by Susan Wiggs
Her hand came up and touched her right breast. Not all of her would be coming back. It was hard to think about how radically different her body would look, but she reminded herself that the breast was diseased; it had to be excised to save her life. There was nothing more precious, not a body part, not vanity, but life, and those she held dear. “We’re going to be okay,” she said to the little stranger inside her. She refused to think about the alternative.
Sonnet and Greg were chatty as they drove, but Nina couldn’t focus on their words. She wore a small smile, listening to their nervous chatter but not really hearing what they said.
In the first waiting room, they stuck to her like glue. She paged through a magazine, browsing through recipes for braised chicken and frosted cupcakes. Every time she glanced up at Greg, he was watching her, his expression both earnest and helpless. Sonnet, too, wore that face, desperate to help, but there wasn’t anything they could give her, not a glass of water, a cookie, a word of encouragement that hadn’t already been said.
“I don’t need anything more,” she told them softly. “You two have already given me everything I need.”
Greg took her hand. Sonnet said, “Oh, Mom. You’ve been through everything with me. I wish I could give you even a fraction of what you’ve given me.”
Nina’s heart swelled. Yes, she was afraid, but the love she felt from her daughter and husband wrapped around her like a cloak. She felt worse for them than she did for herself, knowing that soon she’d be unconscious while they worried and waited.
Time dragged, and then sped up when a nurse came to take her into the next room. “Patients only,” the nurse said, holding the door for Nina. She paused and turned back with a smile and a wave. Then the door hissed shut behind her.
She took a few steps into the next waiting room. Then a flash of panic shot through her. “I forgot to kiss them goodbye,” she whispered. Oh, God. What if something went wrong? What if she never saw them again?
“You’ll be with them soon,” the nurse assured her.
Nina caught the unspoken message—don’t add to the drama with a long, panicked goodbye. She nodded and took a seat in an oversized lounge chair. There were four other women having either a mastectomy or a lumpectomy that day. The wait dragged on, there in that windowless room, with only a few tattered magazines and a droning television for company. After a while, Nina was taken to change her clothes for a robe and thick compression socks. Her breast and underarm were marked with a black marker to specify the surgery site and what had to be done. She regarded the proceedings with a curious detachment, until the anaesthesiologist came in to talk to each patient. Then the fear rolled back in like a wave.
One by one, each woman went into surgery, like virgins to sacrifice, solemn and silently fearful. Then only Nina remained. When her turn came up, she paused for a moment, frozen by the knowledge that her body was about to be forever transformed. She was losing her breast willingly, but it was still a loss to be acknowledged. She smoothed her hand over herself, silently sending a message of gratitude that she’d nursed her baby daughter with it twenty-eight years ago.
Now she was impatient to get it done. She paced back and forth, restless as a caged animal, hunger gnawing inside her, as she hadn’t eaten a bite since the night before. Finally a nurse escorted her to the pre-op room. By now she was used to the procedure—the high gurney, the IVs, the monitors. A chill hummed in the air, and even the thick blanket they gave her failed to keep the shivers at bay. One of the nurses held her hand and they chatted. Nina knew she wouldn’t remember anything they talked about.
In the operating room, which was even colder, she was lifted onto the table. Someone told her she’d be feeling very sleepy.
“Nothing’s happening,” she murmured, feeling a resurgence of panic. There were things she had left undone. There were things she’d forgotten to say to people. She hadn’t thanked her parents for loving and supporting her. She’d forgotten to kiss Greg one last time. She should have reassured Sonnet more, told her how proud she was of her and how much she loved her. She should have put that all on the video in her last session with Zach, but she’d neglected to do that. If something happened and she never woke up, would her family know how very much she loved them, how very sorry she was that she had to go?
* * *
Sonnet thought she was prepared for the sight of her mother shortly after the surgery. Even so, the gray tone of her skin, the tubes and drips, the streaks of amber disinfectant and the slack exhaustion in Nina’s eyes shocked her. There was a drain leading down to a clear pouch of blood on the floor.
Greg seemed wrung out by worry as he bent and gingerly placed a kiss on Nina’s forehead.
“I don’t exactly look minty fresh, do I?” Nina asked with a glimmer of a smile.
“Nope,” Sonnet said, “and we don’t care. How do you feel?”
“Other than starving to death, surprisingly good, I guess thanks to this delicious cocktail of painkillers. I might be less happy when they wear off.”
“The surgeon already spoke to us,” Greg said, “and he’ll be in to see you soon. It’s good news.”
Her mom glanced down at her chest, the right side covered by layers of bandaging. “It’s gone.”
“Yes,” said Greg, “and that’s the good news. I wrote it down—complete surgical excision and negative axillary nodes.”
Nina seemed to go limp on the pillow. “Wow. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“In other news, you get to eat,” Sonnet said. “We brought you a milk shake—banana mango. That’s still your favorite, right?”
“I didn’t know she had a favorite milk shake,” Greg said.
