Chapter 4
TANNER
Des cleans up while I put the kids to bed. When I come back downstairs, he’s wiping frosting off the coffee table.
“I tried. There’s only so much I can do to clean up around here,” he says.
“It’ll never be immaculate like yours.” I shrug.
There’s a general layer of dust and grime on the house.
Shelves are crammed with toys and books and Legos and random junk.
Clutter fills the house. I could never be one of those parents who are strict with their kids about cleaning up.
I don’t have the stamina. “My motto is clean enough.”
“I brought an adult treat for us.” He nods to the paper bag on the recliner.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting on my roof drinking beers. This has always been a great place to think. Each time, I worry it’s going to collapse, but it keeps surprising me with its strength. I suppose we have that in common.
From up here, I get a nice view of my neighborhood, the mountains way off in the distance. It's nothing like Des’s view from his condo that is just breathtaking—worth every penny.
I’d love to go over there, but Des would have a heart attack if the kids were in his apartment. It's like an upscale hotel and my brood is definitely not Eloise.
"How’d the kids take it?" he asks.
"Fine. I really tried to sugarcoat it as much as possible."
"Okay, between us, how's it really going? Because, Tanner, I know when you're stressed. You may put on a good game, but I can tell, man.”
I rub my hair. The accountant in my head is screaming and pulling the panic alarm. The realities of my situation are quickly catching up with me.
"Do you need money?" he asks.
"It's not the money. It's...it's the insurance.
My severance only covers two weeks, and then I'm kicked off the company's insurance plan by the end of the month.
And, you know, luckily, there're no major medical things.
But the kids—they still see a therapist. Davy is always having sports injuries he has to go see a doctor for.
And if something really should go wrong, we won't be covered.
I'm trying to sift through options. There’s CObrA, but it's so expensive. "
I had a coworker who had to go on CObrA when he was in between jobs. He’d been laid off, and CObrA allowed him to stay on his company’s health care plan with a HUGE markup. I know why they call it CObrA. Because it’s a snake that will suck the life out of you.
"Lulu just started kindergarten and Lena just started high school, and now I have to deal with this," I say.
Des rubs my leg. I try not to seem so worried, but man, is it tough.
"You’ve handled worse surprises," he says with a loaded pause. It all happened so suddenly. For our anniversary, Katie and I went to Vermont for a weekend, just the two of us. We were biking in the woods, when Katie hit a tree root and got thrown off her bike, hitting her head on the ground.
She said she was fine and didn’t need to go to the hospital.
Katie complained of dizziness the rest of the day, and when she lay down to take a nap, she didn’t wake up.
It happened so fast, and left me with a mixture of grief and whiplash, like the universe was playing a con on me that I didn’t figure out until it was too late.
I was a complete mess for weeks. If it weren’t for my friends stepping up, helping with the funeral and spending time with the kids, I don’t know if we would’ve made it.
“No matter what, we've been there for each other,” I say.
“You were there for me when I was going through chemo. That’s what friends do.” A wistful smile takes over his face, creasing his freshly-shaved cheeks. “Do you remember high school?"
"Yes and no," I say. Some things feel like just yesterday, some things feel like a million years ago. I didn’t know I felt that old. I didn’t know time could pass so quietly, so cruelly, escaping like an Irish goodbye.
“I went to South Rock for Lena’s freshman orientation, and it was just—I was speechless.
I can't believe that we used to go here. It's so different. But then you spot these little corners in the school that are still the same. A stretch of hallway that hasn’t changed. The same creaky chairs in the auditorium.”
There was a time in my life when all I had to worry about was homework and hockey. Wild.
"You know, I remember when we were in high school, we probably all thought, 'We'll get married, we'll have kids,' and now, like, here I am—and my oldest is in high school." I laugh and gaze up at the night sky.
"I never thought that," Des says proudly. "Didn't want it then, didn't want it now."
"I never got why you were so against it."
"I'm not against it. It's not for me. There's fun in playing the field. I enjoy playing the field, and I don’t really see a need to stop, you know?
Keep things fresh and interesting. And no offense, man, I see you and your kids—and your kids are so wonderful, and you're so wonderful with them. But that is not for me. That just seems exhausting. And a slog. And tiring. And dirty. I like just being able to come and go. I like having my freedom. But I can see how freedom is over-rated.”
Des's full lips crack a smile. Even with me, he knows how to charm.
