The F- It List

by Julie Halpern

  About ten minutes in, I pulled my face away from Leo. “You taste different,” I said. “And smell different.”

  He talked into my neck. “I’m trying to quit smoking. Someone told me it tastes like a turd.”

  He quit smoking for me? That was a lot to put on a person. What would happen if we stopped whatever it was we were doing? Would he go back to smoking? Smoke more cigarettes just to spite me? Turn to crack?

  The buzz of the oven put a pause on the couch session and my thoughts. So what if he quit smoking because of me? It was stupid to begin with, and he smelled a lot better without it. And if he started smoking again, not my problem. I didn’t need another thing to feel guilty about.

  Side by side we ate pizza, drank Coke, and watched Basket Case 2. Leo laughed at all the right parts, and I caught myself watching his face to see how he reacted to each scene. He was rather lovely. Nothing made someone more attractive than knowing they liked the same movies I did. It always disgusted me when people couldn’t tolerate horror movies, or lumped them all into one dismissible genre, as though they weren’t each their own work of art. Or piece of crap. But at least watch them and decide.

  When Basket Case 2 ended, I asked, “So what did you think? Brilliant, right? The third one goes total crazytown. There’s this part where Granny Ruth says, ‘Oh Cedric, I see you’ve brought your lettuce.’ It’s hysterical—” Before I could continue, Leo was on top of me. He smelled so good, like laundry and pizza and gasoline, I couldn’t help but pull his shirt over his head. Instantly my shirt was off, too. We attacked each other’s clothing with mindless abandon. Instinctively I needed to be naked next to him, to feel nothing but his warm skin against my own. When all our clothes were off, we shivered together. Not from cold but anticipation.

  We hadn’t known each other very long, not in the talking-to-each-other-every-day sense. But I had watched him for years, followed his class schedules and smoke breaks, spied on him at horror movies and coffee shops. He felt familiar, safe. Leo had done nothing in his existence to make me feel bad, never touched me in a way that was all about him. I had never known a guy like that, and I had let them explore me, manipulate me, convince me that what I did with them would feel as good to me as it did to them. It never had. Leo helped me to lose myself. Not become someone different but transcend my life so none of the bad mattered. I wanted to be as close to him as I could. To feel what I had never felt with another person.

  Our breathing was frenetic, like we couldn’t get where we wanted to go fast enough. His hands were gentler than I wanted, and I grabbed one and wrapped it around my breast. I let out a sigh, and Leo reciprocated with a sound of his own. “Do you have a condom?” I asked. Life had been too cruel in the last year not to get me pregnant, or diseased if I wasn’t careful. I couldn’t trust my body to do the right thing, and I didn’t want to have a conversation with Leo in the middle of this to talk past sexual partners. I didn’t want to know. I just needed it to happen.

  Leo rolled off me and stumbled upstairs. I quivered on the couch, every part of my body feeling tense and needing. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and then Leo was on top of me again, ripping open the wrapper with his teeth. Quickly we were completely intertwined. Neither of us lasted very long. We couldn’t have if we tried. Nothing I had ever done with myself compared to the grand finale with Leo. I shuddered, even after he collapsed on top of me. I willed the feeling not to end, and when it finally did I fell asleep almost instantly.

  When I awoke, a knitted blanket covered my body. Leo, fully clothed, sat next to me on the couch eating Doritos and watching Basket Case 3. When he saw I was awake, he paused the movie. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I started it since you’ve seen it a million times. Actually, I tried to ask you but you wouldn’t wake up. Plus, you look really cute when you’re asleep.”

  “I don’t look cute.” I sneered and tried to dress myself discreetly, but I felt Leo’s eyes on me. It reminded me of Becca, of her flashing Caleb at her window the night before she started chemo. I dropped the blanket and dressed in full view. When I finished, Leo wore a huge grin. “Unpause,” I said.

  “Come here,” he commanded.

  I hesitated, and a ding sounded from the kitchen.

  “Cookies are ready.” Leo bounded off the couch into the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the floor. When he returned, he carried a plate of steaming chocolate-chip cookies.

  My face must have objected.

  “What?” he demanded. “They’re just the fridge kind. It’s not like I broke a fucking egg. Don’t eat them then.” He looked put out.

  Guilty as a bitch, I tried to hide my discomfort with his post-sex baking effort. “No. Cookies are good.” Apparently, that was enough for him, and he squeezed up to me on the couch, barely giving me enough room to digest.

  Ten minutes into Basket Case 3, I left to use the bathroom and when I returned found a nice, spacious seat on the opposite end of the couch. Leo seemed focused enough on the movie not to notice. When it ended, I collected my DVDs and told him, “Thank you for having me over.” It sounded ridiculously formal after what we did, but I didn’t want to get all sappy and relationshippy. The smell of fresh-baked cookies hovered around us.

  Leo stood to walk me out, but I stopped him. “No, you stay on the couch. I can find my way out. Eat your cookies.”

  He looked at me quizzically but didn’t make a move to rise again. “Thanks for coming,” he said in a way that acknowledged the weirdness of the situation, the weirdness of me. “Hope we can do this again sometime.”

