How to Live on the Edge

by Sarah Lynn Scheerger

  “Besides—you’d never have to wear an itchy bra again!”

  “Well, Tee”—Lucy again—“if you get cold feet about the reconstruction, Vanessa swears by these bras she’s been wearing since she transitioned. I think the same company makes mastectomy bras. I can send you the info.”

  “Isn’t it the best when you find a bra that’s comfortable?”

  “Totally. A comfortable bra is more important than comfortable shoes.”

  “Just think—your nipples won’t get sore during your period.”

  “Will you even have nipples?”

  “Yes. They’re doing a nipple-sparing procedure.”

  “My nipples don’t get sore on my period. Just when I was breastfeeding.”

  “Oh, breastfeeding!” General murmurs of empathy. “Mine got all cracked and even bled a little. No one warned me about that.”

  “I loved breastfeeding. Especially when little Max would reach up and touch my chin. It was the coziest thing ever.”

  “I probably would have loved it if I wasn’t nursing twins. I tried to do them at the same time, you know, for efficiency, but I swear I felt like a cow.”

  “It was pumping that made me feel like a cow. All hooked up to that machine and everything. Ugh.”

  “Breast milk is liquid gold, ladies. People are selling it these days.”

  “Yeah, but I’d never give my baby someone else’s breast milk. That’s just weird to me.”

  “You would if it was a choice between that or formula.”

  “They make formula out to be this evil thing, but please.”

  “Easy, ladies, we’re scaring the children.” Suddenly all eyes are on Saff and me. We probably do look a little overwhelmed. We busy ourselves getting the cake ready to bring out, and by the time we set it on the table, they’ve toned it down. Kind of.

  “You know what we need to do?”

  “What?”

  “A lingerie photo shoot. So you and Luke can remember your pre-surgery body.”

  “Yeah, but ladies? My surgery is tomorrow.”

  “Then we’ll just have to make it happen today.”

  ✱✱✱

  Apparently a friend of a friend of a friend’s cousin is a professional photographer who has a studio in town, and since it’s midday Sunday, she has no photo shoots scheduled. After an appeal to a sense of solidarity with her fellow women, and an offer to double her traditional fee, she agrees to do what the ladies call a boudoir photo shoot.

  Saff and I watch Tee’s friends wet and blow-dry her hair, using a round brush to create extra volume. They ransack her undies drawer, selecting a lacy black bra and matching panties. They pick out a silky deep-blue nightie. They redo her makeup, adding thick black liner, fake lashes, a layer of powder, and ruby red lipstick.

  “She could be a model,” I whisper to Saff. “I hope I look that good when I hit thirty.”

  Nonna stumbles into the Minions’ bedroom to lie down, claiming fatigue, but I’m betting it’s just too much pink wine. The rest of us carpool over to the studio, stuffed in the back of some soccer mom’s car, next to a duffle bag that smells of sweaty cleats, Icy Hot, and wilted grass.

  We sit quietly in the darkened edges of the studio, watching Tee try not to get the giggles while arranging herself seductively for the cameras. Truthfully, she laughs most of the time. It’s hard not to, what with all her friends watching, as she places her hand behind her head, tilts herself back, and bats her eyes at the camera. I’m sure some of the shots will come out with her laughing, but honestly I think she’s prettiest that way. Her laugh lines crinkling, her lips spreading wide to expose gleaming white teeth.

  Somehow the other ladies start posing for photos too, albeit without the heavy makeup and hair prep, and just in their regular clothes, or in sexy nighties they’ve borrowed from Tee.

  “So you’re not offended by this?” I tease Saffron. “Aren’t we, like, objectifying their bodies here?”

  “We’re appreciating beauty. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re confusing. It’s okay for us to appreciate beauty but not okay for men to do that same thing?”

  “It’s all about choice.” Saffron speaks slowly, like I’m dense. “It’s about doing what makes you feel good, not just going along with other people’s standards or expectations.”

  “How about you two?” the photographer asks us, discovering our hiding spot in the corner. When we both hesitate, she adds, “No need for a lingerie shoot. Let’s just take them as you are right now.”

