“I love you, your boobs are perfect,” Jim tells me sweetly.
“Fuck off,” I growl at him.
When the doctor walks in a few minutes later, the boys are in the middle of a heated fruit argument and I’m trying to wrestle the honeydew out of Drew’s hands and back in the bag.
“So, Claire. Have you decided on the size? The tissue expander has given us enough skin to work with a full C cup, but it’s completely up to you,” he explains.
“She’ll be going with the honeydew today, doctor,” Drew informs him.
This time Carter was the one doing the hitting and Drew let out a yelp when Carter’s fist connected with his arm.
“What do you think?” Claire asks Carter.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Babe, I love you exactly the way you are. It is completely up to you.”
She narrows her eyes at him and I shake my head. “Stop lying to your wife. Pick a boob size and man up.”
Very slowly, Carter leans over to the table and picks up a grapefruit, looking at Claire sheepishly. “Um, this is kind of nice.”
I give him a pat on the back. “Well done, sir.”
Claire lets out a sigh and smiles. “I guess we’ll be going with the grapefruit today, doctor.”
The doctor spends a few minutes chatting with Claire about the procedure and making notes on her chart before he leaves the room. Jenny, Drew, Jim and Carter go in search of coffee while Claire moves over in bed, patting the empty spot next to her. I hop up beside her, grabbing the extra grapefruit and holding it up in front of her chest.
“I’m going to have to fire you from your position as president of the Itty Bitty Titty Club. This is a sad, sad day in Titty Club history,” I tell her sadly.
“I’d like to say I’m sorry for stepping down from this illustrious position, but I’m not. I’m going to have FANTASTIC tits!” Claire announces.
“I hate you. You’re going to look so much better in your mother of the groom dress next month.”
“Fuck the dress, I’m going to walk around naked from now on. Show my tits to people when I’m walking down the street. I might even ask random strangers to touch them,” she tells me.
“You could even make up a new cupcake for the store. Tantalizing Titty Cakes.”
She nods her head. “Creamy C Cup-Cakes. With a milky filling.”
I dry heave and shake my head. “Too far. Jesus God, too far.”
“Will you still love me even when I have a better rack than you?” she asks.
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and nod. “I love you when you’re an asshole, I love you when I’m an asshole, I love you when you have no hair and I love you when you call me on my shit. Of course I’ll still love you when you have better tits than me. I’ll secretly hate you on the inside, but it will be fine.”
We settle back into the pillows and stare up at the ceiling where I taped random notes while she was in the bathroom earlier changing into her hospital gown. It reminds me of that time in college when we got drunk on Boone’s Farm and curled up on our bunk bed, staring at my stickers taped to the bottom of the bunk.
“I think the one that says ‘Hot Tits or Bust’ is my favorite,” Claire states.
“I don’t know, I’m particularly fond of the My Little Pony with the huge rack,” I tell her. “Pinky Pie Porn Star is all the rage.”
Claire laughs. “I told you My Little Pony would make a comeback.”
“And I told you that you would be okay, didn’t I?” I remind her.
“You did. And you were right,” she tells me with a nod.
“I’m always right. Except with the whole shaving my head thing. That was probably a bad move.”
I run my hands over my short, spiky blonde hair that Claire would not let me continue shaving after the first time. She demanded that I let it grow back out immediately. I now resemble that chick from the movie The Legend of Billie Jean and I’m pretty sure Claire just wanted me to start growing it out so she could quote that damn movie every time she saw me.
She puts her fist in the air and shouts, “FAIR IS FAIR!”
I roll my eyes. “Stop being an asshole.”
“Shut up, YOU’RE an asshole,” she counters.
“But I’m your little asshole and I promise, I will never get spooked again,” I tell her solemnly.
“Now you’re REALLY an asshole for quoting Cocktail. Just sit there and be quiet and let’s dream about my new, pretty boobs,” she tells me as she closes her eyes.
“I get to touch them first,” I remind her.
She scoffs. “Obviously.”