“No, I’m really all better,” I say with a laugh. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.” Aside from my rickety knee, I’ve never been healthier. Things could have been much worse, and I know how lucky I am. I’m more grateful than words can describe.
But big life events change people, and the truth is I’m different now. I’m still figuring everything out.
Michael surprises me with a crushing hug. “You motherfucker. You had me so scared.” He pulls away, laughs in between deep breaths, and swipes at his eyes, which are suspiciously red. The sight makes my own eyes prick, and we’re about to have some kind of emotional man moment when he grimaces and rubs his palms on his pants. “You’re all wet and gross.”
I smirk, relieved that the intense moment has passed, and barely resist the urge to smother him with my sweaty armpit. Two years ago, I would have done it without hesitation. See? I’m different.
He probably wants to talk, so I sit down on the steps outside my building and motion for him to join me, which he does. For a while, we sit side by side and enjoy the afternoon, the cool air, the rustling of the leaves in the trees that line the street, the occasional passing car. It’s kind of like when we were kids and used to sit on the front porch of my house and watch the homeless guy walk by in nothing but a T-shirt. Seriously, why wear a shirt if you’re going to leave your dick hanging out?
“I’d invite you up to my place, but it stinks. I think it’s my dishes.” I haven’t done the dishes in . . . I don’t know how long. Pretty sure they’re growing mold. Recently, I’ve been eating out a lot due to pure laziness and dish avoidance.
Michael chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe you should hire a cleaning person.”
“Eh.” I don’t know how to explain that I don’t feel like having to deal with a stranger in my apartment. I’m a people person. Strangers don’t usually bother me.
“What does your doctor say about dating . . . and other stuff? Are you cleared for that?” Michael asks, casting a carefully neutral glance my way.
I rub the back of my neck as I say, “I’ve been good to go for a long time. Some guys even get back at it a couple weeks after surgery, but that’s kind of extreme. That would hurt, you know?”
“You’re good now, though, right?”
“Yeah.” More or less.
“So are you seeing people again?” Michael persists.
“Not really.” From the look on his face, I know he understands that I really mean “not at all.” My body feels personal in a way it never did before. Getting naked with someone was never a big deal in the past. Sex was never a big deal. Plus, I was good at it, and that’s always a confidence booster. But now I’m scarred and slightly damaged. I’m not what I was.
Michael gives me a long look before he kicks at some rocks on the pavement. “I’ve thought about how you might be feeling. I can’t say I really know, because it’s not happening to me. But have you thought about maybe just ripping the Band-Aid off?”
“You mean like stripping down and riding naked through SF on Naked Bike Day?” I ask.
Michael grimaces like he’s in pain. “Can you even ride anymore after everything?”
I give him a disgusted look. “You’re doing it wrong if you ride sitting on your balls.”
He laughs and scrubs a hand wearily over his face. “Sorry, you’re right. And no, Naked Bike Day isn’t what I meant. I was thinking that maybe, if you’re uncomfortable about being with someone again, maybe it would help to just do something really casual that doesn’t matter. Like a one-night stand, you know? Just to get the first time over with. And by ‘first time,’ you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been thinking about doing something like that, too.” It’s just that the idea of it leaves me feeling hollow, which isn’t like me. Casual sex has always been my thing. No strings attached. No expectations. No promises. Just fun between consenting adults.
“I have a friend who—”
My whole body cringes, and I don’t wait for him to finish before saying, “Thanks, but no, thanks. I don’t want to be set up with anyone.” Least of all Michael’s female friends. They try to hide it because he’s taken, but they’re all in love with him. I don’t want to be some weird kind of consolation prize. And what kind of prize would that even be with me like I am? “I know how to meet people.”
“But will you actually go out and do it?” Michael asks. “From what I can see, all you do is work and run now.”
I shrug. “I’ll reinstall my dating apps. It’s easy.” And kind of boring. It’s always the same thing—messaging hot chicks, recycling the same witty lines, arranging a time and place, meeting and flirting and all that, the sex, and then going home alone after.
Michael gives me a skeptical look, and I make an exasperated sound and unlock my phone.
“Here, I’ll do it right now. You can watch.” I download a bunch of apps, some that I’ve used before, some that I haven’t.
Michael points at one of the apps and arches his eyebrows. “Pretty sure that one’s only used by prostitutes and drug dealers now.”
“You’re shitting me.” It’s a famous app that everyone was using two years ago.
He shakes his head emphatically. “There’s this whole code that they speak to avoid cops and detectives and everything. I wouldn’t really recommend that app for you. It’ll get awkward. Do you need tips on pickup lines or anything? You’re kind of scaring me.”
I delete the app and give him an insulted look. “I had cancer, not amnesia. I remember how to have a hookup. And how do you even know about that app? You quit dating before I did.”