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Suddenly I’m suspicious.
Really suspicious.
I wonder if tomorrow he’ll say he’s a triplet.
Or that he’s stayed in the same body after all.
Alarm. I’m starting to get pissed off. Irrationally pissed off. Or maybe rationally pissed off.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I am not listening to him. I need to listen to him. Because he is my boyfriend, and he has no idea what’s going on inside my head.
“No plans,” I say.
We both know what’s next. But he’s not going to say it. He wants me to say it.
So I do.
“Wanna hang out?”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
—
We go to his house. He wants to watch an old episode of Game of Thrones.
“Is this the one where someone dies?” I ask as it starts. I’m joking. They’re all the one where someone dies.
“Smart-ass,” he says.
I check my email. Nothing new from A.
Like my silence might push him into confessing.
“Put that away,” Justin says. “It’s distracting.”
I put it away. I sit there. Someone’s head gets smashed in.
We do not make out.
—
It’s only when three episodes are over and I’m getting ready to leave that he tells me something is on his mind.
“I fucking hate doctors,” he says. I’m a little confused. There hasn’t been a doctor in sight on Game of Thrones—it would have been much better if there had been.
“Is there any particular reason you hate doctors right now?” I ask.
“Yeah, because they’re going to let my grandma die. They’re going to put her through hell, and make all of us pay for it, and at the very end, she’s going to die anyway. That’s always what they do. Hospitals wouldn’t make money without sick people, right? They just love this shit.”
“Your grandmother’s sick?” I ask.
“Yeah. Grandpa called us last night. Says it’s serious cancer.”
“Are you okay?”
“What do you mean, am I okay? I’m not the one with cancer.”
