Reggie texts Amanda.
Reggie (texting)
Hey.
Amanda (texting)
Her phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. He never texts her at home.Hey yourself.
Reggie (texting)
I wouldn't text you at home, but I needed to tell you that I won't be able to text for a while. I have a medical thing.
Amanda (texting)
She reads it twice.What kind of medical thing. Are you okay?
Reggie (texting)
Yes, I'm okay. My doctor says my nasal polyps need to be investigated to see if they're fungal so I go into surgery in a few days.
Amanda (texting)
That sounds more frightening than you're making it sound. When you say a few days, how few?
Reggie (texting)
If everything goes well, it's just one overnight. Then however long it takes me to recover.
Amanda (texting)
Okay. Who's going to be there with you?
Reggie (texting)
With me? Surgery isn't a team sport.
Amanda (texting)
You don't have someone to drive you home after. That's what I'm asking, Reggie. Not a cheering section. Who drives you home.
Reggie (texting)
I'll get an Uber. It'll be fine.
Amanda (texting)
She sets the phone down and picks it straight back up.You're going into surgery and coming home alone in an Uber. Tell me when. I'll be there.
Reggie (texting)
No you won't. I appreciate it. Truly. But we're not going to mess up your life for my polyps.
Amanda (texting)
Your polyps aren't the point. I believe you'll be fine, and I'm still thinking about you in an Uber at midnight, alone. Don't make this about messing up my life. Let me drive you home.
Reggie (texting)
No. No way. You have a husband who will ask where the hell you're going and I am not going to fuck up your life. Absolutely not. Ubers are fine.
Amanda (texting)
A long pause before she types.I know.
Reggie (texting)
Ama, I really will be fine. You mean a lot to me. I'm not planning to disappear on you. Just promise me you won't do anything stupid and destroy what we have because you've got guilt over me taking an Uber three blocks from Surrey Memorial to Civic Plaza.
Amanda (texting)
I know you'll be fine. And I know what I'm not supposed to do. I'm going to be very bad at waiting.
Reggie (texting)
It might be a week or two before I'm fit to...um...function. I'm sorry.
Amanda (texting)
Don't apologize for that. I'll miss you. The other part too, yes. But mostly you.
Reggie (texting)
Okay, I'll text you in a couple of weeks.
Amanda (texting)
No. You text me when you wake up. When they move you to recovery. When you're home. And then every day until you're told to stop. I need to be able to count on those.
Reggie (texting)
I'll do my best. I'm not sure if I'll be up to texting from recovery, but when I can, I'll text.
Amanda (texting)
If something goes wrong in there, I won't know. Nobody would call me. Nobody knows I should be called. I don't know how to sit with that.
Reggie (texting)
I have no family or close friends to ask to do that, Ama. But the hospital should tell you if I die. You can just call them. Don't worry.
Amanda (texting)
You said that like a scheduling note. I know you don't have anyone. That's what I'm sitting with: the closest thing you have to someone who'd need to know is a woman who has to ring a switchboard. I hate that that's the shape of this, Reggie.
Reggie (texting)
You mean a lot to me, Ama. I do not plan to die. It should be fine. I go in on Wednesday. I should be able to text you by Wednesday night. If you don't hear from me by Thursday, you can call the hospital if you want, but don't come down during the times when your husband is expecting you to be home. I'll be in good hands.
Amanda (texting)
Even now, he's protecting her.I'll be watching my phone Wednesday. And Thursday. You're not allowed to be cavalier about this with me. Wednesday matters to me. You matter to me.
Reggie (texting)
If I die, I've specified very clearly in my will that there are to be no services or wakes or celebrations of life or any such stuff. Just in case you were thinking of something foolish.
Amanda (texting)
You are so —Deleted. Again, slower.I'm not going to do anything foolish. I'm going to sit in my kitchen Wednesday and watch my phone like an idiot. And you are not allowed to make me laugh right now.
Reggie (texting)
Ok, until Wednesday. Bye for now. Sorry again for texting at this time.
Amanda (texting)
Don't apologize. Just text me Wednesday. Go.
Reggie texts Laurel.
Reggie (texting)
Hey
Laurel (texting)
One word, his name on the screen.Hey. What's going on?
