by K Larsen
“Let’s get you home,” I tell her.
Sex all weekend. Every night, in the morning, even in the middle of the sunny afternoon. Moony, love-struck eyes, swoony whispered words, stolen kisses and indulgent food. Although I know it can’t last forever and I’m wary of how fast it began, nothing has ever felt as sweet as falling asleep in his arms, or as easy as waking up to his kisses. And I’m sleeping. Actually sleeping, six hours, then seven, even eight. Not waking up, not compulsively crafting or organizing bins. I feel lazy, love drunk, and at ease with myself.
It feels good to give Angie some space, let her live her own life and not worry about taking care of me or making sure I feel included. I’ve got my own life and I’m living it with Ty—all thanks to a chance encounter outside a diner that fateful night. I’m having the kind of honeymoon I always imagined. John and I never enjoyed one another like this. We didn’t communicate, verbally, sexually, in any form other than negotiating the terms of our relationship, who was up two points and who was down. Tallying up the score for which one of us was better, who was sacrificing more. We didn’t hold hands and stare into one another’s eyes. I never got to experience the feeling of my blood warming and sending tingles all the way down to my toes, with just a quick look or a smile. Of worshiping his physical body and getting to know his skin. With Ty, I want more and I’m getting it, we communicate freely and openly, like we’ve been doing it forever. I no longer feel the shame I had about my body, about my mental health, about even my hobbies. Ty accepts all of me and even asks for more. I’d do anything for this man, anything at all.
“This is it. Tomorrow we part ways and we’ve got to deal with the separation again.”
“Move in with me. We’ll send a driver down to get Luke and his things.”
I’m standing between his legs, pulling a brush through my wet hair. He’s sitting on the bed, his palms splayed, elbows locked, holding up his weight. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re beautiful. Because I can imagine throwing it all to the wind and doing exactly what you just said.”
I’m going to miss the adoring look in his eyes. I’ll miss showering together, scrubbing off our mingled sweat and the evidence of his lust from my butt and the backs of my thighs. I love how Ty comes on me, almost as if because he can’t come inside me, he still wants it to touch my body, make contact with my skin. He pulls the condom off just before climax and I offer up a part of my body for the hot ribbons of his ejaculation to land. Maybe it would be awful with someone else, unpleasant or dirty, but with Titan, I want all of it, as much as I can possibly get.
He pulls me back onto the bed and I land on top of him. His cock is hard again and we’ve just barely finished making love.
“Again? You’re insatiable!”
“Only for you, I am.”
“What will I do when you’re gone?”
“I guess the same you were doing all these years we were apart,” he says. Ty’s hands go to my neck and I flatten out on top of him like a pancake. His touch, especially there, melts me. I love his hands—they are magic. I love his cock; it’s magic, too. My hands instinctively move to his boxers and slip in the flap. I run my palm up and down his erection and he presses into my hand with his hips. He’s hard. I grab his shaft.
“I was sleepwalking all those years. Now I’m awake and you’re leaving.”
“I don’t want to go, either. It hurts to leave you. Let’s plan our next visit and if it’s not too soon—no pressure, but we could start to discuss a long term solution for us.”
I slide down his chest, pull at the waistband of his boxers and wrap my lips around the head of his cock. It’s both long and thick, almost intimidating, but Ty assured me early on that he likes whatever I do. I’m not insecure or shy around Titan; on the contrary—I feel sexually confident and competent, for the first time ever.
“What about next weekend? You could come up Friday after the show, either that or Saturday morning?”
I nod my head “yes,” looking up at him without removing my mouth.
A half an hour later, we’re a pile of spent limbs and body parts lying tangled in the sheets, our earlier attempts at dressing are now wrinkled at the base of the bed.
“Okay, should we try again?” Ty says. He laughs at the ceiling. I keep telling myself to go easy on him because of the stitches, but I’m like a wildfire spreading out of control, I have no resistance around Ty, no restraint. My body, in response to him, has gained a will of its own.
