The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 24

‘Right, let’s take a proper look at these boobs then.’

Noah is behind me. We are lying next to each other in bed. He’s made an excellent big spoon, at least up until now.

‘No. What? Why?’

‘Well, because it seems to me as though you need a second opinion.’

I look back and half eye him sceptically.

I had been lying happily next to him, my mind wandering during the gentle morning wake-up, trying to stay limber, but also keeping my stomach tucked in so it doesn’t muffin, thinking about how to break myself into the idea of him seeing me, or more specifically my boobs, in daylight. But I had not expected this direct attack. I try to dissuade him with a gentle joke.

‘And you are going to provide this second opinion?’

I can feel him smile. ‘Yes. I am a trained professional.’

I remain still, no longer trying to also be limber. I am now more akin to marble. So is Noah. His question was quite bullishly delivered, but I know he won’t force me into anything that I am not willing to do. I can tell from the way he has sex – he is very considerate, but still has throwdown. It’s an important and tantalizing combination.

He is so easily pleased in bed that he makes me feel like I am great at this sex thing. Up until now I had always thought I was fairly mediocre, but we egg each other on. He likes it, so I like it, so he likes it more, so I like it even more and so on. It feels great, and it makes me less worried about not looking like I wish I looked during sex. It makes me less worried about my very obviously home-coiffed vagina, and my sweaty upper lip. And even the awkwardness isn’t that awkward, although I do still worry about the lip. Like last night, we could have easily had sex on the sofa (once the book had been moved), but he took me to the bedroom. I don’t know if it was because of the bright lounge lighting, but something tells me it was. Something tells me that even though his mind was full of ‘sex, sex, sex’, he still thought about me and my imperfect, shy boobs. I might be guilty of being in the happy post-coital glow, but it feels good.

Until I remember his request.

‘Do ENT doctors look at many boobs?’ I don’t want this to be a talk about his exes – I am not in the mood for that conversation – so I clarify. ‘In a professional capacity, I mean?’

‘Strictly speaking, no. But I am a doctor. It’s just that I am qualified in a different area.’

I snort at his reasoning and then bite the inside of my lip.

And then, I just kinda … give up. I’m done hiding my boobs from the world, or at least Noah. My poor boobs. They deserve so much more. So much better. They have fought off an enemy that has defeated even the most determined armies.

‘OK. But on one condition.’

‘OK.’ I can feel his answer on my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine.

‘You keep your eyes closed until I say that you can open them.’

Having examined my boobs in the mirror with new, slightly kinder eyes, I have decided that the best way to look at them is front on. They look OK front on. My right boob is fine. But my left is a bit squiffy. It’s a little uneven. Bumpy. Scarred. The position of the nipple is a bit wonky. Curiously, I think it looks slightly less wonky straight on. Despite the wonk, I don’t want to fix them. I’m weirdly proud of them.

But right now, I worry that I’ve gone too far in the other direction.

I’ve tried to make cancer none of who I am, but this isn’t right either.

I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know that I have been in the bathroom for an anti-social amount of time.

I’ve been standing in the Superwoman pose, arms on hips, chest angled towards the sky, for so long that I’m getting cramp in my fingers. A while ago I read somewhere that standing like this increases your confidence. I’m not entirely sure it has, but it was worth a shot.

I put my t-shirt back on. It is an oldie that I’ve had for years. It’s so soft, so shapeless, and so faded. It’s the most comfortable thing I own. I open the bathroom door. Bless him. I must have been in the bathroom for ten minutes, but his eyes are still closed. I double check anyway.

‘Your eyes are closed, right?’

He shakes his head. ‘Can’t see a thing.’

He has, however, repositioned himself on the bed a bit. He’s sitting up against the headboard. I consider my options. I could ask him to stand, but that seems very formal. Plus, he is a lot taller than I am, meaning he would have to bend down to see them at the ideal tested angle. Although, to be fair, I didn’t look at them from a bird’s-eye view. I swallow. Maybe they would look better from higher up. Maybe I’m not ready for this.

I swallow again. No. I am. I am ready for this.

I look at him. I’m going to need to straddle him. I figure this way his eyes will be at about the same height as mine.

‘Don’t freak out.’

He jumps a bit on the bed, arms flailing and almost hitting me, but eyes still closed. ‘Oh god. What’s happened?’

I touch his arm to reassure him. I worry that he is jumpy because he is just as nervous as I am. Because he is scared of what he will see. ‘No, nothing. I just wanted to let you know that I am going to climb on top of you.’

He relaxes. Eyes still closed.

‘You won’t find me objecting.’

I smile at the quip, and start to climb. Noah holds out his hands and tries to support me. I know he means to help. It doesn’t, but I don’t stop him.