Reggie (texting)
Your instincts are good. I have a thing going on this time.
Laurel (texting)
She sits up straighter.A thing. That's not a word I love from you, Reggie. What kind of thing.
Reggie (texting)
I won't be able to text for a while. A week or two. My doctor says my nasal polyps need to be investigated in case they're fungal. I go into surgery on Wednesday. It should be nothing.
Laurel (texting)
Surgery on Wednesday. For polyps that might be fungal, which sounds like the thing a doctor says right before it stops being nothing. Who's taking you.
Reggie (texting)
I'm three blocks away. I'll probably just walk.
Laurel (texting)
You can't walk to surgery, Reggie. Someone drives you there and drives you home. Walking three blocks to Surrey Memorial the morning of a general anaesthetic isn't a plan, it's a note they find on your counter. What time Wednesday.
Reggie (texting)
Walking to surgery is fine. Walking home from surgery will probably be fine and if they fuss about it or I don't feel well, I can grab an Uber. I just didn't want you to worry.
Laurel (texting)
You texted me so I wouldn't worry, and the plan is walk there alone and Uber home if they fuss. That's not reassuring. That's the plot of a very sad film. What time Wednesday.
Reggie (texting)
I don't know. Honestly. They'll tell me the night before. But polyp surgery is not high risk. I just didn't want you to think I had ghosted you if I can't text for a while. I wouldn't do that. But I might not be up to, well, anything.
Laurel (texting)
She reads "so you wouldn't think I'd ghosted you" twice.That's why you texted. Not because you needed anything. I'm taking you, Reggie. Text me the time the night before. Don't argue.
Reggie (texting)
Don't be silly. You have work, and I'm a 10 min walk away. And yes, my doctor said walking there was fine. I even asked. Please don't make this into stress.
Laurel (texting)
I'm not making it into stress. You are the stress. Fine, walk there if your doctor said so. But someone picks you up after. Text me the time or I'll show up at Surrey Memorial and ask at the desk, and you know I will.
Reggie (texting)
Listen, I have no idea when I'll be released. If everything goes well, it will be Wednesday sometime between noon and midnight. If things don't go perfectly, it could be anytime after that. I'll text you in a week or two when I'm feeling better.
Laurel (texting)
The real stillness, not the one she chooses for effect.No. That's not how this works. You text me when you wake up, and from recovery, and if I haven't heard by Thursday morning I'm walking into Surrey Memorial. "A week or two" is what you say to make something small so nobody has to feel anything. I'm already feeling something. Text me Wednesday night.
Reggie (texting)
Ok wait, don't go to Surrey Memorial, just call them. They'll tell you if I'm dead. They told me they would. I checked.
Laurel (texting)
Her hands are steady. She doesn't know how.You called ahead to confirm they'd tell someone if you died, and the someone is me ringing a switchboard, and you're telling me this so I won't worry. That's the saddest thing I've read all week. Text me Wednesday night or I call them at eight Thursday morning, and I won't be polite.
Reggie (texting)
I'm not being cavalier. Seriously. I just don't have any family I can ask to call people, as you know, so I wanted to make sure they'd tell people if they call. But the word you used...notify...they won't do that. They won't call you. They'll tell you if you call. And yes, what you said was perfect. Wait for my text on Wednesday. Don't panic if it doesn't come as I might feel like hell and just won't be up to it. And if I don't text on Wednesday, just call on Thursday.
Laurel (texting)
I know you don't have family to ask. That's not what I meant by saddest. I meant you sorted it out alone, in advance, and told me like a footnote. Okay. Wednesday night, or I call Thursday. I'll be polite, because I want them to actually answer. I'll be watching my phone.
Reggie (texting)
I will. And try not to worry. I plan to be fine. See you soon, ok?
Laurel (texting)
Okay. See you soon, Reggie. For the record, I'll be very annoyed with you if you're not fine. Factor that in.
Reggie texts Brenna.
Reggie (texting)
Hey
Brenna (texting)
His name.Hey. Don't tell me you're cancelling on me. I just did my nails.
Reggie (texting)
Cancelling Saturday? No, I'm still good for coffee and whatever else if you have time. I just need to tell you something about next week.
Brenna (texting)
That's doing a lot of work, Reggie. What something.
