It was also special having someone to kiss when the ball dropped. I’ve never had that before. Even when I was dating someone, I never had the kind of relationship that made me want to ring in a new year with affection. It felt like starting out at midnight with a panty-melting, toe-curling, make-me-forget-we’re-not-alone kiss had to set us up for the best possible year.
It’s kind of sad when Ames has to go back to work. It was a lot like the bubble having him home over the holidays. January slipped away in a haze of Hawaiian winter. Winter on the islands is so special. It’s my favorite. It’s less crowded with tourists, for one. The weather is a bit moodier with regular overcast skies, rain, and higher winds. Surfers love the bigger waves winter brings, but I love the storms. It’s the only time you get to be cozy here. It’s the only season here made for an introvert like me. The cooler weather, especially at night, means we can have a blanket on the bed, and I take every opportunity to wear jeans and a jacket. Mainlanders may not realize it, but tropical acclimation is a real thing. It probably seems ridiculous to someone suffering through a frigid Northern winter but even Nate, who grew up in Minnesota, complains about his freezing feet and goes around in jeans and sweatshirts with closed-toe shoes when it gets in the lower 70’s.
Something else that makes us cold is our local kine houses (not the more mainland style places built on the military bases). They’re usually single-wall construction with no insulation and no heating or cooling systems. When it gets in the low 60’s at night, it’s that temperature inside too. We get made fun of for being cold here but, elsewhere, when your house gets down in the 70’s during the winter, the heat kicks in and keeps it at a nice, warm, even level. All we can do is put on socks and whine. It’s our way. I’m not complaining though. I love it. I love snuggling under covers and wearing thick socks and needing an extra layer when I go out. Plus, it’s fun to wear something other than slippahs (or flip flops as some people call them).
Ames spends half of February underway for some exercise. It’s my first experience as a legitimate Navy wife. It sucks. I’ve been considering what it might be like to give this contract marriage a real shot, but February makes me think I was right to hold back. If given the chance to think it through, I’m not sure I would have chosen the military life. Ames could be gone so much of the time. With regular duty days, underway periods, exercises, and even deployments, being married to a sailor, for real, would mean a lot of time alone. Not only time alone, though, but time alone with your heart in the middle of some ocean. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for all of that. I need to really think about what that would mean for me. The only positive was that he was gone for Valentine’s Day. It took the pressure off of what I think is a stupid, manufactured holiday. We didn’t even need to talk about gifts or what to do. Dodged a bullet there.
Mama has been having a hard time with the chemotherapy. The nausea has been really bad, and she’s been dealing with some fevers on days when she gets back from getting the IV infusion. The mouth sores have made her want to avoid eating and combined with the nausea she’s lost quite a bit of weight while looking more swollen. It’s hard to see her like this. Papa and Ames have joined forces, reading up on diets and homeopathic remedies that they talk about over dinners, always searching for things to help Mama feel more comfortable.
I go and sit with her sometimes, during treatments. I want to be with her, but it’s also emotional and scary knowing that I could one day be the person in the chair. She’s strong though. Mama never complains. She’s upbeat and positive, joking with the nurses and showing them photos from her garden.
I think the weirdest development to come out of all of this is her friendship with Ames’ old housemate, Jameson. Apparently, Ames took him over once to talk plants and they hit it off. He comes by at least once a week to help her take care of her garden when she’s too tired to do it. He helps her get set up comfortably in a chair in the shade and then he works carefully under her instructions. It’s very sweet. I don’t know him as well as Ames’ other friends, but he’s definitely been a welcome addition during this difficult time. He seems like a sweet, reliable Southern guy although his accent is different from my husband’s. I know Mama looks forward to his visits. She says Papa and I try, but we’re not interested in botany enough for her liking. Jameson fills that need for her as well as helping to keep her gardens looking good. I’m thankful for any and everything that distracts her from the physical pain she’s in.
