Always (Spiral of Bliss #5) (20 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

OLIVIA

December 23

“PERFECT.” CLAIRE STEPS BACK FROM THE
table to admire the candies Nicholas has perched on the roof of his gingerbread house. “Now you can use the coconut as snow.”

I reach automatically for the bag of shredded coconut. Pain twinges down my side. I drop the bag and lower my arm.

“I’ll get it.” Claire pours the coconut into a bowl for Bella and Nicholas.

“Frosting!” Bella says, holding up her finger smeared with a glob of green. “Can I eat it?”

I’m about to say yes when Claire says, “No, your fingers might be all germy.”

She picks up a napkin and wipes Bella’s finger, then turns to help Nicholas spread the coconut around his gingerbread house. I push to my feet and go upstairs to the bathroom, where a clutter of pill bottles sits in the medicine cabinet.

As I take a couple of ibuprofen, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I don’t look good. My skin is pale like parchment, dark circles ring my eyes, and my hair is limp since I haven’t been able to wash it very well without lifting my arm.

I unbutton my shirt slowly to reveal the front-closure sports bra I’ve been wearing since the surgery a few days ago. I unfasten it to look at my breasts for the hundredth time. There’s a half-moon-shaped incision on the side of my breast, another under my armpit, and an indentation that the doctor assured me will “fill in” with time.

I’m oddly obsessed with staring at my breasts. They almost don’t look like they belong to me anymore. There’s a strange numbness at the site of the excision. I struggle with the idea that my breasts were once a source of pleasure.

I turn away from the mirror and change into a clean sports bra and button-up shirt. I go back downstairs, hearing Dean’s and Claire’s voices coming from the kitchen. He’s by the table, holding Bella’s hands as she stands on his feet.

“…with graham crackers and chocolate kisses,” Claire is saying. “Oh, Liv, I was wondering if you wanted me to make chicken parmesan for dinner? I bought all the ingredients yesterday, but I didn’t know if you felt like eating.”

“That sounds good. Thanks.”

“We can also decorate the Christmas cookies tonight,” Dean suggests.

“Yes!” Bella says. “I decorate reindeer?”

“Sure you can, Snowbell.” Dean takes a few steps backward and forward as Bella balances on his feet. He glances at me. “You need anything?”

I shake my head and sit down at the table. Physically, the recovery has not been that bad, but I feel as if horrible insects are buzzing around my emotions. Wasps, flies, and mosquitoes. Biting and stinging.

To avoid snapping or being cranky with Bella and Nicholas, I’ve tried to stay quiet, to not think too hard about the details of the pathology reports to come, or the future doctor’s appointments I’ll need.

Because the cancer
has spread.

“Ta da!” Claire gestures to Nicholas’s gingerbread house with a flourish. “Behold the witch’s gingerbread house.”

I swallow past the tightness in my throat and admire what Claire and Nicholas have created—a cottage with a rock-candy chimney, gumdrop walls, and a pretzel gate.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell them.

“Looks good enough to eat,” Dean adds.

“And I managed to keep the candy intake to a minimum, so they’ll eat dinner,” Claire says, reaching out to rub Nicholas’s hair.

I expect him to pull away—while he’s accepted Claire, he’s not affectionate with her—but he only smiles proudly.

“After we clean up, I’ll get dinner started,” Claire says as she starts to pick up the bowls of leftover candy.

“I’ll help.” Dean eases Bella off his feet, twirling her around like a dancer.

I experience an irrational stab of irritation toward him. Since I returned home, he’s been a model of husbandly perfection—taking care of the children, putting up Christmas decorations, doing the laundry, grocery shopping, always asking if there’s anything I want or need.

But there’s still a distance between us I don’t know how to breach. I don’t even know where it’s coming from. Why aren’t we strengthening each other? Why does Dean’s solicitousness feel like a wall of reserve, as if he’s a polite waiter rather than my husband?

“Hey, sweetie, come here.” I hold my good arm out to my daughter. “Want to read a book?”

She approaches to let me pull her against my side. We sit on the sofa and read a couple of Dr. Seuss books, while I attempt not to be bothered by the fact that another woman is cooking dinner for my family in my kitchen.

I glance at Claire. She’s standing by the counter, talking to Dean, her arms lifted as she ties her hair into a ponytail. She’s wearing jeans and a close-fitting T-shirt, and her raised arms push her breasts out. Her round, young,
perky
breasts that enhance her slender figure.

She laughs at something Dean says, then bends to take a pot out of the lower cupboard, her ponytail swinging behind her.

“Oof, Mommy, I’m stuck.” Bella wiggles in my grasp, and I realize I’m holding her tightly against my right side.

I relax my grip and take a breath. Bella scoots off the sofa and wanders over to where a few of her stuffed animals are arranged on another chair.

I look at my beautiful daughter, hear my beautiful son asking if there will be dessert, remember all my beautiful husband has done.

I’m lucky. I know that. But I’m starting to lose my grip on what I have. What if I can’t hold on? Then what happens?