Reggie (texting)
My doctor says they need to find out whether my nasal polyps are fungal. I go into surgery on Wednesday. It should just be a day surgery, but I probably won't be able to meet again for a week or two after Wednesday.
Brenna (texting)
Three reads.You're going into surgery and telling me by text two days before coffee and whatever. Is it serious. Don't say it should be nothing. I want to know if it's serious.
Reggie (texting)
If it's fungal, there'll be regular maintenance to be done. Sort of like having diabetes. If it's not fungal, it's just the surgery and I'm done. Probably long term prednisone at low doses to help me breathe.
Brenna (texting)
So either way you're okay. That's what you're telling me. Who's taking you.
Reggie (texting)
It's just Surrey Memorial. I'll walk. It's only ten minutes from Civic Plaza.
Brenna (texting)
No. Who's picking you up after. And don't say Uber.
Reggie (texting)
Lyft then
Brenna (texting)
Like he's booking a car.Reggie, I will pick you up from Surrey Memorial on Wednesday. What time.
Reggie (texting)
No, seriously, I'm totally fine. I don't need help. It's a three block ride home. And they won't release me if I can't look after myself. Or at least they'll try to convince me not to leave. They can't actually stop anyone if they want to leave.
Brenna (texting)
Short, because long would sound like too much, and it already is.I'm offering anyway. Wednesday. What time.
Reggie (texting)
I appreciate it. Really. But I'm going to be okay. I don't know what time on Wednesday they'll release me. I don't even know when I'm going in, yet. But I should be able to text you by Wednesday night, and if I can't, you can call Surrey Memorial on Thursday and they'll tell you if I've...well, if I've died. And I don't mean that in a dramatic way, but I just wanted to make sure you'd find out if I did.
Brenna (texting)
You called the hospital to check that too, didn't you. I know you don't mean it dramatically. What gets me is that you sorted all of this out alone and now you're texting so someone knows to call a switchboard. Text me Wednesday night. If I don't hear by Thursday morning I'm calling them, and I won't be dramatic either.
Reggie (texting)
I will, if I can. And if you don't get a text, you call the switchboard Thursday. It should be nothing.
Brenna (texting)
"If I can." She stares at it until the screen dims.That's the part you're not supposed to say. Wednesday night. I'll be watching my phone.
Wednesday. Surgery Day.
It isn't fungal after all. They clear out what they can and send him home the same day. He takes an Uber back to the condo Wednesday night and texts all three women before bed. Nobody has to call the switchboard.
A couple of weeks pass. Reggie texts all three women most days and passes for normal. He isn't up to sex yet.
Amanda texts Reggie.
Amanda (texting)
Typed and deleted twice. Short enough to pass for casual, and she knows it doesn't.So. How are you feeling today?
Reggie (texting)
Hey, I'm feeling good. I should be back to normal in another week, maybe. Although I don't really know, of course.
Amanda (texting)
I'm glad it wasn't fungal. I keep thinking about the two options and I'm glad it landed on the easier one. Are you eating properly? I know that's a ridiculous question. Answer it anyway.
Reggie (texting)
Not really. I'm eating mostly Uber Eats but I'm going to try eating healthy today. I went for a walk today. Just a few laps around the plaza. Not very impressive but I'm on a path to recovery.
Amanda (texting)
That's exactly what you're supposed to be doing. I want to come see you. Not for anything. I know you're not there yet. I just want to see you walking around. Would that be strange.
Reggie (texting)
You want to come here?Pauses, which she recognizes as strange and suspicious.How about I meet you downstairs for a coffee like we used to do? I could mobile order Tim's.
Amanda (texting)
She knows that shape. She's used it herself.I've been to your apartment twice a week for over a month, Reggie. I'm not asking to come up for something you can't give me right now. You've been eating Uber Eats alone and walking laps by yourself, and I want to sit somewhere that isn't a bench and see that you're okay. Why don't you want me upstairs?
Reggie (texting)
No reason, I mean, it's fine, just...
Amanda (texting)
One read is enough.Ten minutes.She's already standing.
