Page 70 of Landon (In Safe Hands)
“Andyou’ll promise to let me love and protect you, always fry me bacon forbreakfast, and give me a nightly blow job.”
“Ithink the officiant might have an issue with those vows.”
“Fine.Weekly blow job.”
Giggling,she cuddles up to me. “The meet and greet buffet is this afternoon. We’regoing, right?”
I’mnot all that eager to meet others with my condition, but I’m worried aboutZoe’s reaction the most. I’ve seen what this disease can do, especially when itisn’t diagnosed early. I’ve been extremely lucky not to have any outwardsigns—except a few scars from the burn—because my family was well off enough toget me the best doctors, and to keep me cloistered in one sprawling house oranother.
I’vedone enough research and the pictures of some of the people who weren’t asfortunate are heartbreaking. Rough, permanently discolored skin, multiple scarsfrom skin cancer removals, tumors scattered across their faces. It could easilybe me, and I dread Zoe seeing what our future could be.
“Ifyou want to.” She yawns and I cuddle her closer. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Wewake up in time to get ready for the buffet. “I can tell you’re dreading this,”Zoe says, running one of those hair straighteners through her hair. I don’tknow why she bothers, her waves are cute. I gaze at her in the mirror, her assclad in tight jeans, a red blouse clinging to her breasts. A small satisfiedgrin blooms on her face. “Stop looking at me like that or we’ll never make itout of this room.”
Pressingmy instant hard-on against her ass, I press my lips to her ear. “Fine by me.”
Hergiggle fills the room. “No way. We’re going. You can ravage me later.”
Damnit.
Herhand stays wrapped around mine while we ride the elevator down and find theroom where the buffet is being held. It’s large and filled with dining tables,all set for a meal. A small bar rests in one corner opposite a slightly raiseddance floor. I assume the room is usually used for wedding receptions orparties, and they probably reserved it for us because there are no windows tolet in the sunlight. My stalling has resulted in us showing up a bit late, sothere are already quite a few people here, milling around, talking, and havinga drink at the tiny bar. Kids run around the dance floor in an impromptu gameof tag while a couple of flustered mothers try to wrangle them.
“Let’sget a drink,” Zoe says, pulling me towards the bar. While we wait for thebartender to pour my whiskey double—I’m going to need a buzz for this—and Zoe’sfruity something or other, a middle aged couple approaches us.
“Hi,I’m Karen, and this is my husband, Charles. We ‘re the owners of the XP SupportNetwork and we organized this event.” Karen and Zoe shake hands as I do thesame with Charles. Charles appears around sixty years old, but I’m betting he’sin his late forties or early fifties. The disease has clearly affected him, buthis eyes are lively and his smile bright as we greet one another.
“I’mLandon, and this is my fiancé, Zoe.”
“It’snice to meet you. I know pretty much everyone who comes to these events, so youmust be a first timer,” Charles says. Zoe is absorbed in conversation withKaren. I swear she can walk into a room knowing no one and leave with a ton offriends.
“Yes,sir. This is my first one.”
Amusementtilts his lips as he leans forward and drops his voice. “Brought here by a firmtug on the old ball and chain?”
Laughing,I relax, and take a seat on the bar stool next to him. “That obvious, huh?”
“Whatwe do for our women.”
Aboy about five years old, darts up to him.Dark freckles cover every inch of hisvisible skin, and a mass grows in the crevice of his nose and cheek. “Mollywon’t stop chasing me!” he complains, crossing his arms.
Charleslays a hand on his shoulder and points to a nearby table. “Your mom is rightover there. Why don’t you join her? Looks like she has a piece of cake.”
“Okay!”The boy darts off and leaps onto his mother’s lap.
“Isthat your son?”
“Grandson.His name’s David. My son, Jacob, is around here somewhere. Karen and I werelucky. The pregnancy was an accident, and we knew the odds were on our side—atwenty-five percent chance he’d be affected—so we couldn’t bear to terminate.We were overjoyed when we found out he could live a normal life, go to schooland everything. Him being a carrier never even entered our minds until he hadDavid. His wife had to be a carrier too, and really, what are the odds?”
“Damn,I’m sorry.”
Charlesshrugs. “We keep things as normal as possible for him. And it could be worse.”He gestures to a couple eating at a table with three children, one in a highchair. “The Hanrons had no idea they were both carriers until their oldestsuffered a severe burn about a year ago. Once he was diagnosed, they had thelittle ones tested and sure enough, they all have it.”
“Christ,”I mumble, and order another drink.
Thisis another reason I didn’t want to come. It’s fucking depressing. My gaze landson Zoe, who is laughing and talking to a little girl hiding behind Karen’s leg.She’s good with kids. She deserves children of her own and I can’t give that toher. Even if she was tested and found not to be a carrier, I wouldn’t chanceit. The test could be wrong or there could be another mutation that hasn’t beendiscovered. The disease just isn’t understood well enough for me to believe itif a doctor tells me it won’t happen.
Adoption.She says she’d be fine with adopting, and I hope that’s true, because I knownow what I have to do. I can’t chance another condom breaking or Zoe’s birthcontrol failing. I need a vasectomy. I need to know I’ll never pass this on toanother person.