"Some things haven’t changed," I laugh. "You were a ladies' man in high school. I remember you were dating these two girls at once, and you sent me to break up with one of them."
"Oh God, that was rough. I can't believe you said yes. Didn’t one of them slap you?"
"It’s what we do for our friends," I say.
He just looks out, sips his beer. "And you had one girlfriend all through high school. You love your monogamy. We were on top of the social food chain back then. You could’ve been with anyone. You could’ve played the field, Tan."
"I save my playing for the ice.” My high school girlfriend and I broke up after graduation. She was going to college very far away, so we both knew it wouldn’t last. It was amicable. Unlike Des, I’ve never gotten slapped over a breakup.
At a post-graduation party, she tried flirting with Des, but he firmly said no, even though I said it was fine. I always appreciated that about him.
“You’re still on top of the social food chain.
” I sip my beer. “You managed to peak in high school and as an adult. I mean, you’re super successful, with an awesome bachelor pad, and a very active social life.
” There’s a part of me that would like to have that life for a day, to see what I’d be missing.
“It’s pretty sweet,” he says.
While it does seem pretty sweet, I don’t know…I feel like it would get boring after a while. Different strokes, I guess.
“It’s kind of a miracle that we became friends.
” I was the good, dutiful kid. Des was the bad boy—hooking up with everyone.
People couldn’t believe that we were friends.
We seemed so different. Des is loud and boastful and extroverted as heck.
And I’ve always been more thoughtful, more cautious.
But I don’t know—it worked. Maybe we both see something in each other.
"I think we balance each other out," Des says. "No matter all the parties I went to, all the people I hooked up with. They couldn't come close to just hanging out with you, chatting about life and shit. And plus, you were there for me when I needed it most—my shitty parents and then shitty cancer.”
Luckily, it was caught early and they were able to remove the testicle that was impacted.
I can’t believe it’s been four years already.
There’s been no recurrence, and for all intents and purposes, he’s in the clear.
But I still get nervous when he goes in for his annual cancer screen.
I’ve seen firsthand how quickly things can change.
One fall, one nap, one doctor’s appointment…
your whole life can get turned on its head.
"We've gotten through a lot together," I say. I clink my beer can against his.
"We have.” His lips pout. Des is a very attractive man.
I’ve always thought so. People love his dark eyes, his cut jaw.
But for me, his lips are his best feature.
They’re full and pouty. Welcoming. Anyone who gets to kiss them is very lucky.
They amplify any expression he has. A smile with those lips is a beam of sunshine. A frown is a dark cloud.
Right now, they are adding to the mysterious, pensive look on his face.
"I have a crazy idea," he says.
"What?"
"What if we got married?"
I burst out with a laugh. It's the best laugh I’ve had all day. I knew my friend would always be there to cheer me up.
"Des, this is why you should not be drinking beer. It's doing stuff to your head. But that was a good one."
"I’m serious. I think I’m serious.”
He arches his eyebrows. The wheels turn in his head. I can tell when Des is really thinking about something—and this is one of those moments. The lips are in full pout.
I sit up. "Wait, you're actually thinking about this?"
"Well, if we were to get married, you can go on my insurance plan. And then you and the kids would be covered. My company has great insurance. When I had cancer, I had very little medical bills. Most of it was covered. So that would extend to you, right? I mean, if we were married. And really, marriage is one of those events where you can have someone join your plan right away. You don’t have to wait till the end of the year. "
"That’s true," I tell him. Being in human resources, I know this like the back of my hand. "It’s a qualifying event."
"So we can get married, you and your kids can immediately get insurance, and then once you find a new job, you can get off and go onto that, and everything will be fine."
In theory, this sounds very logical and very helpful. But still—it would mean that we would get married.
"You’re asking me to marry you? For insurance?" Des would be my husband. “Is this fraud?"
"I don’t know. Let me check." He asks the question into his cellphone. Google pops up with a response.
"Nope. Not fraud. It’s not illegal. Frowned upon, but not illegal. If someone comes to us and asks if we’re married, we know each other so well, we could easily say that we are. We can easily pass that test. And most marriages are sexless, so we’re right on track with that.”
My mind is spinning with this proposal. That’s what this is. I’m being freaking proposed to. By my best friend. I told myself I would never get married again after losing my wife. Does this count?
Des gulps his beer and heaves out a sigh. “Tanner, I guess…will you marry me?” He caps it with a belch, not a ring.
Still, I say yes.