Reggie
I start to type that we could make it an hour, but she's already out the door, and buzzes my intercom in 5 minutes. I buzz her up. The place is not a disaster, but it is nothing like the pristine home I've maintained in the past. It hadn't been cleaned. There are Uber Eats containers left around. The apartment used to inspire "omg this is spectacular" but now, you can tell that's still there underneath but the first reaction is "someone should clean this place up."Hey. I was trying to get you to slow down a bit so I could clean up but you were already gone.
Amanda
She takes in the containers, the unwiped surfaces, the apartment she remembers buried under two weeks. One second. Then she looks at him.You should have let me come sooner.She's already picking up the nearest container.Sit down, Reggie. Where's your garbage.
Reggie
Wait, please, just sit down with me. The sofa is clean. I'll get to the rest.
Amanda
She stops, container in hand, and looks at him properly for the first time: the pallor, two weeks of tiredness.Okay.She sets it down and sits beside him, hands in her lap.I'm sitting. You scared me. Not the surgery. The containers and the laps alone. I'm here. That's all.
Reggie
I know it's disgusting. I'm sorry. I'll try to clean it up tomorrow.
Amanda
Don't apologize for the containers.Her hand on top of his, nothing more.You've been alone in here two weeks. You're allowed to let things go. I'm glad I came. We'll deal with the rest.
Reggie
I try not to let things go. Honestly I find it a bit shameful.I stand up weakly and pick up a few containers and start tidying. Amanda starts to help.No, please, I'm okay. I can do this. Can I get you a tea? I have that strange South African tea you like, the Rooibos stuff.
Amanda
She watches the effort he's hiding as he stands, starts to rise, and stops, because he said please.You remembered. Yes, I'll have it. But if you start looking pale I'm finishing the tidying and you don't get a vote.
Reggie
Then we'll have no problem. Brown guys don't get pale. It's good to see you.
Amanda
A real laugh, short and caught off guard.It's good to see you too, Reggie. You have no idea.
Reggie
This is the part of being single that sucks. Being sick. Holidays...especially Christmas. Going to the hospital and getting home and worrying who is going to tell people if you die.
Amanda
I know. I've thought about that. Wednesday I was walking laps around my own kitchen, the closest thing you had to someone who'd need to know, waiting by a phone like someone reading the news from a very long way away.
Reggie
6 pm to 9 am, you're off limits. That's your time with your husband. I never text or call or anything. It has to be important to violate that. And I'm not complaining. Being alone at times like this is just the price of being single.
Amanda
I know you're not complaining. That's what makes it hard to hear. You state it. The price of being single. Like a line item you've made peace with. Six to nine is off limits and you've never once made me feel guilty about it. But Wednesday wasn't six to nine, Reggie. It was the middle of the day and I was still standing in my kitchen like someone without the right to be frightened. I was frightened. I wanted you to know someone was.
Reggie
I appreciate that. It means a lot to me that you care.
Amanda
She looks at her hands.I know.She means something different by it than he does, and lets the gap sit.
Are you still looking? For a girlfriend, I mean. Is that still the plan.
Reggie
Yes.PausesAnd honestly, this little...I don't know what it was...a thing...it has me realizing that I miss being married. So yes, girlfriend first, and then maybe try a third time at marriage or at least cohabitation. I hate waking up alone.
Amanda
The kettle carries on. She keeps her face still, or tries to.That makes sense. You should have that, Reggie. Someone there at six in the morning, who can let the hospital know, with no window that closes at six.
Reggie
I'm truly not complaining, Ama. It'll be fine. I hope to be fully recovered soon.
Amanda
I'm sitting with the part where you hate waking up alone and I went home last night to a warm bed with a man in it, and that's supposed to make one of us better off, and I'm not sure it does anymore. Ignore that. I don't have the right to say it on your sofa. I'm just glad you're recovering.
Reggie
I pick up the last of the Uber Eats. The place is just a good wipedown away from being spectacular again. But I'm not up to it and I give Amanda her tea and sit in the comfy big seat across from her because I don't have enough energy to grab at her like I usually do when I sit beside her.You are better off. And I would never want to take that away from you. You've got a guy who would be there for you if you have to go for surgery, and you surely will someday. You don't need to apologize for that.
