A Mess of a Man (Cruel & Beautiful #2)(74)
“Not exactly.”
My brows lift because Kenneth is the only guy I’ve ever seen her with.
“Okay, yes, Kenneth is part of the problem. He’s great and everything I could want in a man.”
Our waiter busts up the conversation by delivering our appetizers, but Jenna doesn’t seem to be very interested in food. As she picks at her plate, we resume our discussion.
“If Kenneth is the man for you, then what’s the problem?” I ask.
Her face lights up like I flipped a switch. “There’s this guy, Brandon, who I’m positive my parents wouldn’t approve of. Not that it’s a problem because he’s just a friend. It’s just …” Her eyes go dreamy. “When I’m around him, he’s interested in me. Not in what my family does.”
“Life’s short, Jenna. You have to be happy, and if Kenneth doesn’t make you happy, sometimes you have to cut bait, you know?”
“You don’t know my dad very well. I can hear him already.”
“So, what? Are you going to marry someone to please your dad, and then get divorced a few years down the road?”
She shrugs, as if she’s considered that route.
“Holy crap! You can’t possibly think that! Does Cate know?”
She grabs my hand and says, “No, and you can’t say a word about this to anyone.”
“I won’t, but promise me you won’t do anything foolish. You need to hang out with my friends. I swear they would set you straight.”
That night, as I lie in bed, I can’t help but think about Jenna and her dilemma. I wonder if Ben knows how this is rolling out with his dad. For that matter, if Ben and I go down that road, what would Martin think of me? Would I be good enough for the Rhoades family? I’m thankful for my parents. They would never expect that of me. And now that I think of it, Martin didn’t seem the type that would do that to Jenna either. Maybe she’s overanalyzing things. I hope so. I also pray she finds the answers to her problems and chooses the guy who makes her the happiest.
The following day at work drags, and so does the evening. Ben is tied up, as he is the next night, too. His phone calls are a poor substitution for the real thing. I miss him, but I don’t want to intrude on him either. He’s exhausted when he gets in at night and he needs sleep so he can function at one hundred percent during the day.
The day of my appointment arrives too soon for me, but I face it with all the courage I can muster. I’ve buried my head like an ostrich over this visit for as long as I can, so this is my day of reckoning. The sad thing is, my doctor’s not going to like what I say. My stress threshold is at maximum capacity without me rupturing my own head gasket. As I sit across the desk from my doctor, he looks at the computer screen, tapping the keyboard and hmming repeatedly.
“So, Samantha, you had the genetic testing as we discussed at your last appointment and we talked about all your options. We said that for six months you could think about what to do. I know you’ve probably given it a lot of thought in that time.”
“To be honest, I don’t know what to do.” Right now, I swear my stomach is actually quivering.
The lines around his eyes deepen and he frowns. He obviously isn’t happy with my answer. “Okay, Samantha, this is very important. I know you’re young and a twenty-four year old usually doesn’t have to make these types of decisions. But given your family history, particularly your mother, aunt, and grandmother, I would strongly suggest you give this a little more urgency. You’ve tested positive for the breast cancer gene, and not just any gene, but the most aggressive one. Your last breast ultrasound was normal, which is great, but now I urge you to decide on the other issue. Prophylactic mastectomy and reconstruction is a very viable option, and even though it’s extremely traumatic, with the removal of the breast tissue it would cut your chances of getting breast cancer down immensely.” He starts scribbling something down on a piece of paper and hands it to me. “I would love for you to talk to these people. One is a plastic surgeon who could discuss your reconstruction and what your breasts would look like afterward, and the other is a not an individual but rather a group of young women who have gone through what you are experiencing right now. They could answer a whole host of questions you may have. The big thing we want to do here, Samantha, is to prevent cancer from happening.”
“I understand. Thank you for giving me these.” I hold up the paper. Maybe they’ll help. I don’t know. “My mom and sister have been on my back. I know it’s time.” I’m smart enough to know that this can affect me. My mom fought it. My aunt did too. My grandmother tried and lost her battle. Laney opted for the surgery. What’s the matter with me? Why can’t I just say “Let’s do this thing”? My heart, gut, and instincts all tell me to go for it, yet they’re my breasts, my boobs, and I still grieve for the part of me that will be missing after the surgery. Is that so wrong of me?
I leave with all kinds of thoughts of the three B’s swirling in my head. My business, my boobs, and Ben. As I walk back into work, my phone rings and it’s Laney.
“Hey, sis. Mom wanted me to call to let you know she has a date for family dinner. Can your boyfriend make it two weeks from now?”
“I’ll ask. Give me the date so I can put it in my calendar.” It’s a Wednesday night.