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“I’m sorry,” I say.
“What do you have to be sorry for?”
“You’re in my bed . . . and—I want to want you, but . . .”
“But you don’t,” he says.
I shake my head. “No. Sorry.”
“Oh, Valentina. I know how this goes. Your sex drive will come back eventually. You have to be patient.”
“Even if I had my sex drive,” I explain, “I wouldn’t want to. Not while I look like this.” I avert his gaze, and Rory reaches to scoot me to him. His arm wraps around my waist, and he kisses my forehead.
“You silly woman. You’re so beautiful, dontcha know. If you ask me, losing your hair and getting a little pale is only fair to other women.” He chuckles. “They have a slightly more level playing field, but even then, you shine over all of them.”
“You’re just saying that.”
Rory shakes his head. “Not even a little.”
“It’s hard for me to tell when you are joking, being sarcastic, or being serious.”
“Always assume I’m serious and I’m joking. It’s that pesky sarcasm you gotta look out for.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” I scoff.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Rory asks.
“Sure,” I say.
“Mind if I take your apartment key and make a copy? I’d feel better that if you were to need anything, I could come in.”
“That’s sweet, but Rory, I’m feeling really weird about you taking care of me so much. We hardly know each other.”
“I disagree. We know each other intimately.”
I narrow my eyes, but he continues.
“I know, for example, that you prefer when I bestow attention on your left breast over your right. When I tease your left nipple, your back arches, and your toes curl. Nothing happens with the other one—”
“Oh, my, god, Rory!” I laugh—this man.
“I know you’re embarrassed by your morning breath—don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking to brush your teeth. I know you drink your coffee black but prefer it sweet. You’ve added increasing amounts of sugar each time we’ve had coffee together,” he explains. “I know you have a lot of anger, and that’s partly why you don’t want your family to know you are here—”
“I—”
“I know that you’re too stubborn and bullheaded to ask for help,” his eyebrow arches high above the rim of his glasses when he says this. “And I know you don’t feel beautiful bald, but I need you to know that you’re more beautiful than ever—especially to me.”
A sensation I can’t identify lodges in my throat, and I have no words. What do you say to a beautiful man who says the most beautiful and comforting words? Nothing, that’s what. You just hold on tight to that man.
Rory’s comfortingarms envelop me as I fall asleep, drawn in by the warmth radiating from his body. I don’t know how long I’ve slept when movement in my living room wakes me.
The footfalls of more than one person alert me, and I hear voices. What the hell? Rory is not next to me anymore, so at least one of the voices has to be him.
I sit up and wince at the pain at the surgical incision. Looking at my phone, I realize I missed taking the last dose of my pain medication.
I readjust my headscarf that fell off while I slept. “Rory?” I say as I walk to my living room.
The apartment door is ajar, and Rory talks to another man who is bringing in a duffle bag. They both turn to face me as I walk over to them.