“When I was little, we used to get a milk shake every Friday after Mom got off work. We ordered every flavor on the menu until we figured out our favorites.”
Nina sipped from the straw. “That’s delicious. I thought I was going to pass out from hunger before the surgery.”
Sonnet’s phone vibrated with an incoming text message. “Orlando,” she said. “He wants to know how you’re doing.”
“Better now,” Nina said.
“I owe Orlando a big thank you,” Sonnet said. “It was nice of him, right? Bringing in his aunt for a consult?”
“Very nice, Sonnet. He’s very…nice.”
“Why do I get the feeling ‘nice’ is a code word for something you’re not saying?”
“Maybe because there’s something she’s not saying,” Greg suggested.
Nina sipped her milk shake. “Okay, I’ll just say it. I wish I sensed more passion in this relationship, Sonnet. The two of you seem so…nice together. I want so much for you, and know you have to find it on your own. I want you to love him, if that’s what will make you happy. I want you to be in love with him, head over heels, and I want that love to make you so happy you might just burst.”
“Whoa. Those are some drugs you’re on,” said Greg.
“Maybe I am that happy,” Sonnet said. How could she not be? Orlando really was everything her father had told her—smart, helpful, professional. She felt guilty for wishing exactly what her mother had voiced—that he was just a tad more romantic. Or—she might as well be honest with herself—a lot more romantic. She reminded herself that romance was fleeting; there were more important things than that. Orlando was the person she should be with. In the midst of the fear and uncertainty, he was nothing but helpful.
“Are you?” her mother asked.
&
nbsp; “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I’m resting. If I rest any more, I’ll be a corpse.”
“Don’t be morbid.” Sonnet handed her a water bottle with a straw. “Hydrate.”
* * *
There was no let-up in Nina’s battle. The chemo treatments continued, now with the added challenge of recovering from surgery. This was when the friends and family kicked in. Sonnet had never seen anything like it.
People came to the house with offerings like pilgrims to Lourdes. There were casseroles from Greg’s mother Jane and a tagine from his brother, Philip, who had just taken a class in Moroccan cooking. Jenny Majesky McKnight, the owner of Sky River Bakery, arrived with her signature Irish Cream Cake and a new indulgence, Pavlova with fresh fruit. Olivia Bellamy Davis, manager of Camp Kioga, took time every other day to do a power walk with Nina, and worked through the recommended range-of-motion exercises to help with the healing.
But the irony was, with all the outpouring of generosity from friends and family, Nina got sicker.
In a silent state of terror, Sonnet found herself staying up late at night browsing the web for information, and nagging the medical team by phone for ways to make things better.
The biggest issue was that Nina couldn’t stand to eat, particularly right after chemo. Sonnet tried not to fret, but it was impossible to watch her mother pick at her food, or stare out the window, her brain fuzzy from fatigue and the poisonous cocktail of drugs.
She seemed exhausted all the time, though she insisted her spirits were good. Sonnet recognized the anxiety and discomfort in the twingey expression on her face, and her slow movements. “They say my hair’s going to start falling out in a week or two,” Nina said.
Sonnet still cringed when she thought of what she’d blurted on set about being fearful about her mother losing her hair. It seemed so petty to worry about her mom’s hair in the face of everything else. But she knew why she was afraid. A bald woman might as well walk around with a sandwich board on her chest, announcing, “Cancer Patient.” She knew her mom would hate that. Worst of all, she might be one of the unlucky ones, the ones who lost the battle.
She tried to shrug off a sick fear. “Nonna brought over your favorite,” she said, setting a platter on the table with a flourish. “Caprese salad and pasta with butter tomato sauce. With salted rosemary focaccia bread.”
With an expression of sheer determination, Nina took a seat. “That’s pretty much everyone’s favorite. I’m getting extremely spoiled. The whole town is spoiling me.”
“Same as you would do for anyone else,” Sonnet pointed out.
“She did the same thing for my uncle,” Greg reminded her, offering a tender smile. His most adventurous relative, the elderly George Bellamy, had returned to Willow Lake, gravely ill, for his final adventure—to make amends for the past and to be with his family one last time. “She made him her mind-blowing lasagna once a week for a whole summer.”
“The kind with the bechamel sauce?” asked Sonnet. “We should make some, Mom. If that doesn’t give you a craving, I don’t know what will.”
Nina picked at her salad. Sonnet could tell she was trying not to worry her and Greg, which only worried her more.
“Lasagna sounds good. Oh, and I made you something.” She handed Sonnet a gift bag.
“What’s this? Besides a way to avoid the topic of eating.”
“Just a little something, Miss Smarty-Pants. I took up embroidery to give my hands something to do during chemo.”
Sonnet reached into the bag and pulled out a decorative pillow. The face of it was embroidered in fancy lettering. “‘Don’t get so busy you forget to fall in love,’” she read aloud. “I can’t believe you remembered saying that to me right before Daisy’s wedding.”