  So Saff and I run our fingers through our hair, apply the lipstick I keep in my purse, and pose. The photographer arranges us. Places my arm around Saff’s shoulders, leans my head against her, and snaps. Has us lie on our backs, facing in opposite directions, and snaps. Catches us laughing at the wild things the ladies are saying in the background, and snaps. Has Tee get dressed, then kneel behind us with her arms draped around our shoulders, and snaps.

  We drive home in Tee’s car. “Great party, girls,” she says, smiling at us in the rearview mirror with some mixture of appreciation and apprehension. “You did good. This was the perfect last day with my breasts.”

  “You ready for tomorrow?” Saff asks.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Chapter 17

  Tee’s scheduled check-in time at the hospital is at the ungodly hour of 5:45 a.m.—on a Monday, no less. The sound of the shower at five nudges me awake. Shortly after, Tee peeks her head into my darkened room.

  “Nervous?” I ask softly, so she knows I’m awake. I scoot back to make more room.

  “A little,” she admits, padding over to my bed and easing herself down. Her just-washed hair drips on my face.

  “You can back out. Or postpone.”

  “No—it’s the responsible thing to do.” There’s a mix of emotions in her voice. “For my girls. I want to be at every one of their school plays. I want to be the one to explain to them about periods and teach them how to drive. I want to be at their weddings. I have to do this.” She shakes her hair, and little shampoo-scented droplets splatter on me. “Take care of my babies while I’m gone, okay?”

  “No problem.” I wipe the dampness off. “This is practically a vacation for you. You get to lie in a bed, someone will bring you food—”

  “With a morphine drip,” Tee adds, some humor creeping in. “You’re right. Now all I need is a massage.”

  “But seriously.” I reach my hand out, searching for her fingers. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” she says, accepting my hand. “And good luck surviving my kids.” After a moment she adds, “Cayenne. I’ve been thinking. The mastectomy isn’t a cakewalk, but timing the oophorectomy will be an even harder decision. I kind of wish I’d known about my mutation earlier. I might’ve started having kids younger, maybe had more of them—”

  “The stress is causing you to lose your mind,” I say. “More kids? The Minions are plenty of work as it is.”

  She forces a laugh. “Well, it’s just—all of this might’ve been easier if I’d had more time to plan. I think you and Saff should seriously consider getting tested for the BRCA gene soon.”

  “Maybe. Someday.”

  “You can decide when. I just—I—information is power, you know?”

  “Yeah, and ignorance is bliss.”

  “I understand not wanting to know. Especially because you’re both so young. Just start thinking about it.” She lets go of my hand, stands up, and moves softly toward the door.

  “Wait, Tee?”

  “What?” She half turns at the door frame.

  “I love you.”

  She catches the words with some surprise. We’re not really an “I love you” kind of family. I hear Luke say it to the Minions sometimes. But Tee uses those words sparingly. And I say them . . . uh . . . never. I mean who would I say them to? My sister? That’d be weird, wouldn’t it? She’d probably laugh. I’m totally in love with Axel, but I don’t use those words with him ei
ther.

  Tee stands there in the doorway, the hallway light outlining her frame, and smiles. “I love you too, Miss Cayenne Pepper. Stay spicy.”

  I lie in bed for a while after she leaves, just savoring the warmth of my comforter, the silky sheets that mold to my skin, the sound of the overhead fan shushing, and the smell of flowery shampoo. Maybe her words leave warmth too, coating me with something sweet and good, perhaps a chocolate shell. I do like chocolate.

  Sleep grabs hold of me, pulling me downward, and I see an image of Lorelei dancing with flowy scarves in both hands. She wraps a silky red scarf around a woman, like a constricting python, until she is trapped. I cannot see the woman’s face.

  I wake again at nearly seven, which means I’m already twenty minutes behind schedule. I’ve got a toy hunt to orchestrate. Saff and I decided it’s our mission to make this surgery day filled with fun for the Minions. They don’t really understand what’s going on, but they’ll definitely miss their mom, and we want to keep them distracted.

