I quickly hurried into my parents’ house, shielding the front of Barbara’s crate from the rain as best as I could.
“Ma?” I called when I entered the house.
“I’m in the kitchen, hon.”
I placed Barbara’s crate next to the radiator so she would be warm, then shrugged out of my jacket and went into the kitchen. My ma was washing a cup out in the sink, so I walked up behind her, slipped my arms around her waist and snuggled against her. She chuckled as she grabbed a tea towel and dried her hands so she could place them over mine.
“Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I repeated. “I’m fine, Ma. Are you okay?”
“Right now, I am,” she replied.
I released her, and when she turned to face me, I hugged her without a word.
“Bear.” She chuckled. “Honey, I’m okay.”
“But you’re not, Ma,” I said, pulling back to look at her. “You’re not okay; you have breast cancer.”
Saying that and knowing it to be true was like a kick in the stomach.
“I’m not the only woman to have breast cancer, love,” she said softly, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Millions upon millions have it.”
“Yeah, and that’s awful, but you’re me ma … I can’t help how worried I am about you.”
“I know,” she frown, lifting her hand to my cheek. “I’ll put the kettle on, and we can talk about it, okay?”
I nodded and took a seat at the kitchen table. I clasped my hands together in front of me and waited. When the tea was ready, my ma placed my cup on my coaster, then took a seat across from me. I exhaled a deep breath.
“Tell me everythin’,” I almost pleaded. “I need to hear it all.”
Ma nodded. “I’ll tell you every detail.”
I took a sip of my tea to try to settle my now upset stomach.
“I have stage one breast cancer,” Ma said, and instinctively I reached over, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. “I’m going to explain this to you as best as I can. Your da has a better understandin’ of it because I don’t know what all of the big words mean.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “Take your time.”
“Cancer has grown in the milk duct in me left breast,” she explained, her voice a little shaky. “Stage one means that cancer is present, but it is contained to the area where the first abnormal cells developed. The doctor has assured me because it has been detected in the early stages, it can be very effectively treated.”
I nodded but didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
“The doctor said I have stage 1A, meanin’ that it hasn’t spread to me lymph nodes, so that is really good news.”
I took her word for it.
“Within my left breast, there is a small tumour, smaller than a peanut.”
Hearing the word tumour, no matter how small it was, was sickening to me and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
“The treatment proposed has to start immediately,” she continued. “Next week, to be exact.”
My breath caught.
“Ma.”
“It’s okay,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll be havin’ a combination of surgery and radiation. Chemo is not recommended for this stage; that is reserved for the later stages when the cancer is tougher.”
I found myself bobbing my head as she spoke.
“The surgery I will be havin’ is scheduled for next Thursday, and it’s called a lumpectomy. The doctor will remove the tumour and as little breast tissue as possible.”
My heart thrummed wildly against my chest.
“I’ll start radiation four weeks from the date of me surgery. I’ll have it five days a week for five to six weeks, and after that, I’m home free until I go back for testin’ after six months to make sure nothin’ has returned.”
I didn’t realise I was trembling until my ma gripped my hand tightly.
“Honey,” she said. “Please, don’t be scared.”
“I can’t help it,” I swallowed. “Bein’ scared is what I’m good at.”
“No, it’s not,” Ma said firmly. “You’re a tough woman.”
I didn’t believe that.
“You are tough. You’re the one goin’ through this.”
“We’re goin’ through it together,” Ma stated. “Me, you, and your da. This is affectin’ all of us, so it’s okay to be scared, to feel overwhelmed. I’d be worryin’ if you weren’t.”
I exhaled a breath. “I’m just glad that a plan is in place.”
“Me too.”
“I’m goin’ to the hospital with you on your surgery day,” I informed her. “And to all your radiation appointments.”
“Okay, bear.” She smiled.
I swallowed. “I wish it were me instead of you, Ma.”
“Don’t you ever say that!” She said with blinding fear shining in her brown eyes at the possibility of me ever being as sick as her. “I’m glad it’s me and not you, d’ye hear me?”
I nodded.
“Because I have breast cancer, the chances of you havin’ it has risen, so I want you to go and get a breast check yearly if you can, okay? I know it’s recommended every three years for your age group, but I don’t care about that. We can’t be too careful.”