Adding to the ever-present cancer stress, Ames and I met with the genetic counselor to go over my results with a fine-tooth comb. We were given a lot to think about. With my family history and my positive results, the percentage of my odds of getting cancer in my lifetime is quite high. They also found an added risk of ovarian cancer. Because I do not actually have cancer right now, the counselor advised careful consideration about having a family. It’s not her place to say, but she did make it a point to remind us that I’m young and while chemotherapy could make it difficult or even impossible for me to get pregnant, most people put off preventative measures until after they’re done having or at least trying to have children.
That was the hardest news to hear. It seemed to worry Ames a lot, and it certainly weighed on me. It feels especially difficult because it is the biggest piece of the Nalani-cancer-conundrum that is solely mine. No matter how good it feels, this marriage is a piece of paper. It’s friends with really, really good benefits. Any decision about future children is mine alone because they wouldn’t be mine and Ames’ children. This relationship has an expiration date. He may be concerned about how I’m going to handle deciding, at 26, whether or not I’ll get to be a mother, but it has no bearing on whether or not he gets to be a father. It’s like a kick right in my uterus.
If he had expressed deeper feelings for me or talked about our future in any way, I might be entertaining dreams of little babies with his blue eyes and my dark hair. But he hasn’t. He hasn’t said anything about the future. He’s plenty vocal, but only about how much he likes my body or enjoys being with me. Meanwhile I’m still firmly on team I-Don’t-Know-What-I’m-Feeling-and-I’m-Terrified-to-Even-Want-More. That’s not enough to plan a family and a future on, no matter how great Ames is. Ignoring his strong jaw, dreamy eyes, and delicious body, deep down Ames is an honest, trustworthy, caring man. I could read into the way he cares for me, how deep down I really want to, but that’s just who he is. The nicest guy I’ve ever been with in any capacity. I’m so twisted up in knots. I don’t know what to do except talk to my therapist about it.
38
Ames
March
I’ve added the worry about ovarian cancer to the list of things banging around inside my brain, making me feel restless and helpless. Nalani was already worried about whether she wanted to try to get pregnant and the timing of all of that before we knew considering an oophorectomy was up there with considering a double mastectomy. The counselor did say that the numbers of success skewed higher with ovary removal after the 40’s. That part can likely wait a while. I hate that I can’t do anything to take any of this burden off of her. I focus on what I can do. I read studies that showed healthy diet and exercise improving the percentages of people that beat cancer in those with an increased risk due to an inherited mutation. We reduced our intake of red meat, sugar, and refined grain products and Nalani started weight training with me three times a week. I’m not sure how into these things she actually is but, at the very least, she seems to know that it’s important to me and hasn’t given me a hard time. I do enjoy that workouts are now more time we get to spend together.
The second weekend in March I reserve one of the boats at the Marine Corps base marina. I picked the afternoon time slot in hopes that it might be a little warmer. It’s March, the water will be chilly, but I wanted to get out and do something fun with our friends. Nalani and I need a mental break from all the cancer stuff, and Norah and I have been pretty busy at work. This will be perfect. We pack a cool
er, pick up Norah and Ka‘eo, and head to the base to spend few hours out on Kaneohe Bay. It’s awesome how well we all get along. I’m glad we have ‘couple’ friends who are in the same place in life that we are.
The trip out over the bay is windy, but it’s not too cold mid-day. K jumps out when we get out to the sandbar to drop the anchor for us. It’s sunny and warm and the surrounding view of the bright turquoise water and the green Ko‘olau mountains is picture worthy. I still feel thankful that I get to live here. Hawai‘i is truly stunning. K plays photographer throughout the day, sneaking in shots of all of us and the surrounding beauty. I’ll have to remember to ask him to air drop those to me.
