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. She 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