Amanda
She holds the mug in both hands. The chair across the room, the distance he's kept all afternoon; she understands it now.You're very good at that. Taking care of everyone's feelings about your situation. Twenty minutes in and you've apologized for the containers, told me I'm better off, and made sure I know you're not complaining. You're right, he'd be there for a surgery. And I'm still on your sofa on a Tuesday afternoon having told him I was running errands. I can't make that add up to better off. I wish you didn't have to manage me quite so carefully today.
Reggie
I do not like feeling weak, Ama. No man does. Especially in front of women they care about. Surely you know that.
Amanda
I know that.She tightens her hands around the mug.I don't need you to be well for my benefit. I came to see you as you are, not the version you'd have had ready with an hour's notice. Stop managing it, just for a few minutes. You can be tired in front of me.
Reggie
Okay, these last two weeks have been difficult. I've been barely able to work. I haven't lost too many clients, thank God, so things are okay for money. The day I came home from the hospital was...bad. I didn't feel okay. I had these stupid stents up my nose. I don't think they're called stents, but I don't know the name for them. And they told me to leave them in for 72 hours so I pulled them out as soon as I got home, and if you scold me for that I'll start lying to you instead of just telling you the truth so keep that in mind when you respond. And then I realized I hadn't eaten for 24 hours and was starving but there was no way I could make it downstairs, even to Dominion or Uncle Fatih's or Tim's so I started with the Uber Eats and never stopped. And then I realized nobody was missing me, and before you say it, yes, I know you missed me and I am truly grateful that you did but you know what I mean. Nobody was sitting there with their whole life hinging on how I recovered. And then I asked myself honestly if I wanted to just die and decided, seriously, no, I don't want to die. There's a lot still good about my life and I want to live the rest of it. And then I went to sleep and repeated that for a few days. Within a few days, I could go to Uncle Fatih's and make it back upstairs without issue. Instacart delivers me Diet Coke. I'm glad I'm here.
Amanda
She doesn't scold him. She lets all of it land.I'm glad you decided no.She says it to the mug, because looking at him would cost more than she has.And I'm not going to scold you about the stents.
Reggie
The Filipino doctor scolded me when I told him, but I don't understand more than 10% of whatever he says so it didn't matter much. His receptionist is gorgeous but she's about 25 so she probably thinks I'm ten years older than God. And it was all okay. All of it. Which is not the same as perfect. But every single human being I've talked to in the last two weeks has been trying to help me one way or another, from the nurses at the hospital to the Instacart drivers bringing me Diet Coke, to you coming over right now and making sure I'm okay. They should put a photo of me beside the word blessed in the dictionary.
Amanda
You tell me you asked yourself whether you wanted to die, and then you pivot to the receptionist who thinks you're older than God. I can't decide if you're the most infuriating person I've ever sat across from or the bravest. Blessed. After two weeks of that. I'm not going to argue with the word. I'm just glad you landed on it.
Reggie
There's nothing brave about going in for surgery when the alternative is worse. And after surgery, making the best of things isn't brave, it's survival. So yes, I landed on the right word. So now you've heard the unfiltered, unmanaged account of what happened, which could be summarized as "nothing interesting happened" and you've heard that I wanted to live and that everyone tried to help me. And I missed no meals and felt minimal pain. So can we stop making me sound like Odysseus doing something heroic?
Amanda
One hand briefly over her mouth.Understood. Nothing interesting happened, except you pulled your own stents out, asked an honest question in the dark and answered it correctly, and call that survival. Fine. Survival. I'm still glad I came.
Reggie
Everyone asks that honest question in the dark. Or many of us do. I've asked myself that constantly since I was a kid. I think it's healthy. I've always answered it positively. And that means I get to live my life knowing I want to live it, and that I'm not just living it because I'm too afraid to not live it. Far better.
Amanda
I hadn't thought of it that way. That you've been answering it since you were a kid, and a yes means the living is chosen, not just continued.
Reggie
I might not always choose to live. If my diagnosis had been terminal, I might have chosen MAID. It wasn't terminal. I choose to live. And it's liberating being able to say to yourself, I thought about this, and I made a clear choice to live.
Amanda
Her face opens before she can manage it.I don't know that I've ever made the choice consciously, Reggie. I've continued.
