Secrets of a Shy Socialite (14 page)

“The Piermont name carries a lot of clout here in Westchester County,” Jena explained. “I met with my doctors, their staff, and representatives from the hospital who agreed to wait for payment of their exorbitant private pay rates until my birthday.”

“Rather confident you’d find a husband,” Justin pointed out.

Jena shared the harsh, disgusting truth. “Money can buy almost anything.” Even a man willing to marry a fake-boobed mother of two. “Anyway, as for keeping it from Jaci, while working for Jerald, I’ve planned parties and coordinated rooms at all the major hotels in the area. And I handled all the scheduling of my mother’s care. A quick couple of phone calls and I had a two room suite courtesy of the Piermont Enterprises account.” She smiled. Her rat of a brother owed her. “And a nurse to stay with me and the girls for two weeks.”

“What’d you tell Jaci?”

Nothing yet. She hated lying to her sister. It was too hard to think of saying good bye, telling her everything that needed to be said in case...

As if he understood her anguish he didn’t wait for an answer. “When?”

“Wednesday.” In two days.

Justin pulled out a chair from under the kitchen table and sat down. “So soon.”

Two. Days.

Jena made the short distance between the counter and the kitchen table on numb legs, pulled out a chair and inelegantly plopped onto it. After weeks of fending off their attacks, doubt and indecision fought through her thin protective layer of certainty that surgery ASAP was the right path to take. Instead of being proactive was she actually being over-reactive? But the same argument against waiting waged a counter attack. Aunt Lynnie’s breast cancer was diagnosed at stage III at age twenty-five, which Jena would turn in too short a time. Were the deadly mutant cells already multiplying inside her body? Was she already too late? Was she going to ruin her physical appearance and her sex life and her chance at a real marriage, real love, only to be stricken down by the disease anyway?

Justin eyed her with concern. “We’re going to get through this,” he said. So sure. So Confident.

Jena wanted to place her palms on some part of his body to draw on his strength to replenish her depleted reserves. She looked up at him. “We?” She wasn’t his problem. This wasn’t his concern. Jena would handle it on her own, like she handled everything else.

He placed his hand, palm up, on the table, stared into her eyes and waited.

She needed to touch him, feel him, absorb his certainty of a positive outcome, so she placed her hand in his larger one which he tightened around her. For some reason the gesture gave her hope, made her feel safe and protected.

“My mom left when I was two,” Justin said, looking at the table as if remembering. “When I was old enough to understand, Grandma Abbie told me it was because my dad didn’t take care of my mom the way she needed to be taken care of. I remember telling her when I grew up I’d do such a good job of taking care of my wife she’d never leave me. And I’d take such good care of my kids they’d love me forever. Grandma Abbie smiled,” and so did he at the memory, “patted my head and called me a good boy.” He shifted his gaze to their joined hands, loosened his grip, and ran his thumb back and forth over the backs of her fingers.

“Then Grandma Abbie died, leaving me alone with my dad for so many years, and I forgot my promise to her. As I grew I started following dad’s egocentric example, becoming more and more like him each year. Oh I’d tell myself I was a better person. A better man. That given the chance I would be a better husband and father. Then, like on some subconscious level I thought myself incapable, I never let any woman get close enough for anything resembling a relationship so I wouldn’t fail.” He looked up.

“Then you came along and gave me two beautiful daughters who each share a part of us. Never have I wanted to do the right thing as much as I do now. You’re my chance, Jena.” He added his other hand hers in both of his. “To prove I’m a better man than my dad. To prove I’m worthy of being a husband and a father. That I’m capable of taking care of a family the right way. The way I’d promised my Grandma Abbie I would. The way you and the girls deserve. Let me, Jena. Give me that chance. Marry me.”

Jena’s eyes watered at his heartfelt words. She wanted so much to say yes. But the thought of Justin looking at her with the distaste and regret she’d seen in her father’s eyes when he’d looked at his wife’s post-surgical body kept her quiet.

“Say something,” Justin prompted.

She couldn’t.

“You okay?” he asked, squeezing her hand.