“I don’t say profound things very often,” Nina admitted. “This one stuck with me. Seemed like a good reminder for anyone.”
“But especially me,” Sonnet said, slowly putting the pillow back in the bag. “I’ll keep it in mind, Mom.”
“Tell me about your week. I feel as if I’ve been to another planet and back. What did you do on the show?”
“We faced our fears,” said Sonnet. “Film at eleven.”
“Really? How’d that go?” Nina asked.
“All right, I assume. It’s all in the editing. We’ve got footage of kids going off the high dive, doing the zip line, eating mushrooms, talking in front of an audience, you name it. It’s still hard to imagine what the finished show will be like, but sometimes I think I can see it taking shape.”
“What fear do you have to face?” Nina asked, looking at Greg.
“Having Max quit school and move back home,” he said instantly.
He spoke so quickly, Sonnet knew he must have been thinking about Max before he spoke. Daisy’s younger brother was a rogue of the charming variety, taking his time getting through college as he focused on girls and fun.
“What about you?” Greg asked Sonnet. “Your turn.”
“Oh, I have a list,” Sonnet said, wishing she could forget what she’d blurted out at the zip line. “Last time I found myself paralyzed with fear, it was over hemming a good pair of jeans.”
“I hear you,” Nina said. “It’s a dilemma, figuring out what heel height to match.”
“Heel height.” Greg shook his head sadly.
“I’m scared of parallel parking,” Nina continued. “Especially having to do it with someone watching. And it’s so silly, isn’t it? People don’t judge you for your parking ability.”
Sonnet felt a surge of love and admiration for her mom. Pregnant and dealing with cancer, she had any number of fears to choose from.
“I’m afraid of yoga,” Greg said. “Especially the kind where they play gong music.”
Sonnet laughed. “Good one. And how about black-diamond ski runs?” She shuddered. “They always look like they could be the death of me. Plus I’m scared of wine lists. No matter how hard I try, I can’t pretend to know what I’m doing, and I always end up picking the Malbec.”
“Playing Scrabble with my daughter,” Nina said. “Now, that’s scary.”
“You’re not scared of Scrabble with me.” Sonnet hesitated. “Are you?”
“You didn’t say it has to make sense. And yes, if you must know, you are a horror on the Scrabble board. You out-strategize me every time.”
“Electrical wires,” Greg added. “Hole number four at Avalon Meadows Golf Course. Small dogs.”
“I never knew you were scared of small dogs,” Nina said.
“I’m not. I just threw that in to make sure you’re listening.”
“I always listen to you, even when you aren’t making sense,” she said. “Why don’t we have a dog, anyway? I love dogs.”
“Let’s focus on having a baby, for the time being,” he said.
“I’m scared of my wicked stepfather,” Sonnet said.
He lifted his water goblet and they clinked glasses. Nina cupped her chin in the palm of her hand and poked at her salad.
Sonnet couldn’t help but notice that Nina had barely touched her dinner. “Mom—”
“I know. I’ll eat. I’m just… Okay, here’s something I’m afraid of. I’m afraid there were too many days I coasted through on autopilot. I’m afraid I didn’t cherish them enough, but only let them slip by.” She shivered a little. “That’s more of a regret than a fear, I suppose. We can’t do anything about regrets, can we? Fears are more manageable.”
Her mother was rambling. Chemo brain, she sometimes called it, a mental fuzziness caused by her meds.
“Mom, please eat.” It was all Sonnet could say. She didn’t trust herself to go on, and that ticked her off. She wanted to be strong for her mother. She wanted to have all the answers, but she simply didn’t.
“Yeah, don’t let this amazing meal slip by,” Greg said.
“Very funny.” Nina took a bite of pasta. An extremely small bite, after which she set down her fork. “It’s delicious. I need to remember to send a thank-you note. But lately, I can’t even remember my own name, so I’ll probably forget to do it. I already feel guilty.”
The doorbell rang, and Greg pushed back from the table. “Let’s hope that’s not a cranky guest. I’m scared of cranky guests.”
A few minutes later, Zach and Jezebel appeared. Sonnet felt an unbidden and undeniably pleasant surge at the sight of Zach. Because they were becoming friends again, she told herself. They also had a young woman in tow. She wore a gauzy black sundress and gold gladiator sandals, which could have looked ridiculous, but instead, made her seem cutting-edge stylish.
“Sorry, we’re interrupting your dinner,” Zach said. He had one of his bigger camera bags with him. Lately, they were practically appendages.
“Not at all,” Nina assured them. “We were just finishing.”
It didn’t take long to finish three bites of food, Sonnet thought.
“Let’s go into the living room,” Nina suggested. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Jezebel said. “You got a super nice daughter. I guess you know that.”
Greg stayed behind to clear the table.
“We were just hearing about how the day went,” Nina said. “I have to say, this show is definitely one of the most interesting things to happen in Avalon.”