Europe? Nope. Mexico? Nope. Key West? Not me. This summer, I’m playing nursemaid to my sister. Yeah, I know. Relatively good looking twenty-two-year-olds don’t spend the summer bedside in the cancer ward but, that’s the plan. Until my sister threatens me with bodily harm unless I get on the plane. That’s when I met him. He likes me. Really likes me. But more than that, he loves my boobs — like can’t get enough. I have no idea how to tell him that they’ll be gone soon. Courtesy of a preventative double mastectomy. Yep. That’s what testing positive for the breast cancer gene mutation will do to a girl. But don’t feel sorry for me. I’m enjoying him, holding on until the last possible minute, while I muster up the strength to tell him, and watch him walk away.