No. She was so far from okay she doubted they were even in the same time zone. “I need time to think.” She yanked her hand from his and stood. “And you need to get ready for work.” She hurried toward the door. “We can talk about this later.” And she ran from his condo like the coward she was.

* * *

Later that night, after a hellacious shift on his day job, and a stop at a jewelry store after his ten hour day, Justin returned home to his quiet condo hungry, dirty and exhausted, yet determined to convince Jena to marry him despite the niggling apprehension that’d cropped up during the day. He threw his keys on the counter noticing one of Jena’s amazing chocolate cakes sitting on an elegant crystal plate at the center of his kitchen table. He picked up the card beside it and read the inscription out loud, “Sorry I missed your birthday. Hope it was happy. If you’re hungry when you get home I made you a meatloaf. It’s in the refrigerator. Jena.”

Not the “Yes I’ll marry you” he’d hoped for, but thoughtful and appreciated. With all she had going on she’d taken time out of her day to cook for him. Because, he’d realized over the past couple of days, that’s what Jena did. She took care of others. And while he considered himself fortunate to be on the receiving end of her caring, he couldn’t help but wonder who took care of her?

Fifteen minutes later, showered and changed, Justin sat down to dinner and an ice cold beer. He took a forkful of actual home-cooked meal into his mouth, closed his eyes, and almost wept with joy. Man she could cook!

His hesitation toward marriage eased a bit. Hoping to alleviate it further—believing knowledge is power—Justin pushed his plate to the side and reached for his laptop, needing to learn about Jena’s genetic condition, the surgical procedure she would be undergoing and the care she’d need afterward. And while he was at it, he hoped gain some understanding as to what would drive a perfectly healthy young woman to undergo a drastic body-altering surgery that carved off a female’s most prominent, identifiable and let’s be honest, arousable attributes of her sexual identity.

Once booted up he typed in keyword: breast cancer gene. Over the next three hours he added BRCA2, mother with breast cancer, dense breasts cancer risk, treatment breast cancer, survival rates breast cancer, and prophylactic bilateral mastectomies to his search.

He scanned dozens of articles, both technical medical pieces and detailed personal accountings from women, some Jena’s age, a few in various stages of dealing with cancer others recovering from prophylactic bilateral mastectomies. And blogs. With pictures. He could have done without the pictures. Yet some unknown force had compelled him to look.

By the time he shut down his computer Justin had a newfound understanding of Jena’s plight and acceptance of her plan. But thanks to the pictures, he also had a newfound concern over whether he actually possessed the strength of character necessary to give Jena what she would need to help her through recovery and dealing with the altered body image he’d read about. He shook his head to scatter the images now plaguing him. Scarred, unnatural, irregularly shaped mounds. Without nipples.

Suddenly Jena’s willingness to marry a gay man made sense, to avoid rejection from a straight man. A man like Justin.

Would he still be attracted to her after surgery? Would his body respond to her in the same way it did now? God help him, what if he wasn’t? What if it didn’t? What if he couldn’t?

Idiot. He smacked both palms on the table, the burn bringing his focus where it belonged. This wasn’t about sex and it wasn’t about him. It was about Jena, the mother of his daughters, an integral member of their four person family unit. And the tremendous respect he had for her strength in making what had to be an excruciatingly difficult decision meant to prolong her life in the face of a well-documented, very real, and significantly elevated risk of developing cancer.

A decision he’d belittled by making it about breast removal, when it was really about so much more. Selfish jerk.

Her words haunted him.
As long as I have the choice, I choose life. And if choosing life means I have to live it without a pair of breasts and a uterus, then so be it.
And,
I am more than a pair of breasts.

Yes she was. Jena Piermont was a dedicated, loving mother, an amazingly strong, courageous woman who he’d be lucky and honored to have as a wife. And he couldn’t wait until morning to tell her. He picked up his cell phone to check the time. Ten thirty-one. He didn’t want to wake her or the babies. So he dialed Ian.

“Hey,” he said when Ian answered. “What’s going on down there?”

“Well, Jaci’s out of her mind with worry about Jena. She’s been pacing back and forth and talking to herself for the past half hour.”

“Who’s on the phone?” Jaci asked in the background. “Is that Justin? Give me the phone.”

