Page 68 of Plus One

She liked him. A lot. It wasn’t about how her clit still thrummed, wanting more of these feelings he’d reminded her she could have. He reminded her without ever setting out to do anything. The unawareness, the clumsiness, and the care were the biggest turn-ons.

Her mind screamed that this wasn’t real. They were in paradise, floating on pheromones and atmosphere, on the fantasy of what their family was trying to pull, of the temporary reprieve from reality and all the hardness that awaited them.

The light there was different, bright, beautiful, but it wasn’t true.

Her phone buzzed.

DR. T

May I call you?

Monique frowned at her phone. The good doctor didn’t often call between sessions unless absolutely necessary.

So, what necessitated this morning’s call? She sent back a thumbs-up, bracing for the reality check that she didn’t want but needed.

She could get by on the memory of moonlit waters, surrounded by billions of points of light. She had allowed herself to love Maurice and to receive what he could offer, and she had asked for more without a second thought. It was glorious, it was fulfilling. It was brief. Still, she would remember and hold them in a precious place where even she couldn’t mar them.

She answered the phone before the first ring finished.

“What’s up, Doc?” she said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Monique—good morning. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Nah. Just getting ready for the day.”

“I don’t want to keep you, but I want you to know that Chickie was transferred to Northwestern Memorial late last night. She took a turn.”

“What kind of turn?”

“Mo, we all knew. Chickie knew. We were talking more in days than weeks.”

Monique didn’t just pause; she froze. Embers of hope that had grown from a spark of something Monique wished were there, but never could dare herself to hope for, had cooled.

“So, this is actually it, then,” she finally said after a long silence.

“Looks like it,” Tedrow said softly, so different from his usual optimism. “But she’s prepared. We all are.”

“Bullshit.” Her voice cracked. “She shouldn’t have had to prepare for this. She’s twenty-eight. None of us can ever really prepare to die. None of us has ever lived enough.”

Dr. Tedrow let her speak her piece, let her voice her anger at the injustice of this young woman whom she’d grown to love like a sister, whose life was now being measured in mere hours.

“So, what’s next?”

“Once she’s stable, she’s going home and will be kept comfortable until…”

Until.

He said more things that she didn’t hear. Anger had a way of hollowing her out, deafening and blinding her.

“Monique,” Dr. Tedrow called to her, sounding so far away. “Promise me you won’t be alone today, that you won’t isolate.”

She wanted to tell the good doctor to go fuck himself, but he was too well-intentioned and didn’t deserve her rage. “This sucks,” she said on a sniffle.

“Yeah, it does. But Chickie took control as best she could. She’s still giving her illness the middle finger.”

“All the way to the end.”

“That’s right.”