“Would you fucking layoffwith that? People make mistakes, I do not need you to continually remind me what a fuckup I am.” Because I did that plenty on my own. Sure, I gave off an air of insouciant confidence. And sure, most of the time Iwasconfident. But I’d spent plenty of time beating myself up over The Mistake (™) already, I didn’t need her to do it too.
And I knew she spoke out of love and concern. I knew that. Charlie had been taking care of me for as long as I could remember. Our parents hadn’t been the most attentive of folks. I mean, they made sure we had what we needed and such, but mommy-hugs and claps on the back from dad were few and far between. Instead, I got most of my attention and affection from my three-years-older sister, who got stuck with babysitting duty far more than any tweenager should have been. The trouble was, now I was almost thirty-two years old, she was thirty-five, and she still treated me like I was seven a lot of the time.
“Sorry.” Her voice had dropped a bit, a sure sign that she was feeling emotional. Usually she stayed in her alto register without effort. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m just so damn worried about this, about you, and it’s making me feel like I need to stay on top of you to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Once is more than enough, you know?”
“Trust me, Char, I’m living it. Iknow,” I assured her. “But honestly, it’s almost certainly fine at this point. If either of us was infected the initial tests and then the ten-day tests would have picked up on it. These tests and the three-month tests are basically just out of an abundance of caution.”
She sighed. “But how do you know this guy wasn’t out banging his way around town the day before you, you know, met him? It’s possible he picked it up right before you, and then the tests might not register for weeks or months, and -”
She’d been googling again, clearly. “Charlie. I told you to stop over-researching.” Not that I'd expected that to work. Charlie was a worrieranda reader. Nothing would stop her from googling the everloving shit out of something like this. “You’re more stressed about this than I am, and that’s stupid. It’s my body. Even if I do come up positive,you’llbe fine.”
“Fine?” she snapped. “You think I’ll be fine if my little brother has fucking AIDS? Jesus, Jamie, I’m going to lose my shit if you…if it…” Her breath hitched.
“Hey,” I said, modulating my tone to its most soothing register that I used when she got like this. “Even if I have HIV - and it's HIV, not AIDS, remember - it’s a chronic illness these days, not a death sentence. This isn’t the 80s or 90s. There are effective medicines. And don’t forget I’ve been on PrEP for ages, which means the chances of me catching it even if Henry had been pouring out virus like crazy are minimal. Breathe, sis.”
“Sorry.” She sniffled. “Sorry. I know. I’ve read this. My brain won’t stop doing circles, though.”
“And we know that’s a thing for you,” I finished for her. “But it doesn’t mean that you have to believe the shit your brain throws out.”
Charlie reminded me a little of Hen when she was like this. They both sort of exuded anxiety. I wondered if Hen had chronic anxiety the way Charlie did. She’d been diagnosed as a teenager, and I’d long been used to talking her down when I could and being a calm force beside her when I couldn’t. Maybe that was why Hen and I got along so well; I already knew how to work with his brain.
I shouldn’t go diagnosing someone I hardly knew, though, I knew that. Maybe he had anxiety, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just an introverted guy. Still, the tools I’d built up thanks to Charlie paid off in managing the awkwardness with Henry, and I was grateful for that. He was a fun guy when you got him talking; the trick was just getting him talking and keeping things moving along so he didn’t have too much time to overthink.
“I love you, Jam. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
“Hey, no.” I waved a dismissive hand as if she could see me. “You’re not a mess, you’re my Charlie.”
She chuckled. “Charlie the Mess, you mean. So, when are you supposed to get the next set of results?”
I sighed. “Any time now. They said within a week and it’s been just about seven days. I’m getting antsy, though. And I haven’t heard from Hen about his. I mean, I’m assuming he got tested again like we agreed to, but it’s not like I asked him straight out when we hung out -”
“Wait, what?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You hung out? Like, just casually? When? Why?”
I wasn’t sure if this wasOoh, my brother might have had a dateexcitement orWhat the fuck, you saw the guy who screwed you over again?excitement, so I was careful with my reply. “Last weekend, we went out to lunch. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. He’s good company, though.”
There was a low hiss on the other end of the phone. “Did you sleep with him again? I swear to god, Jamie -”
“Nope,” I cut her off. “No. We are not having this conversation. It’s not your business who I sleep with or not. And even if I chose to share that with you, which Idon’t, you wouldn’t get to judge my choices.”
“But Jamie -”
“Nope. Don’t make me hang up on you.”
“I’m just saying, if you do it again, maybe put the condom on under your own power, huh? Make sure, you know.”
I snorted. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. Because I didn’t learn that lesson the hard way already. Good to know you think I’m an idiot.” I loved my sister. I loved my sister. My sister was bossy and lacked boundaries, but I loved my sister, I reminded myself.
“I don’t th-” Her voice cut out momentarily as my phone buzzed in my hand. “-ust reminding -” Buzz. “-can’t know.” Buzz.
I pulled my phone away from my ear to check the screen. A new notification from my doctor’s office. My breath caught. Slamming my phone back to my ear, I interrupted whateverCharlie had been saying with a breathless, “I gotta go, I think my results just came in. I’ll text you later.”
“But Jamie -” she started, a hint of a whine in her voice.
“Talk to you later, sis.” I jammed my finger on the hang-up button before she could protest any further and quickly switched to my notifications pane. I tapped the app notification and waited impatiently as the app launched. Splash screen, sigh. Loading message, argh.Click here to…CLICK. I tapped my foot impatiently as the “Lab results” screen loaded, but finally, there it was:HIV antibodies: non-reactive.
I let out a whoop that probably scared my neighbors. Clear! Almost reflexively, I flipped to my texts and opened my conversation with Henry.
Me:Got my latest results. Negative, woot woot!
