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“Are you okay?” Her voice is high and frantic.
“No, I’m not okay.” It’s a good thing she can’t see me smiling, because she’d surely slap it right off my face for messing with her like this.
“Oh my god. Okay. I’m packing a bag. I’ll have Daddy get the plane ready and I’ll be there by morn—”
“Don’t you want to know what’s wrong?” I ask, interrupting her before she really gets on a plane and flies here.
“Yes. Please tell me. What’s going on?”
“I’m dying, Mia.”
“Laney, we’ve talked about this. You can’t think like that. You have to stay positive, and I know it’s hard but—”
“I’m dying of happiness, Mia. Seriously, I’m so deliriously happy that I think I might explode. That, and this goofy grin might become a permanent fixture on my face.” I toss my purse on the floor and walk into the living room.
“I’m lost. What do you mean you’re dying of happiness? You just told me you weren’t okay.”
“Levi took me out today. We volunteered at the Senior Center and then we kissed. He kissed me, Mia,” I squeal, falling onto the couch. “He kissed me, and it was perfect and amazing and earth shattering, and if I die now, I would die a happy woman.”
“I’m going to kill you, Laney Jacobs,” she scolds. “Do you realize what you just did to me? You took ten years off my life. You can’t call me and tell me that you’re not okay . . . that’s not fair.” My smile quickly fades and my stomach drops as her words sink in. She sounds mad and scared, which wasn’t at all my intention.
“Mia—”
“No,” she cuts me off. “It’s not fair. I’m not there with you, Laney. I’m thousands of miles away and I worry about you constantly. I almost walked out on my dad the other day because I miss you so damn much. My life isn’t the same without you in it every day, so no, you can’t call me and make jokes about your health.”
“I’m so sorry, Mia.” My head is shaking despite the fact that she can’t see me. “I wasn’t thinking and you’re right, that wasn’t fair of me. I just had a really good day, and I was feeling silly and”—I sigh—“there is no good excuse. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“Good. And just so you know, next time you do something like that to me, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Noted.”
“Now tell me about that sexy-as-hell man of yours, and I want all the details. Don’t leave anything out.” And I do. I tell her all about our time together and Mary and our kiss . . . and our second kiss, and that Levi wants to start things up with me again. We spend the next hour laughing, talking and reminiscing, and—like I knew she would—she tells me that she’s happy for me and that I deserve it. Then she asks the one question that nearly ruins it all. “When are you going to tell him?”
Pushing up from the couch, I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, you better think about it. This is your life for the foreseeable future, and he will find out some way or another. It’ll be easier if it comes from you.”
“Christ, Mia”—I take a sip of water—“how the hell do I tell him? ‘Oh yeah, by the way, I have Stage 3 cancer and I had my boob cut off and I’m getting chemotherapy, and if I’m really lucky, I’ll survive.’”
“Well, I think you could say it a little bit nicer than that,” she quips, nearly making me choke on my water.
“I was joking. Geez.” I take another drink and then dump what’s left in the sink and walk back to my bedroom. “It’s going to be hard, Mia. How do you tell someone that? And not just anyone, but someone that means so much to you. Someone that you have a history with. Someone that you love.”
“The same way you told me,” she says. “You just come out and say it, because there will never be a perfect time to tell him or a painless way to ease the blow. It’s a punch in the gut, Laney, but there’s no way around it. Rip that Band-Aid off, sister, so the two of you can heal these wounds together.”
“You’re right,” I concede. “You’re absolutely right. I need to tell him.”
“I’m always right, Lane. Never doubt me. Ever. Now get some beauty sleep and text me tomorrow.”
“Love you, Mia.”
“Love you too, doll.”
THE RIGHT TIME STILL hasn’t come. I’ve had plenty of chances to tell him, I just haven’t been able to get the words out. But it needs to happen. Things are moving too fast and he’s getting too close, and a couple of nights ago he almost found out that his girlfriend—if that’s what I am—is of the one-breast species.
I’m not going to lie, I’m scared for him to find out. What if he doesn’t find me attractive? I feel deformed, almost like a monster. My scar is jagged and puckered and I hate looking at it, so I would never expect a man to look at it, let alone touch it. Someday, way far in the future when I have extra money lying around, I may try and get an implant, but right now it’s just not a luxury I can afford.
I close my eyes and rest my head back on the seat, trying to get comfortable—well, as comfortable as I can be sitting for hours on end while chemicals are being pumped into my body. My mind wanders to the other night, and as the memories start flooding in, my heart fills with deep warmth.