Nalani strips down to her dark green one piece and I feel like I’m going to need to jump in the cold water to avoid having a raging hard-on all afternoon. She’s so sexy and my heart aches every time she smiles at me. We walk out across the sandbar a bit, hang out on the boat when we get chilly, eat snacks, and talk for a couple of hours. All in all, it’s shaping up to be a pretty perfect Saturday afternoon. We’re drying out in the sunshine, stretched out across the bench seats, when Ka‘eo unintentionally ratchets up the tension.
“Cuz,” he addresses Nalani, “Auntie said you got that test. What did you guys find out?”
“Wait,” Norah interrupts, “what test are we talking about?”
Nalani and I look at each other. I don’t know what to say, we haven’t really discussed talking to other people about it.
“Um, it was some genetic testing,” Nalani hedges.
K barrels ahead, apparently unaware of her discomfort. “Auntie Connie, Nalani’s mom, has breast cancer. So did her auntie and grandmother. She got that test about the hereditary genetic mutation. What’s it called again?”
“The brah-kuh.” I answer. “BRCA.”
“Right, that one. What did you find out?”
Nalani looks really uncomfortable, but I don’t see any way we can avoid this conversation at this point. I whisper to her, “Do you want me to explain?”
She shakes her head, taking a deep breath. “I have it. BRCA2.”
“Shit, you have cancer!?” Norah almost shouts.
“No, I don’t have cancer. I do, however, have the mutated gene that makes it much more likely that I will get breast or ovarian cancer.”
K scoots over and hugs her. “Fuck, that sucks. I’m sorry. What does that mean, exactly? For the future?”
“Well…” Nalani pauses, staring out over the water.
I jump in to cover for her, “her percentages of risk are higher. No matter what we decide, she’ll need yearly screenings for hopeful early detection.”
“Are you thinking about any of the stuff Auntie considered? Like mastectomy?” K asks gently.
Nalani nibbles on her lip. I know this is the biggest stressor for her. I try to keep the conversation moving, hearing her start to say something after I’ve already started talking.
“That’s an option for sure. We’ve looked at all of the research but haven’t decided anything yet. There’s the concern about when and if Lani might like to be pregnant and how that can affect things. Otherwise, we’d have to look at egg storage and go down that road. There are a lot of different things to consider. It’s been stressful for sure.” I go to take her hand, but she pulls it away, clenching her jaw. I swivel on the bench to fully look at her. She doesn’t look nervous or worried anymore. She looks angry. When did that happen?
Norah looks between us and nudges K. “Uh, we were going to take the paddle boards out a ways, see what there is to see. Be back in a while.” They hurry off the boat, heading out over the shallow water. Nalani has scooted away from me so we’re no longer touching. I try to reach out, to put my hand on her knee but she turns away from me.
“Lani? What’s wrong? Why are you mad at me?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t make this about my feelings instead of your actions.” Her fingers are laced together and she’s squeezing hard enough to make her fingertips white.
“But you’re the one who’s mad. I don’t even know what happened.” I’m trying not to be annoyed, but I feel blindsided by her anger. And shocked that she’s confronting me about something. That’s never happened before. I didn’t think it was possible to be so angry and proud at the same time.
“This is MY diagnosis, Ames. My body. My decision.”
“I thought you appreciated that we’re a we, that you’re not alone!” I’m not able to keep my voice from rising.
“I appreciate the support, Ames. What I don’t appreciate, what pisses me right the fuck off, is you answering for me and speaking over me.” She’s now standing up, pacing back and forth on the deck of the boat.
“I wasn’t speaking over you! I thought you were uncomfortable or nervous about it. I was trying to be helpful!”
“You were speaking over me! You literally interrupted me. TWICE. I couldn’t get a word in about my feelings or what my possible plans could be! What is it about me that makes people, MEN, treat me this way?! I’m an adult. Maybe I take longer to make decisions sometimes, but I have a brain, Ames! I can think for myself! I can talk for myself! I don’t need you making choices for me and acting like my interpreter!”
