Page 21 of Honey Bun
We headed into the house, and Arman got a call from his business partner, Joel. As he took the call, I rushed upstairs. Aurora was involved in a book.
I hurried to my room to change for the beach. In my bag was an old pair of shorts. I’d worn them so many times that long ago summer with Arman. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn shorts since. Bob had said anything that went midthigh made me look like a whore, but I’d kept them, telling myself that my memories didn’t make me a bad person, though it was probably really a way to remember Arman. It had been hard to imagine that what Bob said was true, as I’d worn shorts every summer of my life, even in my parents’ house, because of the beach.
So I decided to brave the shorts after a decade of avoiding them. Luckily, I still squeezed into them without too much trouble. I glanced in the mirror. My bruises were almost gone, and I glimpsed a glint in my eye that reminded me of my old self, who loved the beach, staring back at me. I lifted my chin and gave a big smile. Arman had always liked me in shorts.
I left my room, and he waved for me to join him on the patio. I bounced down the stairs, and as I stepped outside, I found that he and his brothers were enjoying afternoon snacks, buffet style. My stomach grumbled, so I grabbed an apple for later and slid into a table, across from Arman.
He said, “Elon wanted to talk to you. After, let’s head to the boat and work before we parasail.”
I glanced around the patio. Some of his brothers were deep in conversation at another table, but Elon wasn’t one of them. Waiters delivered tea to their table and then came over to us. Black tea was the family beverage of choice.
Arman’s words echoed in my mind, and I raised an eyebrow. “You want to go parasailing?”
He nodded like that was a normal suggestion. “I’m open to alternatives.”
I sucked on my bottom lip and wished my skin wasn’t all aching with need for Arman’s touch. Except for him and Aurora, I hated being held. I added sugar to my tea and sat back to let it cool. “I don’t know if I have a bathing suit.”
He took out his phone, typed, sipped his tea like he enjoyed its heat, and then put both his phone and tea down. “That’s fixed. We’ll leave in an hour.”
I leaned forward. “Did you just order me one on your phone?”
He winked. “To be delivered. I need to add the apps with my accounts to your phone so you can order whatever we need for business.”
I took out my phone and put it on the table. Then I stirred my tea. “Here it is.” I tested the temperature of the tea.
He picked up my phone and stared at it like it was an ancient artifact, which it was, as I hadn’t upgraded since our long-ago high school days. “And we’re upgrading this so you can work with what I need.”
I took it back and shook my head. “I need to stop accepting things so easily from you.”
We sipped our tea, but I stopped when he winked. “The phone is for your job, but we both know you like me.”
“You think you know me so well.”
We stood to go, and I got goose bumps all over my body as he bumped into me. “There’s my vixen party planner.”
As we headed to the front door, Elon came down the stairs and snapped his fingers. “Arman, can I talk to Madeleine alone?”
He stepped back. “Sure.”
I reached behind me, took his arm, and lifted my chin. If the husband stitch was why sex was horrible, then he needed to know. It would be easier if we heard it together, so I said, “No. Whatever you found, I want Arman to hear. It’s probably bad news with the husband stitch.”
We walked into the front sitting room and closed the sliding door. As we sat, Elon said, “It’s not a recommended procedure.”
I scratched my neck. “So, this was done because Bob asked for it?”
He folded his hands in front of him. “I suppose there can be rare reasons for an episiotomy, but I don’t see anything in your chart to indicate that. I’ve delivered hundreds of babies so far, and I’ve never needed to do one.”
I massaged the back of my head. Labor had been long. “But I tore.”
He took out his phone and showed me a report with my name on it. “Stitches are normal but not the extra husband stitch.”
I should have asked questions. Bob clearly had a plan, as he’d been in and out of the hospital room for hours and showed up to speak about stitches. I asked, “So, doctors just listen to husbands?”
“No one’s ever asked me to do one.” He put his phone back and stared at me. “It‘s a practice from the 1950s. It’s supposed to make the vagina extra tight, but women often complain that it makes sex painful after birth. It’s not medically necessary, so your birth chart surprised me.”
I asked, “Can it be removed?” Stitches were usually removed once someone healed, but I’d heard that people died when the stitches made in the stomach for dieting were taken out.
He smiled. “Yes. We’d need to make an appointment, but I can have staff arrange for the simple fix whenever you need it.”