“I guess we can’t live in this bed,” I say curling into the form of his body. I lightly kiss the outside of his bicep, his shoulder, my palm rests on the flat of his belly that still holds the impression of abs, of a well-earned six pack. He’s in amazing shape for his age—that’s part of why it’s so hard for me to accept that he’s sick. I hate the disease that is tainting his blood, this beautiful man, with so much to give and so much love. If the results of the biopsy are serious, I’m afraid I’ll die. My heart races into a panic just at the thought of him suffering or getting worse. He is so pure and good; it’s not fair. It’s not fair and it hurts. I snuggle in closer, ignoring intentions of rising. I lay my ear to his heart and listen to it fire. Ty is barrel chested in the best sense of the word; he’s a huge man and I adore it, there’s so much of him for me to love. I hypnotize myself with the drumbeat in his chest, praying to all gods, all heavenly bodies, to preserve this one piece of human flesh. Tears roll down my cheeks and pool in the concave of his sternum.
“Are you crying again, Jess?” he whispers, his voice hoarse with contentment.
I don’t think I ever loved myself as an adult. I think I figured it was unnecessary and frivolous and then there was John, who was only capable of accentuating my very worst parts. On Ty’s chest, my fears and insecurities slowly slip away and take flight. I don’t focus on my faults and in turn, the very best parts of me shine brilliantly bright. I forgive myself and love myself fully in his arms.
“It’s okay if you cry. All of those tears slip into my heart, and it helps fill me up. I want the sad parts of you, just as much as I want the good stuff.”
I sob into his chest and my whole chest cavity shakes. He squeezes me harder and it steals my breath away.
“I wish we’d spent our whole lives together. I’m mourning all the moments we lost. My husband drove me to extreme insecurity and self-doubt and I can’t help but think how much better I would have fared in your arms.”
“You did great, despite the circumstances. I’m sorry you were unhappy. But I wouldn’t trade my memories of my wife or the birth of our son. Maybe we needed the time apart to grow and become who we are. I would take away the suffering, if I could. I’m sorry he was cruel, but you did an amazing job with Angelina, Jess. You started a huge, successful business; you left him as soon as you had the strength to stand on your own. I see a strong woman here. One who changes the light whenever she walks into a room. One who thousands of fans tune into every week to see how her mind comes up with new creative ideas. It seems pretty damn good to anyone looking in from the outside.”
I pull away from him and stare into his beautiful, warm eyes. He looks content and I resolve to feel this way, too. To let go of anxiety surrounding the future as well as regrets about the past. I vow to myself to live in the present and enjoy every single moment, every meal, every hug, every breath.
I grab my robe off of the floor and slip it over my shoulders. Ty stands and pulls on his boxers and pants for the second time this morning. I walk over to the window and pull open the drapes and roll up the blind, bathing the room in sunlight. I peer down onto the street and see paparazzi. Three of them, with their cameras. One news truck—no bystanders. John must have gone public with the news of the divorce. It looks bad that Ty’s here with me. There’s no way he can leave without it becoming a scandal.
“Where’d you park the truck?”
“In that garage on 72nd. Why, what’s up?”
The tabloids would love it—not only the backstory, if they could get their hands on it, but all of the rest. The fact that our divorce was just announced and I’m already sleeping around, that Ty’s so handsome, and most of all—that he’s black.
“Do you have your sunglasses?” I ask. I am loathe to hide him. I want to scream to the tabloids and the news how wonderful he’s been to me—what a fabulous man he is. That he’s a better man than John could ever dream of being. I want to protect Ty, to shelter him, to hide him from scorn. I don’t want the reporters to dig and come up with parts of his past that they could and would sensationalize, drag his name through the mud. What a heyday they would have, drunk driving, vehicular manslaughter, Hepatitis C positive. They’d make him look criminal and would crucify him publicly. All in the name of selling copies—I’m well aware of how they work. So after years of hiding my own less than savory details from them, I now have to hide Ty—the man I’m likely in love with.
