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“I have a lot. Let’s see, well, lately I’ve been listening to a lot ofKidneythieves.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“You never heard of them?”
“That can’t be a real band name,” I say, horrified.
“Yep. That’s their name—pretty good band too.”
“I don’t care how good they are; that’s a horrible band name.”
“It’s not like we play it in the dialysis clinic,” Rory deadpans, and we both roar with laughter.
“You laugh at really inappropriate things.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I have a pretty dark sense of humor sometimes. I guess I understand life is grim enough without us trying to make it dimmer. You know?”
“Would you laugh at anything?”
“Probably.”
“What about death?”
“Yeah. I see myself laughing at death in the right circumstances.”
“What about when I die?” I ask, not giving away I’m serious. “Will you laugh then?”
He looks at me, and a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. He does that a lot, giving away he is about to tell a joke like he needs to smile before sharing it. “That depends on how you die,” he says, and we both laugh again.
I yawn, and Rory carries me to bed. He returns my duvet to the bed and tucks me in before placing a glass of water on my nightstand. “I’m still worried you’ll get dehydrated. Please try to keep down some water, okay?” He kisses my forehead in the sweetest gesture any man has ever displayed for me, and I nod.
I drift off to sleep with a smile on my face.
