Page 42 of Plus One

MONIQUE

I’m just here for the wedding

ELEANOR

And how’s mysterious Mo from the video?

MONIQUE

He’s… nice. Quiet. We went for a walk yesterday.

CHICKIE

A WALK! That’s so romantic!

VANESSA

What else? Come on, give us something

MONIQUE

Beach day today. That’s it. That’s all I got.

ELEANOR

Take pictures. And Mo? Have fun. You deserve it.

CHICKIE

YES! Stop surviving and START LIVING remember???

Monique stared at that last message. Dr. Tedrow’s voice and that mantra of his had found their target three thousand miles away.

MONIQUE

I’m trying. Love you all

CHICKIE

Love you more! Now go have an adventure!

Within the hour, breakfast was delivered and eaten. Every crumb. Puerto Rico made her hungry. Monique set about getting ready for this beach day. She had shoved the pack the kids had labeled Beach to the back of a drawer when she unpacked. Now she drew it out, trying to steady her hands, like it was a pressure-sensitive bomb. Yeah, she’d lost weight, and the hysterectomy made her belly flatter than it had ever been. But it also left her with a scar that ran from hip to hip like she had been a part of a magician’s act and was actually cut in half.

Radiation treatments had burned burgundy rectangles onto her abdomen, weaving with the shimmery topaz stretch marks from her children and the constellation of maroon keloids from an unsuccessful laparoscopic surgery, to create a tapestry of her belly.

Since being thrown into the deep end of medical menopause, her skincare routine now included an arsenal of oils, salves, and creams. The persistent itch came first, sometimes hiding behind numbness until she’d scratched herself raw.

Carefully, she circled the port wound scab on her chest first with antiseptic and then with thick ointment, before covering it with a waterproof bandage that almost matched her skin tone.

Then she applied a full-body base layer of moisturizing cream before sealing it in with fragrant body oil.

She stepped back and just looked, brown skin shimmering. Her breasts were still full and high all these years after nourishing her children. The way her waist dipped and her hips curved were more evidence that she’d come through more than a few things.

She returned to her belly and lifted up the fleshy overhang above her hysterectomy scar to massage the ointments into her still tender flesh.

The navy blue swim dress surprised her. Monique had never seen anything like it. The high neck gave her bandage enough cover, the ruched waist camouflaged most insecurities there, and the full skirt and briefs covered the stretch marks and cellulite that had settled at her upper thighs.

She lingered at the full-length mirror before grabbing her phone and opening a video call.