I agreed with her.
“I’ll arrange an appointment with me GP, okay?”
“Okay.” She relaxed. “Good.”
She froze when a meow came from the hall.
“That was a cat just then,” she said, her back straightening. “Did you leave the door open?”
“No,” I answered. “But I did bring a cat with me.”
Ma’s lips parted with surprise, so I quickly filled her in on how I came to have Barbara, and that she is healthy and had just received her first round of vaccinations. I got her from the hallway and carried her crate into the kitchen.
“She’s white,” Ma gushed as she peered into the crate. “And has one green eye and one blue eye. She’s so cute.”
“Right?”
“Hello, Barbara,” Ma cooed then tittered. “I can’t believe you called ’er Barbara.”
“I like it.” I smiled. “It suits ’er.”
Ma looked from Barbara inside her crate to me, and she stared at me, and when I chuckled she pointed her index finger at me.
“What’s goin’ on with you?” She jokingly demanded. “Why do you seem different?”
“Different?”
“Yeah, different. You keep smilin’ … like that! Look, you’re smilin’ again!”
I laughed, and shook my head.
“Tell me!”
“I may have sorted things out with Damien.”
Ma’s eyes widened. “Meanin’?”
“Meanin’ we’re together.” I blushed. “Boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“What?” Ma screeched, then lowered her voice as to not scare Barbara. “How did that happen?”
“We talked,” I answered. “We like each other and want to be together, so we’re together.”
“This is such a turn of events,” Ma said, placing a hand on her chest. “Wasn’t he punchin’ Aideen’s brother the other day for sleepin’ with you?”
I cringed. “Yeah … but that’s in the past.”
At the mention of Dante, I made a mental note to tell him about my new relationship status. Not to rub it in his face—he mostly will be happy that I’m happy—but I wanted him to respect Damien and not throw our previous involvement in his face because that was just a low thing to do.
“I want to meet ’im,” Ma announced with a bob of her head. “I want to meet this lad who fucked you over and now is your partner.”
Oh, my God.
“You won’t have a go at ’im, will you?”
“You gonna do anythin’ about it if I do?” she challenged with a raised brow.
“Hell no, I’m not stupid.”
“I’m not goin’ to grill ’im.” She grinned, amused by my answer. “I just wanna meet ’im. You’re a grown woman who can make ’er own decisions on who she has in ’er life … but, I will gut ’im if he ever hurts you. That I can’t back down on, so you’ll just have to accept that ’ere and now.”
I chuckled. “Understood.”
“Brilliant.” She reached for my hand. “I’m happy for you; a new relationship is so excitin’. The beginnin’ is a magical time.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” She winked.
I knew she was thinking of my da then, and I had to resist the urge to ball my hands into fists.
I stayed at my parents’ house for an hour, chatting with my ma before she went to bed for a nap. Along with Barbara, I drove back to my apartment. I closed all the doors once inside and let Barbara out in the sitting room. That way I wouldn’t lose her if she hid somewhere. She seemed to be content with hiding under the sofa, so I went into my bedroom, tied my hair into a bun on the top of my head, then changed into my work clothes. I grabbed my sketchpad and pencil case from the spare bedroom and returned to the sitting room.
I also grabbed my laptop from the coffee table and switched it on. I emailed Morgan and gave him the password to my website and work email so he could get a head start on organising everything for me. I checked my calendar, noting the next day work began on a project for an author who wanted me to design a post-apocalyptic young adult fiction book cover. Her email had been very detailed, so I was excited to get a start on it.
After I emailed Morgan the information, I pulled my pad onto my lap and spent an hour drawing a portrait of Barbara on eight by ten paper. Once I had the initial sketch outline drawn, I used charcoal to define it, and just as I was finished, a knock sounded at my apartment door. I frowned as I stood and walked out the hallway.
“Who is it?”
“Your boyfriend.”
I opened the door and beamed at Damien.
“How’d you get up here without me buzzin’ you in?”
“I came by just as Kane was coming home from the store with Aideen and the boys.” He shrugged, leaning against the door panel looking too hot for words. “I came up with them.”
“Did they ask why you were comin’ to see me?”
“Obviously.” He smirked. “Aideen is so excited we’re datin’ that she screamed.”
I snorted. “Alec high fived me when I saw ’im at the shelter.”
