Page 59 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

“Is it my job?”

“No.” My throat hurts, my mouth is dry. Why can’t I find better words? “I wasn’t lying. That’s not a problem for me.” That sounds fucked up. “I mean, I’m not a big sharer, but this is different.” Still not right. “Youcan do what you want.” Shit.

“Then what is it?”

“Can I explain in person?” I croak. “I know you don’t owe me that. We’ve only been on two dates,” as if she needs reminding, “but I want to show you how sorry I am.”

“Show me?” Sophie asks and I can hear the skepticism. There’s no rage, though. No frustration. Fuck, she’s not mad. She’s disappointed.

“I’m not the best cook, but I’d make you dinner if you’d let me,” I offer. I’ll have to ask Miles for help, but I’ll do it. “And if you want to leave before we even eat, that’s fine too.”

“Brody, I don’t even know why I told you to call me.”

“You want your painting back?” I ask, hopefully. She chuckles. I can hear her try to hide it, but it’s there. “You pick the day. I’ll go get the paintings this evening and be ready to earn that forgiveness.”

“Next week,” she says after what feels like the longest pause in history. “Tuesday.”

“Tuesday,” I agree. “Perfect. I’ll send you my address. Any allergies?”

“None. I’ll see you Tuesday at six.”

“Thank you.”

I’m not sure if she hears those last two words before she hangs up the phone. It sounded like I was beginning to soften her, but maybe she just really values that painting she created. Who knows?

Tuesday. I have a whole weekend to freak out about what I’m going to do. What I’m going to say.

Before I set my phone down, an email comes through from the clinic Miles referred me to. My STI test results are in. I know there’s nothing to worry about, but a part of me panics when I click the link until I see the greenCLEAREDbar next to my name. The clinic is part of a network for performers, so it shows when they’re cleared to work.

I open up the full list and stare at the capital lettersNEGnext to several of the listed infections. A few read as a number on a scale, but it must be all good or that green bar would’ve been red. I run a hand through my hair and sigh with relief. It’s not as if I expected to test positive for anything, but the little green bar allows me to breathe easier.

I recall Miles refusing to use the word “clean” when referencing his results to a fellow performer. He believes that perpetuates the stigma, the way society views STIs. Anyone can get them, even the most careful people. “Clean” and “dirty” only contribute to the problem people have with speaking up or speaking with a partner if something does show up on a test.

I’m not “clean”, I’m negative.

14

Sophie

“You were supposed to wait for me.” I sound more annoyed than I actually am.

Natalie is in the living room doing morning yoga when I emerge from my bedroom for breakfast. Standing on one leg, using one foot to prop the other leg up on her knee, Natalie ignores me. Her hands are together, palms facing each other, in front of her chest and I assume her eyes are closed, but she’s facing away from me.

“You snooze, you lose,” she says after a minute or so.

I turn away to start making a bowl of oatmeal. While it cooks in the microwave, I pour my coffee and then lean against the counter to wait.

“So, when are you seeing Brody again?”

Natalie doesn’t turn to face me. I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to decide how much to tell her. She’d call me an idiot for giving Brody another chance. Her bullshit threshold with men is rather low, given how her last relationship ended. One could say the threshold is below sea level.

“Tuesday,” I finally admit.

“Gonna tell him?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Tell him soon. The longer you wait, the more likely he is to run away screaming.”

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