  I nodded, not knowing which part he was referring to.

  “See you in school!” I waved overly enthusiastically and bolted out the door.

  As I drove home, I berated myself for showing so much vulnerability during sex. It should have been no big deal. Except that it was a big deal. And sex with Leo was an even bigger deal. And the actual sex with Leo was most definitely the biggest deal of all. I mean … cookies.

  Instead of doing something to make me forget the shit of my life, I had added something to make it a trillion times more complicated.

  I knew then I had to end whatever it was I had with Leo.

  CHAPTER

  23

  SATURDAY BECCA FELT somewhat better than she had been feeling, but not enough to leave the house. We spent the day together, camped in front of the TV, this time for a Buffy marathon.

  “Maybe I should have my Make-A-Wish about Joss Whedon. Like, meet him or something.”

  “Screw that. You have cancer. Up the ante and wish for him to create a show about a badass bounty hunter and make you the star.”

  “Yes! Opposite Jamie Bamber!” she cooed.

  “Speaking of muscular men, what’s going on with you and homeschool boy?”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. Yes, I can. I have total cancer brain—but he sent me flowers! Like, a bouquet he picked from his garden. With a note. It’s over there.”

  I hopped off the blue chair and walked over to a wonky, paint-dappled vase filled with wild-looking flowers, although not necessarily wildflowers. “Where’s the note?” I asked, not finding it tucked into the bouquet.

  “Oh. I hid it under my mattress. Mom and Helen are nosing around my room way too much. I think they suspect I’m smoking pot, which I’m totally not. I wish I were. It’s supposed to work miracles on nausea. Maybe you can score me some!”

  “Score you some? Who talks like that?”

  “I do. Now get me some pot.”

  “Where am I going to get pot? You’re the one who was all toking it up with Davis. Maybe you can call him in the army to score you some.”

  “What about Leo? Could he get me some pot?”

  “Leo doesn’t smoke pot. I don’t think.”

  “That doesn’t mean he can’t get a quarter. Or a gram. However they measure it. Ask him. For me?”

  “We’ll see. Isn’t it legal now for medicinal purposes? Can’t you just get a prescription?”<
br />
  “Can you really see my mom going to Walgreens to pick me up some joints?”

  “Duly noted. Now where’s that note?”

  She accepted my weak commitment to getting her pot, and dug Caleb’s note out from under her mattress. Inside a blue envelope was a neatly printed note.

  Dear Becca,

  I hope these flowers brighten your day just a little. If you need anything, throw a rock at my window. I might have something to help with the pain, too, if you’re interested. Take care of yourself.

  Wishing you well,

  Caleb

  “He totally wants to bone the cancer right out of you,” I told Becca.

  “You got that from the note? I thought it was much sweeter and homeschooly than that.”

  “What did he mean when he said he might have something to help you deal with the pain? Do you think he meant pot? Is he growing marijuana in his little homeschool garden?”

  “There is no way. He’s not like that.”

  “Ah, but Leo is.”

  “You know what I mean.” I brushed off the insinuation that somehow Leo was pottier than Caleb. “But do you think that’s what Caleb might have meant?”

  “It’s pot or his penis.”

  “I’d take either.”

  “Should we throw a rock through his window and find out?” I asked.

  “I believe it was at his window. And no, not while my mom is home. I prefer this to remain a secret homeschool affair.”

  “That sounds pretty hot,” I acknowledged.

  “Speaking of hot,” Becca transitioned, “tell me about your evening with Mr. Army Jacket.”

  I hadn’t yet told Becca about my night with Leo. Parts of it felt too good to share with her, as though I’d be rubbing my ecstasy in her cancerous face. And other parts of it, where I looked like a dumping skag, seemed too stupid to burden her with when she was dealing with something so much bigger. Still, I knew how much Becca loved anything sordid, and it was a somewhat momentous occasion for me.

  “Well, if you must know, I guess I kind of crossed something off my Fuck-It List. If I had one.”

  “Spill!” Becca’s eyes were voyeuristically wide, which would have been creepy if we didn’t already know every last perverse detail about each other’s lives. That’s what best friends were for, and we pushed that to the limit.

  “So, yes. We had sex,” I pronounced with a cheeky smile.

  “I knew it! It’s almost like I could psychically feel you doing it last night while I was in bed!”

  “My god, Becca, contain yourself.”

  “Okay, not really, but I had a feeling.”

  “Could it be possible that having cancer has turned you into an even bigger perv?”

  “Yes. It’s a common side effect. Go on. How was it?”

  That always seemed to be the question you heard after someone had sex. It was weird to me, like there was some sex scale that everyone was supposed to be measuring their experience by. People were so different in what they liked and knew and felt. Was that just the generically polite thing to ask after sex, like saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss” after someone died?

  “I guess it was good. I mean, it was definitely good. Bordering on amazing?” I was at a loss for words. So much of what I experienced last night with Leo was purely tactile, not emotional or analytical. Was that how you knew when sex was good? Or was there more to it than that?

  “So what part of it was on your list? Did you do something freaky?” She waggled what was left of her eyebrows.

  “I am so renting you a male prostitute just to get you to shut up.”