  Before I even brush my teeth, I grab my hand-drawn treasure map and a box of trinkets. I zip around the house, planting toys in semi-hidden places, and finally I tape the treasure map onto their bathroom mirror, anticipating the squeals of excitement when they discover it. I might have even more fun with this than they will. And honestly, I’m probably benefitting from the distraction more too. I don’t want to think about Tee, lying on a cold operating table, while they . . .

  Ugh. Don’t want to picture it. I don’t even feel up to joking about it today—it’s too real.

  ✱✱✱

  Nonna and Papa pick up the Minions before school and in the afternoon Saff and I will join them at the mall. After the longest school day ever, we arrive at the shopping center and Saff messages Nonna to ask where we should meet.

  “Oh, how adorable!” she says when Nonna texts her back. “The girls are getting haircuts. They decided they want to donate their hair!”

  “Aw, Luke’s gonna be so bummed,” I remark. “He loves their hair.”

  “Cayenne. Sometimes I can’t stand listening to you, and I mean that in the most loving way possible.” Saff half-shoves me, but not hard enough to make me stumble. We step onto the escalator. “Do you even hear yourself? It’s their hair, not his. He doesn’t own it. And it’s replaceable.”

  “Sure, but he’s their dad and they’re little. Isn’t he supposed to make decisions for them? Like how he makes them eat broccoli even though they gag?”

  “Different, Cayenne, and you know it. Long hair isn’t healthier for you than short hair. And I doubt Luke would care about his kids getting haircuts if they were boys.”

  I glance up. We still have a lot of escalator ahead of us. Sometimes I don’t know how to navigate these conversations with Saff. I’m just talking about hair, but somehow, she’s extending this way further.

  Saff’s revving up. “So if you asked Luke, he’d insist that he’s a feminist, that women can do anything they want—he’d encourage his girls to be firefighters if they wanted, he’d say they can do whatever they put their minds to. But he’d have no problem telling his daughters not to cut their hair, even though that’s inherently sexist.”

  I watch her out of the corner of my eye. My sister loves lecturing me about my shallow mindset, but she’s being even more intense than usual. “Are you . . . okay, Saff?”’

  “I’m fine,” she snaps. “It’s just—Vanessa’s brother is being shitty to her again and it pisses me off. Apparently last night when their mom got back from the party, he joked that if Aunt Tee didn’t want her breasts anymore, maybe Vanessa could take them.”

  I wince. “God, that is shitty.” My heart hurts for Vanessa.

  I suddenly realize that all this talk of breasts and ovaries and womanhood probably feels way different for someone like Vanessa than it does for me. Maybe that should’ve occurred to me earlier, like before I yelled about boobs in a crowded grocery store. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive—just funny. But sometimes those two things overlap in ways that don’t occur to me. Typically I don’t spend too much time worrying about offending or hurting anyone, because my humor is who I am, take it or leave it. But maybe I need to rethink that approach.

  “And it’s been years since she transitioned and he still says messed-up stuff like that. So the thought of a guy getting to dictate a woman’s relationship with her body feels extra gross right now.”

  “I get it,” I say cautiously. “But also—that’s totally not the same. We’re just talking about haircuts. What Vanessa’s dealing with is on a whole other level.”

  “God, Cayenne. I wasn’t trying to equate the two. I just think everyone should be in charge of their own bodies. That’s all.”

  When we enter the hair salon, we both paste on cheerful expressions. Missy and Maggie are facing large mirrors. Their hair curls around their ears, and their little eyes are gleaming. “Cay! Saff! We’re helping!”

  “It was their idea,” Nonna explains proudly. “We were talking about how Mommy’s doing her surgery so that she won’t get sick, and they had all these questions about what kind of sick, and we explained about cancer and hair loss, and before we knew it they were asking how they could help, and I told them some people donate their hair . . . and then they insisted on it.” Nonna smiles at us. “I have some pretty impressive grandkids.” It’s so strange to be included in that statement, and I decide not to burst her bubble by telling her Luke will disapprove.

