What's Not Gone

Evan carefully tips into the room so as to not disturb the sleeping figure in the bed or upset the glass of juice, plate of scrambled eggs with bacon, and vase with a single yellow sunflower on the tray he’s carrying. He places the tray on a bedside table and tries to tip out again, but stumbles on the braided rug.

“No need to sneak around, I’m awake.”

Evan stops but doesn’t turn around. He rocks back and forth on his heels. He wants to leave but realizes now is as good a time as any to talk.

“Della, it’s been six weeks since…”

“I know how long it’s been. I’m the one who went through it, thank you very much.”

Evan turns, then sits on the bed. He reaches out, touches her hip.

“Baby, don’t you want to talk about it? The doctor thinks it’ll be healthy for us to discuss…”

“Discuss what? What does he know? He’s gay and will never have a wife that’ll go through this!”

Della flings off the covers and rips her pajama top open revealing the scars. Evan jumps a little at the suddenness of her movement and tries to mask it, but isn’t fast enough. Della mistakes his action for something else and covers herself just as quickly. Muffled sobs escape from the recesses of the floral blanket that’s now firmly fixed over Della’s head. Evan reaches for her and tries to pry the edges of the coverlet from her vice-like grip.

“No, baby, I’m sorry. You just surprised me, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting you to do that. Please, talk to me.”

“Ooo unly ante e or I ooobs!”

“What?”

Della pokes her lips out from the covers.

“You only wanted me for my boobs! You always say you’re a breast man. Now, what?”

Della pulls the covers back over her lips. She hadn’t meant to say that but now, since Evan wanted a conversation, she needed to know what he’s thinking. She bites her lips.

Evan crawls into the bed. He pulls the blanket off her ear.

“I love you.”

“No you don’t, not anymore.”

“I love you.”

“You told me, when we first met, how you love, and I quote, ‘tig ole bitties’. How can you still love me?”

“I love you.”

Evan gently turns Della to face him. His heart skips a beat as he sees the pain streaked across her face. He moves his thumb under her eye and across her cheek, leaving a fresh trail of moisture.

Della searches his eyes, looking for the disgust she expects. When she doesn’t find it, she looks down. Evan tips up her face so their eyes meet again.

“Hey. I love you. You are brave and strong and beautiful. Do you remember when we first got the news, how crazy I was? You were calm, said we’d get through this. Said, 'Out come a few lumps, bada bing, bada boom, done!'”

Della nods.

“Then, when the doctor said you’d have to do chemo and radiation just to make sure everything was gone? You actually laughed and said, Bring on the weed! Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Della agrees and smiles a little.

“I know you weren’t expecting them to tell you the cancer came back and you would have to lose your breasts, but if losing a part of you means having the rest of you, then that’s what I want. Always and forever.”

“Do you really love me? Or are you just saying that so I’ll get out of this bed?”

“I- love- you!” Evan emphasizes each word with kisses to her forehead, cheek, and lips.

Della returns the kiss. When they break apart, she graces him with a full smile.

“I take it that you love me, don’t you?”

“Yes, my darling, I do.”

“Even without the bitties?”

“Even without the bitties.”

Della inhales, then exhales slowly. She rolls from Evan’s embrace, pushes back the covers, and gets out of bed. As she stretches, she smiles down at her husband. He props himself on an elbow and smiles back, noticing how she doesn’t try to close her top. His smile broadens.

“You know I love you too, right?”

“Yes, my darling Della, I know.”

Suddenly hungry, Della peeps over him at the tray of food on the nightstand. The eggs look like lumps of yellow rubber and the bacon has turned into lard-covered sticks. Della crinkles her nose and curls her lips.

“What do you say we go out for breakfast?”

Evan glances over his shoulder at the tray.

“Yeah, I think that would be best. I’m glad you didn’t marry me for my cooking.”

“Yes I did,” says Dells wickedly. “But, because of this terrible display of culinary capability, I’m going to divorce you and run off with Bobby Flay.”

“Ouch,” says Evan. He flops on his back and grins at the ceiling. He’s happy some of his wife’s humor is back. He missed it. He turns his head towards the bathroom and sees Della, top off, hands on hips, eyeing herself critically in the mirror.

“Are you sure you don’t miss them?” Della asks as she gingerly touches her scars. She’d avoided mirrors during her convalesce and was a little shaken by her appearance.

“I’m sure. I’m also sure that, if you hadn’t got them removed, I would miss you more.”

Della accepts his answer with a smile. She grabs a towel from the rack and gets her cold cream out of the medicine cabinet.

“Besides, the doctor told me he’d send them to me in a box so I can keep them under the bed.”

Swack!

Evan pulls the washcloth off his face.

“Sorry. Too soon?”

Della grabs a pillow and pummels Evan thoroughly. He puts his arms up to deflect the blows. He hears her laughing, the melodic sound mixed with the soft thumps of the pillow against his elbows. He laughs too as he snatches the pillow and reaches up, grabbing her around the waist.

Della peers down at him. She holds her breath as he takes a hand and gently, softly touches the scars. He kisses them then looks into her eyes.

“My brave, beautiful Della.”