I’m in bedwith Charlotte hours later. I forgot howpinkher entire apartment is. It would seem I also forgot how to “do” sex, so Charlotte took control, as I’d kinda hoped she would, so all I really had to do was lie there. Which was good because my energy failed me the moment I got out of her car and let her lead me into her apartment, where she just launched herself at me. I was so stunned I simply let her “do” sex to me. It was good, but not as good as I remember. Either way, I now know women want to have sympathy sex with me. Maybe I should have posted a status update on social media months ago, after all—“Happy Sunday, everyone, I have cancer”—and waited for women to turn up at my door. Although there was only one woman I wanted to turn up, and I pushed her away. Besides, she’s five thousand miles away, getting on with her life.
Charlotte lights a cigarette and I stare at her. “When did you start smoking?” I ask.
“About five minutes after you broke up with me.”
I don’t know what to make of this.
“Want one?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Um…I have cancer so…no, thank you.”
She nods, rolls onto her side to look at me. I climb out of bed, open the window and stand near it, so I don’t inhale the smoke.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t think about it.” She stabs thecigarette out in a vintage teacup sitting next to her side of the bed. I can’t tell if that’s the cutest ashtray I’ve ever seen or if she’s got a leftover cup of something in there. I look back to her.
“Two and a half years, Davey,” she says to me.
I nod, move away from the window and then, “What was?”
“Us, silly.”
Was it? I thought it was less than that.
She nudges me in the ribs as I climb back into bed with her. “And you just threw us away.”
I frown at this. It wasn’t quite like that. It’s like being in this apartment again has brought it all back to me. Charlotte had become strange, needy, pushy, but I overlooked it, thinking, “This is women, right? Is thisallwomen?” My experience was limited to a lot of casual hookups during college and then only one serious relationship, which had fizzled out naturally. So when Charlotte came along—all glossy hair and a libido to rival Hugh Hefner’s—I never really saw her coming. She’d recently started work as an assistant at a local news network and said she was going to be the main anchor in a few years. She’s never been shy about getting what she wanted. She hasn’t made anchor yet, but she probably will soon, if I know Charlotte. She liked that I was an architect, that I had my own apartment in a new building with a gym. She liked showing me off, describing us as a power couple, which I knew we weren’t. Before all this, I wasn’t that bad to look at, either, I think. I hope. She told me I looked hot. She looked hot. I’m remembering now why we fell apart so easily, but she’s still looking at me with that post-coital expression, all full lips and big eyes.
“Charlotte, what do you want from me?” I ask. “I have nothing to offer you.”
She kneels over me on the bed, naked, and I am only human, so my gaze wanders south, away from her face.
“Nothing,” she says, placing her finger on my chin and tippingmy head back so I’m forced to look into her eyes. “You,” she says, rethinking her answer. “I want you. And if you don’t want me—”
“I never said that,” I reply quickly. I mean, I don’t want to offend the girl. We did spend two and a half years together, apparently.
“If you don’t want me,” she repeats, “we can just do this from time to time.”
I raise an almost hairless eyebrow. “This?”
“Friends with…benefits.”
I raise both hairless eyebrows. This has to be a trick. This is the best offer I’ve had—ever.
“OK,” I say uncertainly.
I lie there, thinking. Maybe Charlotte will be different this time. She’s eager to get back with me, I believe. I can’t tell. I’m so out of touch. I don’t want to see what she sees when she looks at me. But she does look at me. And she wants me, sexually, while I look likethis.
“So, baby,” she says and I can’t help flinching as she says “baby.” She doesn’t notice. Thank God. “Before, in your kitchen,” she continues, “you were telling me about Grant, and I cruelly cut you off so I could bring you here and do all kinds of things to you.” She gives me that tinkling laugh.
“I can’t remember,” I say honestly. “I think I was saying Grant and I had a fight. Because I won’t do the last round of chemo.”
“Well, I hate Grant,” Charlotte says.
“Wow, that’s strong,” I say.
“But you should stop, baby. Stop if it’s hurting you. Life doesn’t have to be this hard,” she soothes.
I close my eyes, nodding slowly as I drift off to sleep. Charlotte understands me. I’m so worn down. “I am going to stop the chemo,” I say determinedly.
