number to the tattoo parlor in Maryland and call them.
“Yes, I’d like to schedule an appointment for nipple tattoos.”
An annoyed tone comes through the line, “Has it been at least eight weeks since your mastectomy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have fake tits?”
“No.”
“Do you plan to get some?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. I can’t see them, but I know they’re rolling their eyes at me. I’m rolling my eyes at myself.
“You should really get them first if you’re going to get them. They need to heal before you get the tattoos.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about that. “I’ll call you back.”
I guess I have a decision to make. Do I want new ones? Or do I just want nipples? I know I definitely want some nipples. Even though they’ll never get erect, maybe I’d at least be able to stand looking at myself in the mirror.
THIRTY-SIX
I saw my therapist last night. We went over my notes, and we talked about me getting fake breasts. I called and made a consulting appointment for a pair of them at a place that had great reviews for post-mastectomy reconstruction. I go in two weeks.
I had to work late since I took off early yesterday to go to my therapy appointment. I told the boys I would watch an NBA game with them tonight, and it had already started before I got home. They didn’t seem upset.
Sawyer is on my right with Atticus on my left. Neither one of them are touching me. They both stare at the screen.
I don’t think I have been being the best mom I can be. They used to always snuggle with me on the couch. I don’t know if it’s because they are getting older or if it’s because I haven’t been giving them hugs as much since before the wreck.
I pull them closer to me by their shoulders. I’m no longer in any physical pain. It’s only mental pain now, and I realize I could be causing my boys mental pain by not being affectionate to them. We talked about the difference between mental and physical pain at my appointment yesterday.
Sawyer and Atticus lean their heads against me, and I kiss the tops of their heads.
I hold them until the game is over.
Stephen didn’t come and get the boys. He said Kitty had baby things they had to handle this weekend. Something about she had to get all the baby stuff out of the house, or she was going to have a psychotic break. Or that’s what the boys told me. I hope she goes crazy and drives him insane in the process.
Sawyer is up in his room with Amy, and Atticus left to hang out with some buddies from school.
I hear the stairs creak. I’m sitting in the living room on the couch looking out the window at the evening sky. Sawyer comes in alone and sits down on the other end of the couch. He keeps taking deep breaths in and letting them out slowly.
“What’s going on?” I ask. He’s starting to stress me out. He looks anxious. I don’t want him to have anxiety problems like me.
“Amy and I were wondering; well, I was really. Could she stay the night tonight?” He bites his lip and stares down at the couch cushion.
I cannot even hide the shocked look on my face. I cannot believe he just asked me if his girlfriend could stay the night. I shake my head and say, “No.”
He looks sad. He stands without another word and walks with his head hung low in defeat.
When he makes it to the stairwell, I ask, “Why did you ask that, Sawyer?’
He comes back and whispers, “She seems scared. Too frightened to go home. I don’t know why. She won’t tell me. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew it was getting late, and you would be taking her home soon.”
“Amy, can you come down here please?” I yell. Less than a minute later, she’s standing in front of me staring at her feet. She’s wearing some of the things we bought at Christmas, but it’s a little dingy and could use a washing. “Honey, why are you scared to go home?”
Her voice is low and quiet when she says, “I told Sawyer it was fine. You can take me home now.”
“I’d really like to know what’s going on.” Why would she be too scared to go home? No one should be scared to be at home. It should be the one place you feel the most secure.
“Well, you see… My mom got a new boyfriend, and he’s been acting strange around me. Stares at me all the time. I caught him watching me change yesterday. He was standing at my bedroom door and just watching. The door was only open a little, but he could see me, and I was in only my underwear.”
“Did you tell your mom?” I question.
“Yeah, she told me to put a knife in the door so he couldn’t open it.”
That’s all the advice she gave the poor girl. “She didn’t ask him to leave?”
“No.”
“Is he there now?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you can stay here tonight, but only for tonight and you have to sleep on the couch.”
