Goodbye to You (9 page)

Bright sun filters through the slats of the blinds in my bedroom, and I bolt upright, my stomach churning and heart racing.

My last full day in Key West. Our flight leaves tomorrow afternoon.

It’s been over a day since I last saw Shay. I’m selfish for being disappointed a family emergency cut our night short. Shay’s brother and their mom had been in a car accident on the way back from a visit to a doctor in Miami. Ed had been out on the boat and couldn’t be reached, so the police called Shay.

He appeared shaken, so I offered to go with him. He declined, declaring the situation “way too messed up.”

I met with Leesh and Bennie for a late supper, but declined another night of partying. I went back to the condo and chilled with a book, hoping Shay would call or text and let me know things were okay.

Which he did the next morning.

Shay: All OK. Sorry for last night. Staying with the family today. See you tomorrow?

The three of us camped out at the condo community pool all day. I squatted under an umbrella to avoid the sun. Leesh was in and out of the pool, and Bennie slept in the sun most of the day, a straw hat covering her face.

She’s such a hard sleeper that crisping under the scorching rays wouldn’t wake her, so I misted her every couple hours with spray-on sunblock. If she burned, she’d be misery on wheels.

Nobody wants that.

Shay texted again late last night as I lay in bed with the light on, my eyes scanning the same page in my book repeatedly.

We’re meeting this morning. My last day with him.

Then we’ll never see each other again.

Sure, we can stay in touch through Facebook and e-mail, but to what end?

My surgery is coming up, and he will be immersed in the rigors of medical school.

I dread heading home for another reason: I need to tell Daddy and Jen about the mastectomy.

I hate keeping secrets. I try to justify to myself I’m protecting them, shielding the family from additional reminders about Mama’s death, especially while Jen is still going through her chemo.

Daddy will not be happy I’ve withheld this from him. Jen will be upset too, but I can’t subject them to additional stress.

I know they’ll understand why I’m doing whatever it takes to stay healthy.

To stay alive.

A long, productive life without breasts—or with fake ones—will be better than a short life with my original breasts.

I hop out of bed and hit the kitchen for my morning burst of caffeine. I’m greeted by empty silence, which means Leesh and Bennie are still sound asleep.

A couple cans of pop and a pizza box with a single slice left are all that remain in the refrigerator.

As I nibble on the pizza, I recall how broken Daddy was when Mama died. People leave you, one way or another, and the pain is too much to bear.

I had “boyfriends” throughout college, but never beyond a few months. Certainly no declarations of undying devotion.

Yet here I was, after less than a week, ready to drop the “L” bomb, which might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

I should avoid Shay for these last couple days. Spend more time with my friends.

They’d chastise me, saying I’m stuck with them year-round, and how I should “do the hottie” as many times as possible before my time here ends.

Which I so want to do.

I also want to say things I shouldn’t. Express emotions that came too easily in the last few days. The zebra-striped duct tape Jen tried to tape across my mouth might prevent me from saying something stupid today.

We could still do lots of fun things not involving my mouth.

I tremble at the idea. The guy has skills with his hands, and from the way he kisses, he’d put his mouth to excellent use over every inch of my willing body.

I chew on the last bite of crust and head to the shower. Time to cool off before Shay gets here. More touristy stuff today, which others might find boring, but I love. In his company, everything is better.

What the hell am I going to do when he’s gone from my life forever?

I shut the notion out as the tepid water blasts my skin, waking me up more.

Today and tomorrow morning are all that matter.

The air conditioner kicks on as I exit the shower, and my nipples stiffen under the whoosh of freezing air from the overhead vent.

The tightness is a stark reminder of what I’m losing. It’s shallow, but I love the attention my breasts garner. Next to the athletic Bennie and the willowy Leesh, I’ve always been curvier. I love my body, and my breasts were—are—my best feature, and I’ll miss these girls.

