Page 12 of The Dating Pact

With the sun sinking below the horizon, I started up the fire pit, and between bites of David Beckham’s face and sips of now-warm soda, Jude and I created our dating profiles.

He ordered me to use one of the photos from the shower as my profile picture, and I instructed him to leave voice notes for his answers because he had the right amount of gravel in his voice, especially when he got all drowsy from smoking.

“Husky in voice and body,” he joked, and I cracked up, ordering him to make that his tagline.

“Nobody wants a fat guy,” he said, and I rolled my eyes.

“How do you know? I like your dad bod.”

He patted his stomach. “There was a time I used to be able to eat an entire pizza and still have a six-pack.”

“You had a six-pack?”

“In high school. I wasn’t too coordinated for sports, but I joined the track-and-field team.”

“Really? I can’t imagine it.”

“Mira was a runner, and I never wanted to miss her in those tiny shorts.” He squeezed his thumb and fingers together, raising his hand in the air, like his once-upon-a-time body was something to celebrate. “I was a specimen.”

Pre-cancer, I’d been heavily concerned about my appearance, but now, I knew we were all simply floating through life in meat sacks. The important thing was if our meat sacks could keep us going long enough to get wrinkly and dried out. Like expensive salami.

Leaning my head on Jude’s shoulder, I yawned. “You’re still a specimen. I don’t even mind that you’re XY.”

I felt his hot breath waft over me, his mouth against the top of my head, his beard tangling with my hair. “Thanks. I guess.”

“You know what I could eat?” I asked, and I felt more than heard his curious hum. “Some meats and cheeses. Maybe some jam.”

“If I wasn’t in the candy business, I’d want to be in the meat and cheese business. Open a store and call it?—”

“Oh my gouda!” I guessed.

He laughed and said, “Oh my cheeses!”

I pushed off him breathlessly. “Brie brighter.”

“Havarti smarty.”

“Speakcheesey.” I couldn’t stop giggling.

He couldn’t either. “Pecker’s Romano.”

“What?” I couldn’t breathe, laughing so hard. “That…that doesn’t make sense.”

“Pecker like pecorino,” he explained while pointing to his junk.

I bent over to gulp in air until Jude patted my back. I eventually sat up and tucked my hair behind my ears, glancing over to him. He had his eyes closed and legs extended, his head resting against the back of the chair, his smile happy and content.

Which made my heart happy and content.

FIVE

JUDE

Another beautiful day, another shouting match between my children.

“Get out of the way!”

“I want to play!”

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