“In the truck,” Ty says buttoning his shirt. He comes to stand by my side and slides an arm around my waist. He kisses my head. “Is it that sunny out—Fuck.”
“There’s a back exit that goes out to the yard. You can walk through the courtyards until you end up on 5th and slip into the park.”
“Like I did something wrong or like I’m the help, who you fucked.”
I turn around in his arms and look up to his face. I’m surprised at his outburst, but I understand his rage.
“It’s the only way. Not to protect John. I’ve not a single consideration for him. To protect you. To protect Luke and your past.”
“And if they catch me? If there are more of them waiting around the corner? What do I say?”
“That you’re a contractor giving appraisals. That your luggage is your tool bag. That I’m not home, you were dealing with the overseeing realtor on the estate. That you’ve never met Jesenia Van Buren. Ever. And no, you don’t have any comments on the divorce that’s just hit the papers.”
I can see the anger flashing proudly in his dark eyes. I can see the primal Ty, who can fight, and pull guns on men, regardless of what their social or political power is.
“For you,” he says, his voice tense and vibrating with fury. He grabs the back of my head and kisses me possessively, dipping his tongue in deep, widely sweeping my mouth. He bites my bottom lip, growls and squeezes my hip through my robe. I step backward away from the window and Ty almost falls into me.
“I know what you’re doing. Those vultures have telephoto lenses,” I say, smiling into our kiss.
“You’re mine, Jesenia Van Buren, I’m not the help, I’m your lover and I can’t wait to tell the whole world how we met and what we mean to each other.”
I miss her already. It’s corny. Sappy even. I’ve never felt so lovesick over a person before. That saying, I left my heart . . . that’s how I feel, like I’ve physically left my heart behind with her and it hurts almost. We need a better plan than winging it for visits and calling each other daily.
“You have your camera ready?”
“Huh?” I mumble.
“Dad, Homecoming. Tonight,” Luke says, staring at me like I have four heads.
“Right! Homecoming. Okay, camera.” I run around the house looking for the camera. I can’t remember the last time we actually used it. I almost always use my phone for pictures now. The truck! I used it for the Vanderbilt house.
I trot back into the house. “Got it.” I set it on the dining room table.
“Okay, so don’t be late. Bree hates being late. She said she’d be here at seven and that she wants to be at the dance by seven forty-five.”
Luke is a nervous wreck and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve witnessed in a long time from him. “Luke, Bud, it’s all going to be fine. I will be home by six, we can eat, you can get dressed and when she arrives, I will take loads of pictures and then drop you at the school, okay?”
He lets out a long breath. “Yeah. Solid plan.” I laugh at him as he throws his backpack over his shoulder and heads out to the bus.
“Breathe, Buddy!” I shout after him. He turns beet red and glares at me over his shoulder.
I head to the truck for a half day of work and my follow up appointment with Dr. Hemphill.
“Hi, Ty, good to see you.” Dr. Hemphill ushers me into his office. “We got the results of your biopsy yesterday. Why don’t you sit, so we can go over it?” I shake Dr. Hemphill’s hand and sit like I’m asked.
“Always a pleasure, Doc.”
He smiles at me, but it’s a sorrow-filled smile. My stomach drops to the floor. I’ve never seen that smile before and it raises red flags. My heart speeds up. “There’s no easy way to say this, Titan. You have hepatocellular carcinoma. Liver cancer.” No. The fine hairs on my arms prickle and stand at attention. No. “The cancer occupies a third of your liver, and though its advance may be slowed, this particular sort of cancer is terminal.” His words are garbled. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I need to get out of here. “The prognosis isn’t great, Ty, we’re looking at eight months to a year.” I’m numb. I’m in denial. This can’t be right. I’ve only just told Jess. She’s accepted my Hepatitis C. We can make it all work. We can. We have to. “Titan, did you hear me?” The words and voice sound far away. I can’t see Dr. Hemphill at all. Where am I? Things are rushing past me. People. Memories. Places. Luke, Jess, Angie, Luke.
