Everything Changes

a need for good news.”
    His arched eyebrows are two question marks. “You never told Hope about the biopsy?”
    “Nope.”
    Jed doodles shapes into his ketchup with the blackened tip of a burned french fry. “So,” he says, “what’s up with you and Tamara?”
    “Nothing,” I say automatically, but Jed’s uncompromising stare forces me down a new path. “Except I think I’m in love with her.”
    He sits back in his chair, staring down at his plate. “Are you fucking her?”
    “Jesus, Jed!” I say. “It’s not like that.”
    “What is it like, then?”
    I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “It’s like a big, fucking mess,” I say. “I love Hope, and I know she loves me. But I could have been anyone, really. She had this checklist of requirements and I filled some and she figures I can be molded to fit the rest. We got along, we were attracted to each other, so we decided to fall in love. It’s different with Tamara. We understand each other without having to explain. It’s not something we decided on; it was already there all by itself, waiting for us. It’s like this pure love, and it feels the way I always thought it was supposed to until I decided I was being unrealistic and gave up on it.” I pause to catch my breath. “Turns out, maybe I gave up a little too soon.”
    “And it probably doesn’t hurt that she’s a little hottie,” Jed says with a frown.
    “I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a strong physical attraction.”
    “Fuck, Zack. This is Rael’s wife you’re talking about!”
    “No,” I say. “It’s Rael’s widow.”
    “You’re unbelievable,” he says, getting angrily to his feet. “She’s grieving and lonely and you’re her white knight, riding in to rescue her. That’s not love; it’s a fucking Band-Aid. Hope can’t compete with that, because she only loves you; she doesn’t need you. Tamara’s hurting and scared, and instead of being a friend, you’re taking advantage of it because it makes you feel like a hero.”
    “Rael’s been dead for almost two years!” I say, standing up to face him. “You don’t need to keep reminding me, because I was there. I watched him die. And it’s killing you that Tamara and I are moving on with our lives, because for whatever reason, you can’t seem to do it. You’re still hiding behind your grief, only it isn’t even that anymore. It’s like some sick, narcissistic tribute to your grief. Rael’s dead. Get over it, and while you’re at it, get over yourself.”
    We stare at each other for a few seconds, the air between us electrically charged. “You know what the saddest part of this conversation is?” Jed says.
    “What’s that?”
    “It’s that we’re both right. But you know what? That doesn’t make you any less wrong.” He grabs some bills from his pocket and throws them onto the table. “Congratulations on being cancer free,” he says with a nod. “If you even care.” And with that, he grabs his jacket and storms out of the restaurant.
    I sit back down and sip at my drink, waiting for the acid rage in my stomach to simmer down. I am cancer free, and that’s great news, but what Jed would never understand is that the cancer—or, rather, the threat of it—was like a free pass to initiate drastic change. No one questions the actions of someone with cancer. It’s like diplomatic immunity. While I was worried about it, I became a more daring version of myself. I told my boss to fuck off. I got into a fistfight. I kissed the girl. I’m relieved beyond measure to be healthy, but I could have used the threat of it for a little while longer. Now I’m left here wondering what my excuse will be.

Chapter 31
    Hope returns from London with sex on her brain. She’s waiting for me in her apartment in violet mesh lingerie, and throws me roughly against the door to kiss me when I step in. “Miss me?”
    “You know it.”
    She leads me through the darkened apartment to her candlelit bedroom, where she starts kissing me again, her tongue pushing aggressively past closed lips and teeth to wrap itself around my own, her fingers tucked possessively into the waistband of my pants. “How was your trip?” I say.
    “Less talking, more undressing,” she says, breathing heavily as she tears open my shirt. My hands find her ass out of habit as I return her kiss, but I can feel myself not responding. She’s only been gone three days, but it feels like I’ve been on a much longer trip, and the shock of