Dany
I stare at the swinging curtain.
I close my eyes, then open them.
The curtain's still shifting back and forth. It has fish on it, like a seafood casserole curtain.
I stifle a hysterical sob.
Maybe I’m still in surgery. Maybe I’m having post-anesthesia hallucinations. Maybe I’ll wake up and Shawn will say that he’s decided to whisk me away for a whirlwind wedding and a tropical honeymoon. In Fiji. Or Turks and Caicos.
The curtain shrieks on its runners as it slides open.
The man, Jack, has a small plastic cup of water. He holds it out to me.
I stare at the white cup in his dark hand. I just look at the darn cup. I can’t turn away. I follow the curve of his fingers, the line of his wrist and the muscle of his forearms up to his biceps, his shoulders, his face. I look into his gray eyes. I didn’t dream this. I see the reality of it reflected in his eyes. In the plastic cup he’s holding out to me.
It hits me then.
Everything at once.
I had a double mastectomy. My fiancé doesn’t love me. He dumped me. And three strangers witnessed it all.
Tears burn in my eyes.
“Here,” he says. His voice is gentle.
He puts the water on the stand next to me.
His eyes are full of, I don’t know, knowledge, understanding, something…
And that something makes me ashamed. I feel naked and ugly. I don’t want him to look at me like that. With what…pity? Anger rises in my chest. And I’m glad for it, because anger is a thousand times better than tears.
“You deserve better—”
“Please go,” I say.
“I’m sorry—”
“Go away. Please.” Because even when humiliated, I still say please like a lady. Even that makes me angry. I’ve always been kind, good, done everything right, and what has it brought?
This.
I grab the cup of water and swallow. It slides down my burning throat and cools the fire.
“Thank you. For the water,” I say.
He gives me a smile, there’s a dimple in his left cheek. “You’re welcome.” His politeness hurts. “And you deserve better.”
I lash out, like a wounded animal.
“My fiancé’s a good man. He’s merely confused and scared. We’re getting married in three months.” My voice is firm. Shawn will come around. I have to believe this right now. I’m hanging on by a thread. I won’t let myself think otherwise. He doesn’t believe those things he said. Shawn loves me. Or at least, he has respect and affinity for me. And isn’t that what all good relationships are built on?
Something like disappointment shows on Jack’s face.
I turn my head away. I’m not wrong.
The teenage girl on the bed clears her throat.
I look over.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but your fiancé’s a total dick.”
“Sissy,” Jack says in a low voice.
“Seriously. It’s awesome he dumped her. Now she knows what kind of loser he is. Better now than in the future. She can move on with her life. It’s all good.”
I shake my head. It’s not all good. None of this is all good.
“Seriously,” she keeps on, “your life’s better without him. Wouldn’t you rather be on your own, rocking life, loving your bad self, than be ‘loved’ by the dick?” She air quotes the word loved.
No, my heart cries, I wouldn’t.
“Sissy, enough with the D word,” says Jack.
“Whatever,” she says. “We’re growing here. You can’t make popcorn without some banging around.”
“Sissy,” says Jack.
“Who has popcorn?” the older man in the corner says. He props himself up on his veiny arms.
“No one,” says Sissy.
“But is there casserole?” asks the man.
“Dude. Seriously. You did not just go there,” says Sissy.
I consider burying my head under the scratchy hospital pillow. If I did, maybe they’d all go away.
Before I can, my mother rushes in, her gold bangles clanking and the scent of Chanel No. 5 chasing her.
“Oh, darling, darling,” she says. She bends over and quickly air kisses my cheeks. “I ran into Shawn. What did you say? What did you do? The poor man said the engagement is off. He’s in a state. A state. I told you this could happen. I told you.” Her hands wave in the air like small nervous birds. The heavy bejeweled rings glitter in the lights.
“Hello, mother.”
“You look absolutely awful. Awful. Poor Shawn. It’s hard when you care too much. No wonder he was in a state. No wonder. You didn’t do your hair. Your nails. No polish. You look awful. Awful, Daniella. Can you imagine how that made him feel?”
“Awful?” I ask.
Sissy snickers. Dick, she mouths at me.
Jack clears his throat. My mother turns to look at him. Clearly, she’s surprised. She didn’t take the time to notice that this is a shared room.
“Ma’am,” he says.
She tilts her chin and sizes him up. I’ve been her daughter long enough to know that she’s estimated his net worth within one half of a percent and deemed him unworthy in less than three seconds flat.
She turns away. “Excuse us, if you please.” She snaps the curtain shut. “I saw the doctor. The biopsy will be back soon. You’re moving to a private room for three nights. Oh, darling. Poor Shawn. Poor, poor man. Didn’t I tell you to reassure him? Don’t worry. He’ll see reason. Your father especially wants this marriage.”
“Mother,” I say. I’m tired. Suddenly, I’m exhausted. “He broke the engagement because…he said I bore him.”
She stops her fretting and looks at me. “You bore him?”
I nod. “Do you think I’m boring?”
“Darling. What I think doesn’t matter.”
She does.
“You’ll get him back. Five years together is nothing to sneeze at.” She starts to tear up. “Don’t worry, darling. I know just the thing. A makeover. We’ll get through this little hiccup. It’s the cancer, of course. Some men aren’t cut out for illness. But it’ll be over soon and then we’ll have a wedding. A beautiful wedding. Lots of tulle. Remind me to order more tulle. Rose pink. Not carnation pink, carnations are vulgar.”
She pats my hand again. I take in a lungful of her perfume.
“Regardless, a makeover is just the thing. Add a little shine and glamour. Men don’t actually care about personality. It’s the packaging that matters. We’ll glitz you up. No matter what’s on the inside, your outside will be the opposite of boring.”
I close my eyes. Maybe I could go back under anesthesia?
“Darling?”
“I’ll speak with him when I get home.” I say. “I’m sure he’ll have changed his mind. He hates casserole, apparently. It was a misunderstanding.”
My mother squeezes my hand. “Didn’t I mention? Shawn sent your things over. Said it’d be better if I took care of you during the recovery. But, darling, you can’t stay. Your father and I are having a sort of second wind to our marriage. Lots of hanky panky happening. Lots of middle-of-the-day whoopie. We did it on the fax machine the other day. The fax machine. I’m sorry, sweetheart. You must, you absolutely must find another place to convalesce.” She looks down at me and tsks at my limp hair.
I hear fake gagging from the other side of the curtain. My friend the teenager is vocal in her opinion of my life.
“Mother,” I say. There’s pleading in that one word. After college, I stayed at my father’s company as the donations coordinator, and my few friends from school left for jobs in New York or Chicago. The only person I’m close with in Stanton is Shawn. I isolated myself without realizing it. I made a life that circled entirely around him. The realization hits hard.
“You look awful, darling,” my mother repeats. “You really should take better care of yourself. How can anyone love you if you don’t take care of yourself?”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” I say. I choke on the realization.
She tsks. “Don’t be selfish. Your father and I deserve our special alone time. You only live once.”
I stare at her. Shocked.
“But I had major surgery, I was just…”
“You’ll find something. Don’t fret, it creates an unbecoming wrinkle on your forehead.” She smooths my hair down.
I don’t know what to say.
And that’s when it finally, truly hits. I’m post-surgery. Maybe cancer free, maybe not. I’ve been moved out of my home. Dumped. No fiancé. No wedding. My parents don’t want me to stay with them. I have nowhere to go. No friends to depend on. No doting family. Nowhere to lick my wounds in peace. This isn’t a misunderstanding. It’s a disaster.