“I have to get out of here,” I say more to myself than anyone else. I push up from the chair. Wobble.
“Titan! Sit. Down.” Dr. Hemphill orders. I collapse back into the chair. My body folds. My head hits my knees. A deluge of tears hit me. “Do you want me to call someone for you?” The pain I feel is everywhere, right down to the cuticle. I feel like an exposed nerve in a broken tooth. I’m stripped down to something I don’t recognize.
“Titan, are you okay?” Dr. Hemphill asks again.
“I don’t know. What’s the likelihood of a transplant?”
“Slim to none, Ty. Being Hepatitis C positive doesn’t make you a priority for a good liver, since your blood will infect it. Maybe another infected donor, but you can imagine how limited that database looks.”
“So what are my options?”
“Live out your life with or without treatment for the cancer.”
“I can treat it?” I look up to him, eyes hopeful.
“We can, but it will only slow it down, not cure it. It might give you a couple extra months but the thing you need to take into consideration is your quality of life, Ty. Chemo is rough on people.” I know all too well what chemo and radiation does to a person. Rory suffered horribly during her treatments. I stand and pull my coat on.
“Titan, let’s talk a little more,” Dr. Hemphill says.
“I’m all done talking for now,” I answer. I walk from the doctor’s office through the small town main street. The leaves have all dropped, leaving barren sticks behind. They look gnarly and morbid—like I feel. I hang a left at the coffee shop and park my rear on a bench in the park. I don’t know what to do. I imagine Rory perched on her cloud above, weeping at the unfairness of the situation. I try to envision Luke five years from now, thriving without me. Of missing his graduation. Of Jess, alone. Of my company disbanded. My friends watching their children grow.
I don’t want the looks of pity or the tears that will come with telling them all. I don’t want to be treated differently or handled with care. I don’t want the long talks or the heartbreak. I want to live in the richest, deepest, most productive way I can and that won’t happen, if anyone knows.
It’s a selfish thought, because of course, I have to tell everyone. I need to arrange care for Luke, a plan of action for the business, give Jess an out from what we’ve just barely started. She deserves a life filled with happiness and joy and love and I’ve got that to give her, but only for another eight months. Twenty years from now, I want to look across the dinner table with a handful of grandchildren under our feet and know Jess still makes me feel i
mmortal but that’s impossible. Eight months is nothing. Ephemera. I drop my hands to my knees and stare up at the cloudy sky.
“Fuck you!” I scream. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and stand. I need to go back to the office and get my truck. I still have to pick up some groceries and beat Luke home to make dinner. I have to take pictures of him and Bree. I have to drop them at Homecoming, entertain myself until ten and then pick them up. Drop Bree at home and get Luke and me home. And I have to do it all without giving anything away.
Not tonight.
“Ty?”
“I’m here, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I can’t sleep without you. I’m miserable. My thoughts are racing and I don’t even own a dildo.” I sound like a crazy lady, even to myself. He’s not going to like this. He has a normal life, a son, he has to work in the morning.
“What time is it? Hold on.” I hear him groan, probably sit up, adjust the phone.
“It’s late. Early. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have called. It’s just that I slept so well with you beside me and now I can’t sleep at all. I got worked up, I—”
“Wait, Jess, slow down. I can’t understand when you talk so fast. Let me catch up. One thing at a time.” Ty’s voice is somehow soothing, with the perfect mix of authority and concern coming through the phone.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Okay. Let’s start with that. You mean tonight, you haven’t gone to sleep yet?”
Tell him the truth or try to gloss over it? Risk how he feels about me by showing him the real parts?
“Jess, are you there?” I love the sound of his voice, traveling across invisible lines, entering my mind and providing calm and order among the chaos.