Dottie 26.
“Thank you, Devorah.” I happily accept a fresh glass of cold juice from the house manager. She’s been so kind to me as I convalesce at the Kosher Nostra compound. And my sisters. Sophia has been in the kitchen with her more often than not, learning new recipes, trading secrets. She always loved being with Conchata or the staff in the kitchen when we were growing up, but since we moved out on our own, she hasn’t had the opportunity to spread her culinary wings.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She’s taken to kissing me on the forehead and this is no exception. She hums a tune as she walks away.
“Dev, I’ll have a soda!” Zilv calls out as she passes him.
The glare she levels over her shoulder at Moshe’s brother has me trying to sit up straight. I can’t of course, because…surgery. “You know where the kitchen is.”
“Damn.” Jonah’s sister Sophie says after the cold delivery.
“Don’t feel bad for him, she’s pissed because she caught him shtupping one of her staff on the kitchen counter.” Seril shakes her head at her brother-in-law. “Again.”
Ruth gasps, “Our food is prepared there! I don’t want your cooties all over my dinner!”
“Don’t be so dramatic!” Zilv rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I cootied all over the maid.”
“I want to leave.” I whisper to Ezra. He looks up from rubbing my feet and pouts.
“The compound?”
I shake my head, “No, the room. Your cousin is gross.”
Zilv snorts, gets up from his chair and walks over to me. He flicks one of the drainage grenades, “I’m not the one discharging bodily fluids as we speak.” I guess he has a point. But all of mine are contained.
It’s been two weeks since my surgery and what a doozy it was. Nothing like the mastectomy and the first reconstruction. Basically, just like Dr. Hudson said, the implants were removed, I had a lower tummy tuck, and they used the fat cells and abdominal muscle blood vessels to fill in the breast pocket left from the implants, removing the excess skin and my belly button. I feel like Frankenstein’s mummy with drainage tubes connected to these rubbery grenade looking things that suction the fluid from your surgical sites, while all tightly wrapped beneath bandages to apply pressure from chest to pelvis. I haven’t stood upright since I walked into preop. Everything, and I mean everything , from my incisions to my hair follicles, hurts. Aches. Throbs with pain.
But I’m still alive. And honestly, between you and me, I didn’t know where’d I’d wake up, in whose custody, or if at all. I survived the surgery and Hiram’s goons didn’t get me. Because I’m loved. By a man and his family who may not be on the right side of the law, but they’re on my side and that’s all that matters.