I pinch one nipple and watch the reaction. The rosy skin puckers under my fingers and a slight tingling grows between my legs.

After my surgery, this won’t happen again.

I’ll never be able to nurse a child. Knowing I can’t makes me want it.

Shay’s devotion to his family and memories of my happy childhood, make my heart ache for a family of my own.

I picture a baby snuggled on my warm, comfy chest, the way it looks now.

And delaying surgery is an option.

No.

Every day I wait my chances of developing a tumor increase. I can’t risk cancer for any reason, and I shouldn’t have a baby to leave motherless at such a young age. It’s been hard enough without my mama the past six years, but at least I had her until I was a teenager.

If Jen’s cancer recurs, her kids might lose their mama when they’re four years old.

I scowl at my reflection. Why the second-guessing? The decision has been so easy. As soon as I discovered I was positive for the brca1 gene mutation, I researched my options and decided surgery was the right thing.

I slather on the requisite sunblock, then throw on pink panties and matching bra before selecting a pair of black shorts and a peachy tee shirt. I won’t even check the mirror to do my hair. A ponytail will do today. And no make-up.

No need to get pretty for a guy I won’t see ever again in two days.

Fresh-faced and casual, Thea is still gorgeous. Her pastel tee shirt sets off her fair hair and makes her skin glow. Her look is practical for sightseeing, but she still outshines everyone.

Maybe it’s her zeal for life—she only stops when I’m kissing her, which is whenever I can. I missed her the past couple nights and want to compensate for lost time today.

Our last day together.

“So what’s next?” She stops and stares into a gallery window displaying paintings of many of the Key West landmarks, framed and ready for hanging.

“Let me think.” I touch my finger to my mouth. “Hemingway Home. The Lighthouse. The Maritime Museum. Butterfly Conservatory. Done.”

We pass on to another storefront, this one loaded with suggestive tee shirts and souvenirs as well as general touristy merchandise. One of the items reminds me of a place she’d expressed interest in visiting. “Key West Cemetery. You mentioned it at breakfast. You still want to go?”

She shudders and averts her gaze.

“I . . . I don’t want to anymore.”

I suspect there’s more, but I won’t press, the way she didn’t when she touched the scar on my arm.

“Can we go to Paddy’s and grab a bite? I’d love a cold beer or two.”

“Sure.” I could use a drink.

We walk a block or two up Duval, and Thea says out of the blue, “I’ll miss you, Shay.”

I stop short, the rubber of my shoes scuffing the sidewalk.

She must sense my surprise, or else she surprised herself. Her grip on my hand tightens. “I mean, I’ve had fun, and I don’t want it to end. You know, go back to the real world.”

I know what she means. I was prepared to hit the books, dissect cadavers, and devote every ounce of my time and energy to becoming a doctor.

Now all I want to do is love Thea. All day. Every day. I won’t say it though.

That’s more intense than her declaration of missing me.

We walk the rest of the way with ropes of tension tied around us.

The bells on the door of Paddy’s jingle, and the sound of my baby brother’s scratchy guitar playing greets us. I’m surprised he’s here since he was rattled after the car accident two days ago, and he wasn’t sure this morning if he was up to playing. Despite a couple stitches in the forehead, he’s on stage playing a rousing acoustic cover of a 1980s hair-band hit. Not one my favorites, but Mac is a terrific singer and guitarist, so I think his version sounds better than the original.

I’m proud Mac’s overcoming his anxiety of playing in public. Appreciative applause and copious tips play a part.

Thea leads me to a booth. She slides in, and I head to the bar and pour a couple drafts.

I move in next to her. Though I love sitting across from her, looking at her, I want to be as close as possible. Arm-to-arm, thigh-to-thigh. As much skin-to-skin contact as I can get in public.

With the hope of getting full-on contact later, in private.

She told me her friends keep joking, asking if we’d done “it,” and calling Thea a liar when she told them no. After tonight, I hope she can say no.

And actually be lying.