All of my frustration drains out of me. I didn’t mean to do it, but she’s right. I acted like her spokesperson and not her partner. I walk over to her, my shoulders dropping along with my head.
“You’re right,” I tell her.
“What?” Her head jerks around to look at me as she stops her pacing.
“You’re right, Lani. And I’m sorry.”
“Really?” Doubt clouds her eyes.
“Of course, really. I’m sorry. I genuinely didn’t mean to interrupt you and I didn’t answer because I thought you were incapable. I was only trying to help, to take a burden off of you, but I shouldn’t have. I overstepped. I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” she visually deflates, sitting back on the bench. “I, um, wasn’t expecting that.”
“You weren’t expecting me to apologize for doing something that upset you?”
“It’s not you! It’s…that has happened to me before. A lot. And it has never once ended in an apology.”
“Do you think I’m an asshole?” I’m not hurt, simply curious.
“No. But I suppose I’ve mostly been with assholes in the past.”
“So you got mad because I treated you like your exes did and you were expecting it all to play out the same way?”
“Pretty much, yes.” I sit down and lift her into my lap. “Relationships, for me,” she begins to explain, “have always felt volatile, uneasy. Like there are rules that someone else established and chose not to share with me. It’s always felt like being a part of a couple is not something that is meant for me. Every man I have ever been with has made me feel like I’m too indecisive, too emotional, that my ideas and words weren’t important enough to be heard. I always end up being the problem. The thing that breaks us. It always started out as ‘I want to help you,’ but became ‘I’ll just do it, so you don’t waste my time,’ and ended up as ‘You’re such a fucking embarrassment, Nalani, I don’t know why I keep you around.’ She swallows loudly and I run my hands down her arms. She’s looking over my shoulder, her focus distant.
“At first it was always easier to keep the peace, let him be in charge, don’t speak up. I guess I felt like I couldn’t speak up. That everyone else was right about me. After a while I would feel invisible and mute, beaten down and empty. I can’t do it anymore. I’d rather be alone forever than be a non-entity in my own life!” I don’t like hearing her say she’d rather be alone, but now is not the time to sidetrack a conversation this important to focus on my feelings.
“I don’t want you to be that either. I don’t want you to be anyone else and I don’t think you should stay quiet or suppress your feelings. Honest.” She curls against me. “I’m sorry, Lani. Truly.”
“I believe you. Thank you. I’m sorry…”
I interrup
t her. “Not to do the thing you just got mad at me for doing, but please don’t apologize for getting upset. It was justified and I’m glad I know.” Thankfully, she smiles. We don’t even notice when Norah and K paddle up a while later. Nalani is straddling me and we’re happily…reconnecting. K clears his throat loudly and I make it a point to kiss her a little longer before we break apart.
“Guess I don’t have to ask if you guys decided to kiss and make up.” He smirks at us, and I tip my chin up towards him in answer.
My wife tries to get up, but I keep my hands firmly on her hips. “Lani,” I whisper in her ear, “stay put. Please. One, we don’t have anything to be embarrassed about but two, I will if you get up right now and you know K will fuck with me.”
She giggles and very subtly rocks against the erection her body is hiding from our friends’ view.
“Be nice or I’ll have to punish you when we get home,” I growl quietly against her neck.
“Promise?” She whispers back with a raised eyebrow, biting her lip and making my dick get even harder beneath her. “You guys are just as bad, K! Don’t give us shit,” she throws over her shoulder towards her cousin. “My Maka had some apologizing to do. And he does it quite well.” She smirks at K and the roll of his dark eyes is exaggerated and theatrical.
“You can always apologize in private.”
“Nope,” I tell him, “this needed to be dealt with right now. I couldn’t let it fester.”
K loses his playful face and nods. “You’re right, Brah. My Nani and I have had our share of problems caused by festering. You need us to go out for longer?”
“I think I’m out of the doghouse, right, Lani?”
Like a Good Wife (Oahu Naval Officers Book 2) Page 20