Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (36 page)

“I’m joking,”
Jared says, noting my semi-horrified reaction. “We have far better things to do
in theatre than worry about the patient’s hairy legs. Though yours are looking
rather nice right now.”

“My legs are
not hairy!”

“That came out
wrong, didn’t it? What I meant to say was, I’d like you to wrap those legs
around me. Let’s go to bed.”

“Now? It’s the
middle of the afternoon. I have to pick Rory up from Angela’s in an hour.”

“Plenty of time
for what I have in mind.”

We’ve taken
this slowly for the past few months, letting this new relationship unfold like
the petals of a flower. I’m happy about this. Even though I’m mad for Jared and
find it hard to keep my hands off him, it’s sensible not to rush into something
new. I want to make the most of this lovely feeling.

And we all know
he
doesn’t like to fail.

There’s no
denying it’s getting serious, though. Next week we’re getting our boys together
for their first play date and when Mum and Colin come for my birthday, we’re
going to announce ourselves publicly as a couple. Until now, it’s only been
Lani, Jeff and Angela who know the truth.

Bending down,
Jared scoops me into his arms and carries me to the bed. I lay my head against
his chest. “Remember the last time you carried me like this?” I say. “When I
was in hospital?”

I’d been so
weak that day, I couldn’t make the toilet by myself, not even with one of those
walkers they give to the elderly and the assistance of the nurse.

“You’re not
intending to throw up on me again, are you?” His hands are already undoing my
blouse. “Because I’ll take my clothes off first, if that’s the case.”

“Not this
time.” I place my lips on his neck and let him undress me. His fingers are
gentle on my scars. His eyes are full of love.

“You don’t mind?”
I ask, when his head is bent, nuzzling in the gap of my cleavage.

“Not in the
least. To me, your scars are a sign of your strength.”

I don’t understand
how such perfect responses can be so genuine.

“You don’t think
I’m damaged?” I’ve wanted to ask him this for the longest time. After Brendan,
it’s something I’ve struggled with
—
that a man won’t find me attractive because of my imperfections.

“Perfection is overrated.
There are too many vain women in the world who pay untold amounts to achieve
it. You’re natural. You’re beautiful and unique and I wouldn’t want you any
other way.
 
It’s why I love you.”

I sit up on the
bed.

“You love me?”

“Since that
first day you walked into my office with your big bright smile and jokes about
a non-existent flabby stomach. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I knew I
shouldn’t be. It certainly wasn’t ethical. I thought the game was up when
Catherine asked why I’d taken your stitches out myself.”

“Isn’t that
standard practise?”

“Not since I
employed two nurses to do it for me.”

“Oops.” I
smile. “That first day, you know, I thought you were the hottest man I’d ever
seen.”

“But you don’t
now?”

“What do you
think?”

I reach down
and take his face in my hands, pulling him up my chest so I can kiss him. Never
in my wildest dreams have I ever imagined having Breast Cancer would be the
catalyst for so many changes in my life. That loony Madame Zara might have been
more on the money than I realised.
 
She did say there was going to be a man with a ‘J’ and lovely green
eyes.

THE END