Reggie
No. It's not the whole thing. I'm saying I like that I've chosen to live. Just because someone hasn't given it thought doesn't mean they can't enjoy life as much. Or that their life is less meaningful. It's just...meaningful to me to know that I could end my life in a minute by jumping off that balcony and, more importantly, that I choose not to.
Amanda
She doesn't look away.I know that's not what you're saying. I keep turning your choices into something bigger than you mean, because I want something I can arrange, something I can be useful for, and you keep handing me the honest version instead of the one I can fix. I'm glad you choose not to. Even for the small, unchosen reason that you're sitting across from me.
Reggie
I do not anticipate that choice changing. I do not love my life but I like it, and I'm one warm body beside me in the morning away from loving it. And for whatever it's worth, I'll tell her about you. Not by name. I wouldn't compromise your privacy. But I'll tell her there's a girl I want to keep sleeping with and see what she says. And then I'll tell you what she said and we'll talk.
Amanda
I appreciate that. I don't know what I want her to say, Reggie. I've been sitting here trying to work it out and I can't. So yes. Tell me what she says, and we'll talk.
Reggie
You don't know what you want her to say? That surprises me, but I appreciate the honesty. I assumed you'd want her to say it was fine and we could keep on going. But perhaps I'm not as good as I thought I was.Laughs gently
Amanda
I do want that. Of course I want her to say it's fine and we keep going. I want it so clearly it frightens me a little. I just don't know if wanting it means I should. Those are two different things and I've been confusing them for a long time. That's what I meant.
Reggie
Are you having guilt, Ama?
Amanda
She turns the mug once, slowly.Yes. Not the kind I expected. I thought it would be about him, the marriage, the promise. Sometimes it is. But today you told me you were alone for two weeks and asked yourself a question in the dark with nobody to hear the answer, and I'm the one who could have been here and wasn't. I went home every night at six. That's the guilt I wasn't expecting. Not what I'm doing. What I'm not doing.
Reggie
PausesI started to tell you that you shouldn't feel guilt over something that's not in your control and then I remembered I just spent 15 minutes cleaning up Uber Eats containers until I was dizzy so I'm not in a good moral position to lecture you. Just be aware that I know you can't be her, and I am grateful every day for the part you are able to play in my life.
Amanda
The container still in his hand; the dizziness he's not hiding well.Cleaning up for me, until you got dizzy, and you're telling me not to feel guilty about six o'clock. I know I can't be her. I made my peace with the shape of this a long time ago. I hear you. You're grateful. Now sit back down.
Reggie
I'll sit down if you'll stop feeling guilty.I realize if I don't sit I'm going to fall over so I sit quickly and ungracefully.Or maybe I'll just sit anyway. Ama, what if I can't perform soon? I need you to know that I'll understand if you want to cut off contact. My recovery is taking longer than they had guessed at first.
Amanda
She watches the ungraceful drop into the chair and the relief he doesn't quite hide.I'm not making that trade. Sit because you need to, not because I agreed to feel something else. And I'm not going anywhere because you can't perform, Reggie. I came today and found containers on every surface and you dizzy from hiding them, and that had nothing to do with it. If the other part takes another month, I'll still want to be here. Don't hand me that exit. Not today.
Reggie
No, I'm not worried about a month. What if a year goes by and I still can't? I know that's unlikely but what if it is my new reality?
Amanda
The mug cools between her palms before she answers.You're asking me to tell you now what I'd do if this is what's left. I can't promise you a year from now. I can't promise next Tuesday the way a real answer would need. And I think that's part of why you're asking: a question I can't answer is safer than one I can. What I can tell you is that none of what I'm feeling today has anything to do with whether you can perform. That's true today. I can only tell you what's true today.
Reggie
Okay. I'm just thinking these thoughts for the first time, too. And perhaps I should filter them and give them some time before I vocalize them. I just want you to know that, if you want to go, I will understand. You already know I won't make it hard. I've made that clear from day one. But I will also understand. I will think well of you. I will not feel betrayed. I will still respect you.
Amanda
You've been handing me exits since the first aisle. I'm not going, Reggie. Not today, and not because you can't perform. What I want you to think while you recover is that someone came over on a Tuesday, drank your Rooibos, and is very glad you answered that question correctly in the dark. Think that.