  “Come on. Humor me. You’ve seen my list. What was it?”

  “I had an orgasm,” I declared. “With him.”

  “Ooh la la.” Becca smiled, satisfied that she nudged the truth out of me.

  “Yeah, but there’s a problem.”

  “You’re in love with him. I knew it! You know, you’ve proven that the endorphins released during an orgasm—”

  “No, that’s not it. I just feel like it’s too much for me right now. Does it mean we have to start calling each other and sending cutesy texts? Go to stupid dances and exchange birthday presents and shit? I don’t need that. I have my mom and my brothers to take care of and school and work and you…” I trailed off. I didn’t want Becca to think I blamed her for anything, didn’t need her to worry about me when she had to take care of herself.

  Instead of worrying, though, Becca exploded. “What are you fucking talking about? Leo sounds like a great guy, and I don’t just mean in bed. Don’t put the blame on me just because you’re scared to get close to him.”

  “First of all, how do you know that he’s such a great guy? And second, I’m not scared of anything.”

  “He’s a great guy because he’s done nothing dickish since you started frisking each other. He carried me through the hall while I puked, for fuck’s sake. And you are too scared of things. Do I have to remind you of Ronald McDonald?”

  That fast-food clown scared the crap out of me with his red mouth and huge feet. But he wasn’t real. “Just because he hasn’t done anything dickish doesn’t mean he’s a great guy.”

  “He is, though, isn’t he?” She calmed a bit, watching me lose the argument.

  “Yeah. He’s nice. A lot nicer than I am.” I chewed a cuticle.

  “That’s not too difficult an accomplishment, Alex.” I smacked her leg. “Ow! Cancer leg!”

  “Always with the cancer. And was that a cancer fart you just made?” I waved my hand in front of my face.

  Becca rolled up in hysterics. “It’s not my fault! It’s the meds!”

  We didn’t mention Leo for the rest of the day, but that night I reviewed what was said and still came to the conclusion that I needed some space from him. Everything we did together just felt too good. Sooner or later, that would turn to shit as all good things did. I’d rather put an end to it myself than watch it unravel or blow up in my face.

  *

  After work the next day, I decided to fulfill a Fuck-It List entry—number 9: Bake cookies for the janitor.

  I chose classic chocolate chip because the recipe was right on the bag. When it came time to mix in the chips, I lunged my hands into the batter instead of using a mixing spoon. The small chunks of chocolate and batter rolled in my palm with a massage-like effect. I could’ve stood there all day, until my brothers barged in and tried to finger their way into the bowl.

  “Stop!” I yelled, and whacked at their hands. “These are for someone else!”

  “Alex has a boyfriend,” sang the twins.

  “You guys are turds. I’m making them for the school janitor.”

  “Alex is dating the school janitor,” AJ and CJ chimed in unison, as if they shared an idiot brain.

  “Get out of here.” I pushed them out of the kitchen.

  They gave me an idea, though. Maybe I could soften the blow to Leo with some cookies. A sort of let’s be friends peace offering. And these were real, homemade ones, not fresh from the fridge impostors. The janitor couldn’t possibly eat all of the cookies anyway.

  After the cookies finished baking and I doled out a few to appease my annoying brothers, I packaged them neatly into two Ziploc bags. One I labeled “To: Mr. Cooper, From: an appreciative student.” I wavered over what to write on the second bag, how to address it, how to sign it. In the end, I simply wrote, “Leo.”

  He’d be fine. I’d be fine. We didn’t even know each other that well—mostly in the biblical sense, as they say. (Were they really doing all that in the Bible?) I would keep myself busy with school and work and Becca, and he’d go back to whatever it was he did before me. He could start smoking again. I bet he wouldn’t miss me at all.

  CHAPTER

  24

  ARMED WITH TWO BAGS of cookies, I picked up Becca for school. On her head was a brilliant blue, bobbed wig.

  “Attention much?” I asked as she got into the car.

  “This may be my
biggest moment in the spotlight,” Becca declared.

  “This will be one of many, Becca. Soon you’ll star in a Hollywood blockbuster, date a movie star, burn out, land on a worst-dressed list, then have a miraculous comeback in some brilliant indie film, which will garner your first of many Oscars. I will be the only person you thank, of course.”

  “You have this all planned out, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And my career will go like this: Straight out of high school I write the next big horror franchise, totally revolutionary. I’ll go on to a lucrative career in writing and directing, and I’ll fall in love with Norman Reedus.”

  “Who’s Norman Reedus?”

  “You’re kidding. You must have cancer brain to forget sexy hick Daryl from The Walking Dead.”

  “The one who always looks dirty?”

  “They all always look dirty.”

  “The one with the crossbow?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “If we could only get high school to hurry itself up and get out of our way.” Before we arrived at school, Becca had me park in a discreet spot on a side street. “You were right about Caleb having something for me.” She dug through her bag.

  “Please tell me he did not give you his detachable penis.”

  “Better,” Becca said, and pulled out a joint.

  “Homeschool pot, huh? Caleb’s full of surprises. Maybe next he’ll tell you he’s really a demigod from Asgard.”