  Nonna and Papa insist on treating us all to a snack at the food court, and none of us argue. Ryan/Dad meets us there, and I notice how he slurps his noodles extra loud to make the Minions laugh. I wonder if he did that kind of thing when I was little. Saff is still standoffish with him, but I’m finding it harder to resent him. He really does seem like someone doing his best, even if his best falls short.

  We’re on kid-duty for the rest of the day, so after the hand-off, Saff and I surprise the Minions with a trip to Mom’s secret garden spot. We boost them up to climb trees, we lie on our backs and fly them in the air on our feet, we practice somersaults. When laughter from the park calls to them, we push them on the swings and send them soaring high. I’ve stuffed my pockets with candies, and I hide them throughout the park, sending them on their second treasure hunt of the day.

  I follow them around, recording videos. I’ll document this week, put it to music, and give it to Tee as a get-well gift. “I’m going to start taking videos of the girls,” I tell Saff. “Maybe I’ll make them a video compilation of every year of their life.” I’m already thinking of what to title year four. Fabulous fours? Frustrating Fours?

  “Mom’s rubbing off on you,” Saff teases, her mood vastly improved.

  “Nah.” I hold my hand to my heart in an overly dramatic way. “I just want to document these precious moments for posterity.” I fake-swoon. “Because time flies.” Saff just shakes her head and giggles. It’s the truth though. I really do want to start videoing the girls so they have these memories when they’re older.

  Afterward we crash at home for a princess movie marathon. About ten minutes in, Saff and I escape to the kitchen to pop popcorn, sprinkling extra salt and drizzling melted butter.

  Luke texts us. Surgery’s done. She’s in recovery now. All went well.

  “Seriously?” I check the time on my phone. It’s after five. “How long was that surgery?”

  “Her check-in time was probably way before they actually started,” says Saff. “Plus, Tee told me the reconstruction would take a lot longer. She had the option of doing it all at once, or doing the reconstruction in smaller procedures over time, and she opted to get it over with.”

  “Ooo, too bad I’ll never find out what half-reconstructed boobs look like.” I crunch a halfway popped kernel, deciding that now that it’s all over, I’m allowed to joke again. I’m a little surprised at the intensity of the relief I feel. I didn’t even realize I was holding in so much tension all day long. I’m so glad it’s done and she�
�s okay.

  Saff looks unamused, so I change the subject. “Hey, now that the hard part is over, you want to tag team with the Minions for the rest of the night? I need a break. How about I go hang with Axel for a few hours, and then you get a turn to escape with Fletcher?”

  “That sounds really nice, actually,” Saff agrees. “I don’t know how people do this parenting thing full time. It’s exhausting.”

  That’s not the only part of this day I’m finding exhausting, but I’m sure some time with Axel will be the distraction I need.

  Chapter 18

  “Let’s head up. We’ve got two hours before we have to be back to relieve Saff.” I double check my phone clock one more time before stowing it with my purse and my shoes under Axel’s passenger seat.

  “It’s too early.” Axel keeps one hand on the wheel while lifting his other to gesture at the sinking sun. We’re going to jump Mesa Ridge tonight, and Axel thinks part of the fun is walking up in darkness. “I can keep us entertained down here.” He leans in close, pressing his lips to mine.

  “I know you can.” I kiss him, but slowly pull back. Saff wants me home in time for her and Fletch to catch a nine o’clock movie. “But let’s walk up now. We’ll get situated up there, watch the sun set, have some alone time with only the sun as our witness, and then when the time is right . . . experience the rush of our lives.”

  “Well, when you say it like that . . .” Axel smooths my hair, his hands gentle.

  “And arrive home in time for my wonderfully neurotic sister.” I get of the car and start for the path, gesturing for him to follow me.

  “So how’s your aunt doing?” He catches up quickly and steps onto a huge rock. He reaches his hand down to me and I let him pull me up beside him.

  “Surgery’s over. It went well. But she was under anesthesia for most of the day. Intense.” His legs are longer than mine, so I have to work to get up that rock. My quad muscles thank me with an appreciative ache.

  “Extreme, if you ask me,” Axel says, still holding my hand. “Letting the fear of death dictate how she lives her life.”