I stepped back and gestured for Damien to come into the apartment, but he was too busy roaming his eyes on me to see it.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his eyes lingering on my face.
I raised a brow. “I’m pretty sure I’ve charcoal on me nose.”
“You do. You have some on your cheeks and forehead too.” Damien nodded. “And you’re still stunningly beautiful.”
I flushed at the compliment, and it brought a smile to Damien’s face. Not a grin or a smirk, but a real smile, and it was gorgeous.
“You’ve such a pretty smile.”
He pushed away from the door panel, stepped forward, and brought his hands to my cheeks and cupped them, stroking his thumb over my skin.
“I’m sure I’m supposed to be the one sweet talkin’ you.”
“Does the Man Bible say that?”
Damien smiled wider. “It does.”
“I’ll shut up and let you sweet talk me then,” I said, placing my hands on his waist. “Wouldn’t want to feel the wrath of Nico and his trusted Man Bible.”
“A wise decision,” Damien murmured.
He lost his smile, and his eyes were now locked on my lips. I closed my eyes the second his lips touched mine, and before a real kiss could even begin, I thought of Barbara, pulled back, and gasped, “Close the door. Barbara is out of ’er crate!”
Damien spun and quickly closed the door as I rushed into the sitting room, dropped to my hands and knees next to my settee, and looked under it. I almost shook with relief as I sat back on my heels and said, “She’s still ’ere.”
Damien was standing behind me, and he looked relived but when he glanced at my sketchpad on the settee, he smiled.
“You drew Babs?”
“Babs?” I repeated.
“Everyone has a nickname, and Barbara’s is Babs. Deal with it.”
I snickered. “Yeah, I drew Babs.”
“You’re crazy talented, baby.”
A shiver ran up my spine.
“Thanks,” I replied bashfully.
“How do you make it so lifelike?” Damien asked, peering at the sketch. “It almost looks three-dimensional.”
“Practice,” I answered. “Lots and lots of practice.”
“How did you learn to draw so well?”
“No idea,” I answered. “I always doodled, and I kept at it because I loved doin’ it so much. I just got better over time.”
“It shows in your work because wow.”
I always found it hard to take a compliment, but whenever I was praised for my work, my pride soared. I still didn’t like focusing on me though, I’d rather talk about someone, or something, else.
“Do you want some lunch? How long is your break?”
“Don’t do that.”
I froze. “Don’t do what?”
“You get embarrassed when people praise your work, and you try to change the subject.”
I gnawed on my lower lip. “I’m shy.”
“Shy?” Damien repeated. “You didn’t seem all that shy earlier on the phone.”
My cheeks turned supernova at the reminder.
“Oh, God, don’t!” I warned. “I was brave earlier, but I’m not anymore. Please, don’t talk about it. I’ll die.”
“I’ll leave you alone … but I’m still getting you back.”
“And I’m still looking forward to it, but in the meantime, shut up.”
Damien chortled and returned his gaze back to the sketch.
“Do you always prefer to just sketch?”
“Depends on my mood,” I explained. “Some days I like to paint.”
Damien’s eyes dropped to my plaid shirt, noting the stains. “I can see.”
“It can get messy sometimes.”
Heat flashed in his eyes for a moment, then as quick as it appeared, it vanished.
“What kind of artist are you?”
I thought about that question. Hard.
“I’m different,” I shrugged. “Some people see the world in black and white, or in a burst of colour ... I see it as a blank canvas waitin’ for me to add me life through colour.”
I smiled and looked down at my hands, noting different coloured paint dotted my skin and decorated my nails as well as some smduges of charcoal.
“I love the freedom of art. There are no rules, no right or wrong, no punishment, just self-expression. This is me centre; it’s what I love doin’, so I don’t care that it makes me different. I like different.”
“I like different, too,” Damien said. “People who are different have a shot at being original. They stray from the lines instead of sticking to the script. Everything they do is an adventure.”
I felt my mouth hang open.
“Exactly,” I said softly. “Exactly.”
“What’s the shocked face for?”
“You get me,” I answered. “No one has ever just … got me before.”
“Yeah, well, you never know,” Damien winked. “Maybe I’m different, too.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, staring at him like I was seeing him for the first time all over again. “Maybe.”