Before I could stop myself, I’d pulled out my phone and texted Jamal.
Me:I think I made a friend!
Jamal:Aw, my widdle boy is all grown up! Who’s your new friend?
Me:Well, new-ish? Jamison, the guy who…you know.
Jamal:The guy you wildly banged while throwing caution to the wind? That Jamison?
Me:I wouldn’t put it exactly likethat. But…yes.
Jamal:And what makes you think your fuckbuddy is a friend now? Wait, can he be a fuckbuddy when you’ve only fucked him once? Wait, youhavestill only fucked him once, right? Or was that what today was??
Me:J! No, today was not about sex. He found out I’d missed breakfast and insisted we meet for a late lunch, and then we sat and chatted for a couple hours. The thing hardly even came up other than us mentioning that we’d be in contact with test results.
Jamal:So whatdidyou talk about?
Me:A little of everything, really. He wanted to hear some of my work horror stories and about some of the more…out-there stuff I’ve produced. We talked a little about his sister and how she puts pressure on him. I told him about finding Curie as a kitten.
Jamal:Sounds like a well-rounded conversation, such as might be had by…dun dun dun…friends!
Me:I feel like I need to insert a girlish squeal here.
Jamal:EeeEEEeeee! ← like that?
Jamal:[gif of teenage girls jumping up and down and clapping]
Jamal:But seriously, I’m proud of you for getting out of the house and meeting up with someone who’s not me. I know that shit’s hard for you.
Me:I’d kinda like to make this a thing we do, but I…don’t know how? Like, it feels like asking him on a date to text him and be like, ‘Hey man, wanna hang out?’ I need to know where I want to hang out, what I want to do, and then invite him, and then do we hug, and I mean damn we’ve already fucked so do wekiss, what if he wants to have sex again, how do I even know what he wants, how the fuck do I know whatIwant and just aaaaa…
Jamal:My friend. Breathe. Why don’t you invite him over to exchange your next round of test results? Offer to show him your workshop and let him meet the furball. It sounds like he’d be interested in both of those.
Me:Ok. Ok, yeah. I can do that. I…can do that, right?
Jamal:Honestly, I have no idea how you’re not still a virgin sometimes.
Me:People ask me out.
Jamal:I’d love to have your problems.
Me:I hate you.
Jamal:Love you too.
8
Jamison
Week 6 - Saturday
“No, Char, I donotneed you to come over,” I insisted, tucking the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I paced my apartment. “I’mfine.”
“You’re a nervous wreck,” my sister insisted from the other end of the phone. “I bet you’re pacing right now, aren’t you?”
I froze. I was not pacing. I wasn’t! “I’m not pacing. I’m sitting calmly on my couch talking to mydarlingsister. Who worries too much.”
She snorted. “Says the guy who’s talking about trading HIV test results with someone he had fucking unprotected drunk sex with.”
