He grinned. “Is he hot?”
“What…Jamal!” I sighed exasperatedly. “You are not a matchmaking service and this is not a rom-com.” I paused then, unable to stop the mental image from rising. “But…yes, he’s hot. He’s on the short side, maybe five-five, five-six. A little belly. Dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes but really deep, you know? Like, we’re talking ‘you could drown in them’.”
Jamal sniggered a little and echoed, “‘You could drown in them’” in a high-pitched voice.
“Fuck you, man.” I half-aimed a slap at his arm.
He yanked his arm away before I could connect. “Hey, no touchin’ the goods.” He grinned. “Besides, you might be taken soon. You shouldn’t touch other dudes.”
I rolled my eyes. “‘We’re staying in contact to share test results’ is not the same as ‘we’re staying in contact because we like each other’. One’s a lot less romantic than the other.”
“So are you saying you don’t like him?” he challenged.
I blinked. It wasn’t something I’d spent much time contemplating, between work and worrying about my - our - health status.DidI like the guy? I’d gone home with him without even knowing his name, let alone anything about him other thanyum. But we’d spent the next morning together and yeah, we’d gotten to talking and I’d liked what I learned about him. “He’s an interesting guy,” I finally told Jamal. “Smart. Didn’t make fun of what I do. Didn’t act like he thought I was stupid. And he’s funny. But!” I added, holding up a hand to forestall his response. “We met under weird-ass circumstances, and I have no idea what he thinks of me, and honestly, how do you even try to start a relationship with either the threat or the reality of HIV hovering over you?”
Jamal’s nostrils flared, a sign he was thinking deeply. “Seems to me,” he said slowly and thoughtfully, “that while yes, it’s weird circumstances, you’re actually both in the same boat. Which might make things easier. I mean, if one of you comes back positive, there’s a decent chance the other will be in the same situation. And in the meantime, you’re both the only person the other person knows who’s under that kind of stress too. I’m not saying you’re destined to be true love or anything,” he added before I could interrupt, “but I also don’t see any reason you couldn’t get to know each other and maybe share the burden a little.”
I considered that while I ate another bite. “But we exchanged numbers to exchange test results,” I protested through my mouthful. “I can’t just text him and be like ‘Hey what up dude’ out of the blue. I don’t want to be a creep.”
“You,” he said, regarding me steadily, “are the least creepy guy I know. You’re a fuckin’ boy scout, literally.”
“That was almost twenty years ago!” I protested.
“And,” he went on, ignoring me, “you’re an absolute sweetheart. All my girlfriends - and hell, my boyfriends too - have loved you more than they loved me.”
“That’s because the gay guy is always safe for wom -”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m not saying to creep on him or slide into his DMs. But when you contact him with your latest results, maybe make a little conversation, yeah? ‘Hey, how have you been doing?’ or ask him about something he mentioned when you ate together.”
I blew out a breath. “I’m getting relationship advice from the guy who hasn’t kept a relationship going for more than three months in his life.”
“Hey, don’t hate. I like to play the field. And what that should tell you is that I definitely know how to start things up, even if I don’t know how to keep them going.” He gave me a challenging look. “What’s one thing he talked about that you found interesting?”
“His job,” I said immediately. “He works as, like, a…rules specialist for a social media site. Spends his days researching all the ways people can be shitty to each other.”
Jamal’s brows rose. “That’s about as far from woodworking as you can get.”
“I know, right?” I eyed my plate, where my last, forlorn bite of pancake sat waiting for me. Choosing to prolong its existence, I sipped my coffee instead. “But he wasn’t weird about me working with my hands, either. He asked about my favorite project. Nobody thinks to do that, usually.”
“See, it’s a match made in heaven.” He shoveled in the last of his hash browns. At least, I thought it was hash browns. Given the way he doused both the potatoes and his scrambled eggs in ketchup, it could be hard to tell the difference. “He can teach you how to join the modern world. You can teach him a skill that will be useful when the zombies attack.”
“Hey,” I protested, “I’m in the modern world. I have a phone and a computer.”
Jamal snorted. “And the last time you tried to use QuickBooks, you had to call me for help to find the ‘undo’ button. And I don’t even know how to use QuickBooks!” His snort morphed into an open laugh. “My friend, you’re a luddite.”
“That’s mean.”
“That’s truth.”
Sighing, I ate the last of my pancakes. I would not order another plate of them. I wouldn’t. But I damn well wanted to. “Fine, maybe a little. But back on topic: what does a luddite say to a social media specialist to even start a conversation? And don’t say ‘what’s the worst thing you’ve seen lately,’ because that’s the first thing I blurted out and it is a no-go for the poor guy.”
He considered that for a long moment. “Yeah, and no pick-up lines. You’re a bit past that, having already dicked him down.”
“Please never say ‘dicked him down’ again in your life.”
He ignored me. “Ask him questions. About…well, anything. What did you talk about that day?”
“Work,” I remembered. “A little about our families. Where we lived.”