The light is shining through the netted curtain. I am in position. He will have enough light for a good view.

I inhale and exhale, trying to calm my heart.

‘OK, you can open your eyes.’

He does, slowly.

‘Well, erm, they look great, but they are still very, erm … covered in cotton?’

I am still wearing my t-shirt.

‘Oh, I know. But I didn’t want to just be like, pow’ – my hands make the explosion movement – ‘boobs in front of your face, as soon as you opened your eyes.’ My overly animated arms were meant to show how OK I am with this scenario, but all they have done is make me feel even more awkward.

He nods. ‘OK, I can understand that.’ His hands point towards my t-shirt. ‘So, should I?’ He goes to hold the hem, but doesn’t pull up until I nod. But I do nod, and then I hold my arms up for him.

Arms up, I realize that I didn’t practise this part. I worry this action will really stretch out the scars and make them even larger than they are. When the t-shirt momentarily covers my eyes I am tempted to ask to keep it there so I don’t have to see Noah’s face. But I’m not quick enough, and before I can stop it, the t-shirt is off. Completely off.

I resist the urge to squirm, but I don’t resist very well, and cross my arms in front of me.

Gently, very gently, Noah pulls them away. ‘Hey, hey. You’re blocking my view.’ Except for the fact he is looking right in my eyes.

I let my arms fall and look down at my boobs. I look at the right one first, and then the left. And then I look at Noah.

Once again, he seeks permission before moving, before pushing me into a situation I am not comfortable with. ‘Can I?’ He motions like he wants to touch them. Specifically, the left one. The scarred one. I nod.

His hand cups it, thumb rubbing near the scar. ‘How’s the feeling? The sensation?’

I shrug. ‘It’s OK. In some areas it is crazy sensitive, and some areas not so much.’

He then starts squinting, and positions himself a little closer.

‘I have to say … your surgeon did a great job. This is a very neat scar.’

I look down at it.

‘Thank you?’

‘Um.’

He is still looking at my boobs, and I worry that my worry was right, that he can no longer see them as something sexual, but I worry for different reasons than I had before. Before, I had been worried that he would see them as diseased. Now I worry that he will see them as a fine example of great stitching. But still, his words have warmed me, calmed me.

‘They must have been very, very impressive before, because they are still’ – he looks up at me from under his eyelashes, which I have just noticed are quite long for a boy – ‘and I say this as an unbiased observer, very impressive now.’

I scoff and look away. ‘You’re crazy.’

His right eyebrow cocks up. ‘Maybe, but not because of this.’

I look at him sceptically and reposition a bit on his leg. My right hip is going a bit numb.

He takes a sharp inhale of breath.

‘Oh, careful.’

I stop moving and look down. The sheet is covering him, but, ‘Are you …’ My eyebrows say the rest … getting aroused?

‘Maybe.’ He looks quickly from side to side. ‘OK, yes. I can’t help myself. These’ – he’s massaging both of them now – ‘deserve to be worshipped.’ His eyes are no longer anywhere near my face. ‘I had always thought of myself as a butt guy, but these are spectacular.’ He even licks his lips. ‘Have you named them?’

I am speechless. No. I have not named my boobs.

‘No.’

His eyes shift and he looks at me. He looks like a kid in a toy store. ‘Great! Can I name them?’

‘No!’

‘But people name stars.’ He smirks. ‘Why can’t I name your boobs?’ His smirk turns into a full-on grin. His eyes are laughing. I twist away, out of his grasp, and cross my arms over my boobs, once again hiding them.

‘Because they are my boobs, and I don’t want to name them.’

He counters, opening his hands out, imploringly. ‘I think you’re robbing them of an identity.’

‘You are so strange.’

‘Probably.’ He winks. ‘Go on. You know you want me to name them.’

I roll my eyes overdramatically.

‘Fine. You can name them.’ He starts to celebrate.

‘Ye—’

I uncross my arms, and stop him from saying anything more, my finger silencing his mouth. ‘On one condition.’ I move my finger so he can speak.

‘Name it.’

‘I get to name your penis.’

‘Done.’ Without any hesitation.

Shit. I don’t want to actually name his penis, and I had, wrongly, assumed he wouldn’t want me to either. But the smile he gives me back is so unaffected. He smiles so easily. I guess as long as I don’t have to get their names tattooed on them, I can’t see the harm.

‘So … What names are you going with?’

‘I’m thinking.’ He still doesn’t say anything for a while. I shift again. ‘I’m having problems coming up with anything good, possibly because the blood is rushing from my brain.’

‘Hmm. I can tell.’ I smile and shift a bit more.

‘You aren’t helping.’

I start to move, and go to nibble on his ear. He sucks in a breath.

‘Aren’t I?’