Sawyer says, “Mom, I’ll sleep on the couch. She can have my bed.”
“Okay that’s fine. I’ll be sleeping with my door open, so don’t try any funny business in the middle of the night. I’ll hear.”
I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Not only did I lie awake and listen for the slightest noise, but it was also the first time Atticus had spent the night away at a friend’s house in a while. I was scared I’d get a call in the middle of the night saying he was in danger. Thankfully, I never did.
I ended up falling asleep at nine. I’m just now waking up and it’s three in the afternoon. So much for keeping an eye on the kids. They can have sex during the day too, I remind myself.
I wake up to a text from Atticus saying he’s staying at his friend’s again, a text from Sawyer saying that Mom took him and Amy out to dinner, and a good morning message from Malcom.
I miss him.
I resist the urge to text him back.
I’ve taken a bath, read part of a book, and even made a lasagna. I’m bored out of my mind, and I can’t quit thinking about Malcom.
I need to see him.
I hop in my car and drive to his house. His car is missing from the driveway, but I knock anyway. I walk around the porch and look through the big windows, nothing. No movement. No one is home. I sigh.
I get back in my vehicle and make my way to Angie’s. Maybe he’s there dropping off or picking up Elsie. He’s not there. I drive past my parents’ on the way out of the neighborhood and see that they’re sitting on the porch. I wave.
The only other place he might be is The Brew & View. He used to go there every Saturday night with Diego. When I pull up, I don’t see his Explorer, but I go inside and check anyway. He’s not here either. Neither is Diego.
I bet Diego would know where he is.
Me: Do you have any idea where Malcom might be right now?
Diego: I might.
Me: I’d like to know.
Diego: Why?
Me: OMG, just tell me!
Diego: Okay, okay, you don’t have to be so agressiva. He’s practicing on the high school futebol field tonight. Our game was canceled.
I’m sure Diego is mad at me for ignoring his friend for the last two weeks, but I don’t care if his feelings are hurt right now.
I didn’t even think that he might have a game tonight. I head to the field. On my way over, I begin to question my outfit and my appearance. I tried wearing a padded bra to make it lo
ok like I had boobs, but the underwire hit right on my scars and I didn’t like the way it felt.
I hate how flat my chest is, so I wear oversized sweaters and hoodies all the time now. It’s the beginning of May, and it’s not really cold enough to be wearing them, but I’d rather be stared at for wearing the wrong clothes for the season than be stared at for having no breasts.
When I reach the field behind the high school, there’s only one car. His car. He doesn’t notice me drive up, or if he does, he doesn't stop. I watch as he runs around the field. He isn’t kicking a soccer ball or anything. There’s a track that circles around the soccer field, and he’s running laps.
He’s wearing only ball shorts. No shirt. It’s not hot enough to warrant his bare chest, but it’s not cold enough either for my sweater.
I get out of my car and walk to the fence. I place my fingers through the link holes and watch him take another lap. I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but I already feel better just being close to him. Maybe my anxiety pill kicked in, but I like to believe he’s the reason my anxiety has decreased.
I move to the opening in the fence, walk onto the track, and out onto the field. When he sees me, he stops running. He bends over with his hands on his knees, panting.
His eyes are on me.
He walks slowly as if he’s skeptical if it’s really me or not.
I smile.
He smiles.
A drop of sweat rolls down his face as he reaches me.
“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” I say, knowing it isn’t the right thing to say, but having no clue how to start the conversation.
“Are you finished now? I’m not sure if I can take another minute of being apart from you. I’ve felt like a piece of me went missing. I would like it back now.”
“I’m yours.”
He still hasn’t touched me. I miss his touch. I fling my arms around his neck and talk into his sweaty chest. “I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”
He wraps his right arm around my waist and uses his left hand to move my face by my chin. He peers into my eyes as he speaks, “Everyone’s a little messed up. If they say they aren’t, they’re lying. Something happened to you, something unexpected. I figured it would take time to process.”
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