So this month’s is better. But also worse. But better. You ready? You are? Good.
Kiss a woman. Not a peck on the cheek to Jen or my mom . . . kiss a woman not related to you by blood or marriage.
Josh felt abruptly ill.
You can do this. You never have to see her again, but I’m guessing it’s time. It’s been nine months. Time for me not to be the last woman you kissed. Moss will grow on your lips if you don’t use them. Everyone knows that. It will get too weird if you wait much longer (assuming you haven’t already slept with half of the East Coast). And once you pass a year, it might take on too much significance. Do you know what I mean?
He didn’t. He had not once considered kissing anyone since her death. He absolutely wanted her to be the last woman he kissed. Ever. In his entire life.
I know what you’re thinking . . . that you’d be disloyal to me if you kissed someone. But it won’t be, because if you did what I asked, I’m a tree now, and you need to start thinking about your future, which, aside from my tree-ness, I’m not in. Them’s the hard facts, honey.
I’m so sorry. It’s not what I would’ve chosen, but then again, Josh, we were so happy. If my IPF helped bring us what we had . . . that beautiful, intense love . . . then maybe I would have chosen it.
But that’s a letter for another time. As I’m writing this one, I want you to know I’m happy. We’re sitting in your mom’s living room on a Sunday morning, and she’s making cinnamon rolls and it smells like heaven.
I love our life. I think I love it even more because of IPF, because yes, every day is a gift (sorry to sound so sappy). Would I be this appreciative of everything, from the smell of cinnamon to the sight of you in the shower? I don’t know. I’d like to think I would, but I don’t know. I DO know I love you more than I ever thought possible. You just brought me a glass of peppermint tea and smooched me, which brings me back to kissing . . .
Remember that song (you probably don’t), but there’s a song that says, “A kiss is just a kiss.” This kiss you’re about to have doesn’t have to be a great kiss, or a meaningful kiss. Just do it, as they say. You might even like it, and that would be wonderful as far as I’m concerned. You’re a great kisser, and that talent shouldn’t die with me. Okay? Okay.
But, honey, our life together ended. I want you to have a new life. I hope with all my heart that these letters are helping you. Who knows? Your second wife could be burning them in the sink. But I think not.
I love you, honey. I want you to be as happy as you made me.
Lauren
He drained his wine and poured some more. Drank that down fast, too. Looked at Pebbles. “She wants me to kiss someone. A woman. You don’t count, sorry.” He raked his hands through his hair, tugging.
He knew how her mind worked, and in Lauren’s head, it all made perfect sense. A nice kiss, just to get it over with. Enough of a kiss to—maybe—stir some feelings, even if they were simple lust.
He did miss kissing. God, he missed it. He missed sex and hugging and touching, and laughing and her hair, and her softness, and her breasts and her legs and her feet and her neck. He missed kissing every part of her. “There is nothing hornier than a marathon makeout session,” she used to say, her voice breathless, face and throat flushed, rosy with love.
He called Radley. “Got time for a drink?” he asked.
“I do! Where?”
An hour later, he and Radley sat at the Eddy, the type of bar that had drinks containing egg whites and burnt rosemary and eucalyptus-infused ice cubes, which Josh knew because he was sipping one right now. Liquid courage and all that. He could see why Lauren and her friends had loved “drinkies,” as they called it.
Radley, who had chosen a much more manly drink—Coopers’ Craft bourbon, straight up—was delighted at the letter’s task. “God! I wish I’d met her! She sounds like an angel with a dirty sense of humor.”
“That’s a perfect description.”
“So how do you feel about this?”
Josh cut him a look. “Please, no therapy tonight.”
Radley laughed. “Okay. Why am I here, other than the fact that I make you look cooler?”
“Do you know anyone who would kiss me?”
“I would kiss you. Right here, right now.”
Josh laughed. “That’s very kind.”
“A woman, huh?” He tapped his black metal ring against his glass. “Do you like this ring, by the way? I’m thinking it’s a little much.”
“I like it.”
“Okay, good. You look nice, by the way, but untuck your shirt a little, like this, so you don’t look like my grandfather.” He reached over and tugged Josh’s shirt on the left side so it hung free, then took a sip of his bourbon. “Five more months at Banana Republic, and then I’ll be a licensed therapist. I cannot wait. I’ll have an advanced degree and can fix people for a living.” He smiled, and Josh smiled back.
“That’s great, Radley.” I’m proud of you, he wanted to say, but who was he to be proud? He’d had nothing to do with it. “Um, it’s really impressive. Working and going to school full-time . . . it’s a lot.” He paused. “And also, you’re a good friend.”
“True, true,” Radley murmured. “Throw me a party in your fab apartment when I graduate?”
“Of course. I’ll even cook.”
Radley smiled. “Thank you! Okay, back to the kiss. I know someone. Yes. She’s wicked nice, a little Worcester, you know? A girl-gangster vibe, a little roller derby . . . tats, piercings, leather, the usual. But super pretty. Wicked, wicked pretty. And she’s a very nice person. Really fun.”
“What’s her name?”
“Cammie. Should I text her right now?”
Josh felt sweat break out on his forehead. “No, no. Uh . . . no. I’d like to think about it.”
“Let’s do it. No time like the present.” Josh winced, but said nothing as Radley’s thumbs began flying over his phone. Radley narrated as he typed. “Hi, Cams, I have a friend who would love to meet you for a date, okay? He’s a doll, but he’ll be nervous. Been off the market for a while. Love you!” He looked up at Josh. “There.”
“I feel a little sick.”
“That’s a good sign!”
Seconds later, Radley’s phone chirped. His face lit up. “She says she’s in, text me his info.” Radley looked at him. A few more taps, and Josh’s info was delivered. “Let’s order some food, okay? I’m starving.”