“Come on, Liv, it’s a brand-new restaurant,” Archer says. “You gotta come with us. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“It’s a pretty cool place,” Dean agrees, holding out my coat. “And it’ll cheer you up, I promise.”

I glance at Kelsey, who nods with encouragement. And though I don’t much feel like going out, I know Bella and Nicholas will enjoy a special treat. Maybe I will too.

After bundling up, we drive to a glass-fronted dessert restaurant called the Chocolate Tree. The interior has opulent gold-and-brown décor with plush booths and chocolate-themed artwork, not to mention a menu filled with chocolate drinks and desserts. We sit in a booth and peruse the menu, then order hot cocoa and slices of butter cake.

Dean, of course, is right—the thick, rich cocoa combined with Nicholas and Bella’s delight, and Archer and Dean talking about the upcoming ski season, all conspires to ease the sadness that has hung over me since the surgery.

“Um, excuse me?” says a female voice.

We all look up at the three teenaged girls who are standing bunched together beside the table, looking both nervous and excited. One of them nudges another.

“Hi.” Girl #1, a cute brunette, gives Archer a little wave. “Um, sorry to bother you, but we were just sitting over there, and we’re huge fans of
Storm Hunters
.”

“Huge,” adds Girl #2, not taking her eyes off Archer.

“Yeah, so we were just wondering if, like, we could get an autograph and maybe a picture?” Girl #1 asks.

Girl #3 giggles. Dean and I exchange smiles.

“Sure you can.” Archer pushes his chair back and stands. The girls step back and look up at him in awe.

“What are your names?” Archer asks.

They just stare. Kelsey snorts.

“I’m… I’m Jenna.” Girl #2 digs into her purse for a pen and paper. “It is just so cool to meet you. I mean, what you did for that poor dog…”

“It was totally epic,” Girl #1 adds. “We’ve watched the video, like, a thousand times.”

Girl #3 giggles again.

Archer, clearly having warmed to his celebrity status, signs his name on scraps of paper they produce from their little purses, asks them their names and grades, answers their questions about
Storm Hunters,
and then poses for a few pictures.

“Let me take some of all of you,” Dean offers generously, standing to take the girls’ cell phones.

The girls smile and blush their way through a series of photos before Archer makes their entire year by giving them each a hug. They back toward the door, their rapt gazes still on him.

“It was so great to meet you,” Girl #1 says breathlessly. “Thank you so much.”

“Yeah, you’re really awesome,” Girl #2 agrees. “We can’t wait for the next season to start.”

Girl #3 giggles.

“Oh, wow.” Girl #1 glances at the table, her gaze zeroing in on Kelsey. “You’re Professor March.”

“I am.”

“Would you like a picture with her too?” I ask the girls.

“No, thanks.”

Girl #2 puts her phone back into her purse, and the three of them turn away from Kelsey with little huffs, in what the Victorians would have termed
a cut direct
.

The girls wave at Archer again and leave the restaurant on a rush of winter air. Archer sits back down, looking rather smug and pleased with himself.

“
What
was their problem?” Nicholas scoops melted whipped cream onto his spoon.

“A misguided case of fangirling,” Kelsey mutters.

“What’s fangirling?”

“It’s like a bad rash,” Kelsey explains.

Archer grins at her. “You want a selfie with me, lady? Because you’ll have to get in line.”

“No, thanks. I’m thinking of selling some of your photos to the tabloids, though.” She raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Might be worth something.”

“Hey, Mom, can we go do those machines?” Nicholas, his face smeared with chocolate, waves toward the vintage penny arcade games at the back of the restaurant.

“Sure.” I dig into my purse and produce a few quarters.

Dean and Archer follow the kids as Kelsey and I finish our cocoa and cake. She sits back in her chair, nodding toward Dean.

“How’s he handling it?”

“The way Dean does.”

She levels her perceptive blue stare on me. “And you?”

I shrug. How do I handle challenges? I used to let Dean deal with them, until I learned how to stand on my own. To face what life threw at me, at us, and to realize that sometimes I need to be the strong one.

“I think I need some new big girl panties,” I tell Kelsey.

“You have plenty of big girl panties,” she replies. “You just had to discover for yourself that you’ve been wearing them all along.”

I can’t help smiling.

“Ah, wisely, my friend, you speak,” I warble.

Kelsey frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”

“That was my Yoda impersonation.”

“Your Yoda impersonation is terrible.”

“Hey, I’m sick, remember?” I say as we drain the last of our cocoa and push our chairs back. “By default, you
have
to be nice to me.”

We get our coats on and join everyone else at the games—a “love meter,” a fortune-teller, a strength tester, a bubble-gum digger machine, and an old auto racer.

“Daddy’s turn,” Bella says, pulling on Dean’s sleeve.

Dean puts a quarter into the fortune-teller machine. The turbaned gypsy inside moves her hands over a crystal ball. A paper fortune drops from a slot. Kelsey picks it up and reads it aloud.

“You like to be admired, and it pleases you greatly to have people come to you for information and advice, but your stubborn nature will be your downfall.” She laughs.