Page 6 of Plus One

MONIQUE

Okay. And I’m taking a red-eye. No worries. I arrive before everybody and will get myself to the hotel.

AUNTIE DON

Okay doll. Keep us updated. Love you!

MONIQUE

Love y’all too. See you on the beach.

Her phone pinged a few more times with prayers for safe travels and a little more teasing before the message thread finally quieted.

“Why did they have to pick a resort wedding?” Monique scrutinized her phone. “I thought this was a family group chat? This one must be in the CIA or something. I didn’t even know you could have an unlisted number in the twenty-first century.”

“Sounds mysterious. Is it a guy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Their meme game is strong.”

“Maybe he’s funny and sexy.”

Gasping, she reached back to swat at Jasmine. “What do you know about sexy? You’re a child.”

Jas gave her a look that Monique did not want to acknowledge.

“Mom, this is a great opportunity.”

“An opportunity to do what? Get eaten by a shark?”

“Come on, stop it,” Jasmine said. “Nobody needs this getaway more than you do. Use Cousin Tommie’s wedding as an excuse to treat yourself.”

Monique kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You’re sweet, and I appreciate the encouragement, but I don’t know if I’m ready to go so far by myself.”

“Moooommm,” Jasmine moaned. “What are you afraid of? You’ve finished your treatment. Your numbers are great.”

“But… it’s too new for me to trust, Jas. I just don’t know.”

It was a matter of semantics.No evidence of diseasetechnically meant the same as remission. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word when her body had a history of making her out to be a liar.

“So? You think spending a weekend in Puerto Rico with a sexy stranger is gonna, what? Jinx you?”

Monique pursed her lips. “No. It’s just that I…”

The realities of medical apartheid, of Black women’s health concerns being downplayed or dismissed, was a story Monique knew all too well. She saw it play out with her mother, whose diagnosis came far too late. So, she became vigilant.

Monique had taken every test and scan her insurance would cover and some they didn’t. There were the regular Pap smears and blood work, followed by her poring over each result, but her attention to it didn’t matter. Those abnormal cells they’d been watching for years wrote their own rules.

HPV.

Stage 2 cervical cancer quickly turned into Stage 3.

This diagnosis brought more false starts than real beginnings. Radiation. Surgery. More tests. One breath was a gasp full of all-or-nothing stakes, and another was a yawning wait.

No Evidence of Disease.That declaration had been voided once already.

These past eighteen months had been hell. Jasmine went away to college while Justin stayed home, claiming he wasn’t ready. But Monique knew the kids had decided that one of them would stay back and watch after her.

Now, her hair had grown back into a tightly coiled afro. Her face had become more angular, causing features she’d already been insecure about to become more pronounced. Her body… when was the last time she’d taken a close look just because?