“Okay.” I get up to use the bathroom and splash water on my face, trying to shake off the dread that’s overtaken every cell in my body. I should’ve known something like this would happen. She says it’s nothing, but what if it’s something? And how long will we have to wait to find out?
I can’t bear this.
IRIS
He’s completelydifferent since he found the lump in my breast last night—quiet, withdrawn and unsmiling, like he was when I first knew him. I messaged my doctor’s office first thing this morning and made an appointment for tomorrow.
I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, my awesome doctor said,but let’s take a look to be sure.
I text my mom to ask if she can watch the kids for an hour in the morning, and she says she’d love to because she’s missed them while we were gone. Thankfully, they have one more day off before they go back to school.
I do get weird, lumpy breasts during my time of the month, but this one feels different to me. Not that I’d ever tell Gage that. He’s already a wreck over it—and just when I had him convinced it was safe to take a chance with me. This is the last thing we need.
Mimi and Stan drive us to the airport and drop us and all our bags at the curb with warm hugs for each of us.
“What do you guys say to Mimi and Stan?” I ask the kids.
“Thank you,” they say in unison.
“You’re very welcome. Come see us again soon, okay?”
“Mom, can we come back soon?” Tyler asks.
“We’ll see what we can do.”
“That means yes,” Tyler tells Mimi, who laughs as she hugs him again.
Gage is so quiet that I worry I may never see these delightful people again. “Thank you so much for everything,” I tell Mimi when I hug her a second time. “It was such a special week.”
“For us, too, honey. Please do come back. Any time.”
“We will.”
“I told you that was a yes,” Tyler says.
We leave them with smiles and blown kisses and follow Gage inside. He’s pushing a huge luggage cart with all our bags on it. That he’s barely made eye contact with me since last night’s discovery is only because he’s scared, or so I try to tell myself, because I can’t bear to think it might’ve ruined everything by reminding him how quickly things can change.
My stomach is a ball of stress as we check in, navigate security with the kids and head for our gate to fly home. The kids are tired and cranky, and that only adds to my distress. Five long hours later, Gage pulls the minivan into the garage at home and helps me unload kids and bags. Before he says the words, I know what’s coming.
“I’m going to head home. I’ve got some stuff to do there.”
Since the kids are upstairs, I say what I really want to rather than just nodding in acceptance of his statement. “Do you really, or are you running from what happened last night?”
“I’m not running.”
“Aren’t you? If it turns out to be something, it’s game over for us? Is that who you really are?”
“No, it’s not. I just need a little break. That’s all.”
“A break. I see. Well, go take your break.” I turn to walk away, disgusted by him and myself for wanting to fall apart on the spot.
“Iris.”
I stop, but I don’t look back at him. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I just need a second to think.”
“Do what you’ve got to do.” I walk away while I still can, even as tears slide down my cheeks. I wipe them away, determined to get it together so the kids won’t see I’m upset. Baths and bedtime take longer than ever tonight, and I’m thankful for one more vacation day before we get back to our usual routine. I’m going to need that day to do laundry, grocery shop and get our collective act together—not to mention have my breast checked while I nurse a broken heart.