“Good luck,” Ian said. Then Jaci came on. “Justin Rangore you had better tell me what’s going on with my sister or our friendship is over.”

“Hi, Jaci.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi, Jaci’ me all friendly like nothing’s wrong. Jena’s gone quiet. She barely said two words since Ian and I got home from work. From the looks of my condo and my refrigerator she’s been cooking and cleaning all day, typical upset Jena behavior. She served us this elaborate feast for dinner then disappeared into her room without eating a bite. Something’s going on and I know you know what it is.”

Yeah, he did. And as much as he’d like to confide in Jaci and or Ian, his two closest friends, he couldn’t. “I’m coming down,” Justin said, disconnecting the call before Jaci could protest. Then he retrieved the engagement ring he’d bought for Jena—because even if they couldn’t marry before her surgery, at least they could be officially engaged. And his emergency key to Jaci’s condo—in case she went all angry and refused to open the door. And one, no, three condoms—because he was a guy and guys always remained hopeful, and therefore, should always be prepared.

Too impatient to wait for the elevator he took the stairs down. To find Ian casually leaning with his back to the hallway wall beside Jaci’s door, waiting for him. “I’m supposed to stop you from coming in,” he said half-joking when Justin reached him.

“You going to try?” If he wanted a fight Justin would give him one.

“Nah.” He held up two fingers. “On two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“One, you look me in the eyes and promise me that you talking to Jena right now is going to make things better and not worse.”

Justin looked him in the eyes. “I promise.” At least he hoped.

“Two, you give me some bit of information to relay to Jaci so she’ll calm down enough for me to get her into bed.” Ian smiled. “I’ll take it from there.”

Justin reached into his pocket, took out the velvet ring box he’d stashed there, and opened the lid to expose the two-carat emerald cut diamond ring, the sales lady assured him Jena would love, inside. She damn well better for all it cost him. “Tell Jaci, I’m here to propose to Jena.” And to let Jena know he supported her decision to opt for surgery and would stand by her and take care of her and the girls. His family. That she wasn’t alone.

Ian held out his hand to shake Justin’s. “Congratulations, man.” Their hands clasped together, Ian jerked Justin forward and they bumped shoulders in a male sort of hug.

“I need a favor,” Justin said when they parted. “You okay with moving out so I can move Jena and the girls upstairs with me tomorrow?”’

Ian smiled. “What’s your rush?”

If only Justin could tell him. “You okay with that or not? You’re sleeping down here every night anyway.”

“Tomorrow night work?” Ian asked as he slowly pushed open the door.

“The earlier the better.”

Ian looked back. “Keep it down,” he whispered. “Mandy and Maddie are asleep in the living room. Jena’s door is closed. Not sure what she’s doing but there’s no noise coming from her room so I’m guessing the twins are asleep.”

By the light over the kitchen sink, Justin followed Ian into the condo and down the hall to Jena’s room. He knocked lightly. She didn’t answer. He tried the doorknob. Unlocked. So he turned it and as quiet as he could so he didn’t wake the twins, pushed into the dark room. “Jena?” he whispered.

A lamp lit up in the far corner of the crowded room revealing two cribs end to end along one wall, a changing table and bureau along another. A laundry basket of folded pink and yellow baby clothes sat on the floor. Two car seats lay stacked one on top of the other in a corner. Two baby swings. Two lay on the floor and play with the dangling thingies things. And hardly any room to move.

“Justin?” Jena whispered. “Is something wrong?”

Their cramped living area for one thing. “Where did all this stuff come from?”

“I wanted to make the condo look nice for Ian and Jaci so I moved all of Abbie and Annie’s stuff in here so everyone would stop tripping over it.”

She sat up in the bed her hair a mess, her eyes puffy and rimmed in red, the tip of her nose a dark pink and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve spent the last couple of hours on the computer doing research, which is why I’m down here so late. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“No problem,” she said, looking at him. Wary. “What did you research?”

“The breast cancer gene. Breast cancer in general. Prophylactic bilateral mastectomies.”

She threw her pretty, bare legs over the side of the bed. “If you came down here to try to talk me out of—”

He sat down beside her. “I came down to tell you I am humbled by your courage.”