The lampposts all wore red velvet bows, and several of the minivans parked in driveways sported red Rudolph noses and antlers, as did at least one mailbox. Although I was not a fan of Christmas, seeing it all in the quiet of the night made me nostalgic for the Christmases of my childhood.
As she promised, Cassie had put Colin in the guest room at the back of the house. A trellis conveniently led up to the window, as I’d discovered as a younger version of myself. I took off my gloves for a better grip, and after pulling to make sure the trellis could still support me, I began to climb. The windows were never locked, so I wasn’t surprised when the window opened easily a few inches before I had to wrestle it the rest of the way up. I climbed through the window, then closed it behind me.
I faced the bed, taking off my coat and shoes to buy me a few moments of courage. The eerie light of an impending snowfall illuminated the four posts of the bed and the rise of the bedclothes where Colin slept. Except, as my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that he wasn’t lying down but sitting up. Probably awakened by the noise I’d made wrenching the window up. I imagined Aunt Cassie hadn’t used the WD-40 on the sash for just that reason.
“Colin? Are you awake?”
“I am now.”
“Good. Because I’ve come to a decision about Precious’s story. I’m going to tell the whole story—starting with Ethel Maltby and using the clothes as the backdrop to an incredibly powerful life. I want to show how Precious lived every minute, all the good parts and the bad parts—it’s still her wonderful life in all of its shades and colors, decorated with glorious clothes and accessories. That’s how she’d want me to tell it. It might be an article, or I might want to make it bigger. Like a biography—I haven’t decided. But I’ve come up with a title: Reinvention: A Story of Friendship, Love, and Courage.”
“I approve.” He paused. “Is that why you climbed up to my window in the middle of the night?”
“No. I need to ask you something.”
“All right.”
“Remember before, in London, when we were looking at Precious’s photos and you made me drink Scotch . . . ?”
“I didn’t make you, Maddie. You drank of your own free will, as I recall.”
“Yes, well, that night you told me something, and I just need to verify that I heard you correctly before I make any more decisions.”
He was completely silent, and I was glad I couldn’t see his expression. “Go on.”
I swallowed, trying not to shiver. “Did you mean it when you said that I should allow those who love me to decide what they can and cannot endure?”
“Yes. I did.”
“But how much can you endure?”
“All of it, Maddie. All of whatever life has in store. I’m not saying this blindly. I’ve been talking with a doctor friend of mine. I know that you have an eighty-seven percent risk of developing breast cancer in your lifetime. It took me five seconds to realize that it didn’t matter to me. As long as we’re together, we can face anything.”
I took a deep breath, feeling overheated despite the chilly room. “Don’t speak so quickly. There’s more.” I took a deep breath. “I had both breasts removed when I was eighteen. Aunt Cassie shares the gene, too, so we had our surgeries at the same time. None of my siblings have it—just me. I’ve had reconstructive surgery, but if you look closely, you can still see scars under my breasts. It’s ironic, actually. The genetic testing is why Knoxie decided to do our ancestry chart. That’s how we found Precious.”
He sat up and moved nearer to the side of the bed, either to run or to get closer. Either way, it scared me. I hated uncertainty. That was why I always made a habit of ignoring it.
I felt his eyes on me in the dark as he spoke. “I also learned that removing the breasts decreases your chances but doesn’t eliminate your risk entirely. That didn’t change my mind, either.”
I leaned toward him, his words damaging my resolve. I stepped back, took another deep breath, wanting to get this over with so I wouldn’t have to wonder anymore what Colin would do. I already had a bad track record of coming clean. “Because of the genetic mutations, I’m also at high risk for ovarian cancer. My doctor makes me have blood tests regularly. My last test showed slightly elevated inflammatory markers. She wants to test me again. If those tests also show elevated markers, she’ll order scans and look for signs of a tumor. My appointment is next week. If the test results aren’t good, she’ll recommend having my ovaries removed.”
I swallowed, then pressed on. “I could never have children.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “It’s why my fiancé broke our engagement. Not just because he wanted children, but because he’d seen me go through my mother’s illness and didn’t think he was strong enough to see it happen to me. Because no matter what parts I get removed from my body, no surgery makes me cancer-proof.”
I held my breath, waiting for him to speak.
“There are so many ways to bring children into a family, Maddie. Whether they’re biological children or not, don’t you think we’d love them just as much? And it’s not your breasts I’m in love with. If you’re trying to scare me off with any of that, it’s not working.”
“You’re saying that now. But you might think differently in five years. Or less. You could change your mind about what you’re willing to endure.”
He calmly drew in a breath. Exhaled. “I could. But I won’t. It’s not who I am. I respect that your lifelong beliefs aren’t going to change
