"That would be nice, but not appropriate. My father has accused me of abandoning my responsibility to this family more than once already. I'd hate to prove him right."
"Fuck him."
I ignored her. "I'll leave the day after the funeral. I'm sure I can last a few more days."
"Please hurry. They have last year's Bachelor guest-hosting for you on Locker Talk. The man is super-hot but stupid as shit. I fear what his influence may be doing to the collective intelligence of our nation."
I chuckled.
"Seriously," she went on, "His response to every topic is basically, 'Fire bad. Tree pretty. Look at my abs.' - it's insulting to your viewers."
"I'm sure it's not that bad," I said, rolling my eyes.
She continued as if she hadn't heard me. "I swear, men like him make me thrilled to be single. I don't know why attractive men are always so stupid."
"Ouch." I wasn't sure how to take that. Did that make me attractive but stupid or intelligent and ugly?
"You don't count," she assured me. "Gay men are always the exception; you know that. It's yet another reason why women prefer gay boyfriends over real ones."
Our conversation soon shifted to gossip, and we chatted flippantly about people we knew. I was thankful for the distraction. We giggled about our friend Charles, who had fallen hopelessly in love for the third time that month. We each placed a bet on how long it would last. We shared our concern for our friend Rita, whose recent divorce had left her clinically depressed and chronically drunk. We both feared it was only a matter of time before we got the call that she had hurt herself. But then our conversation came full circle, and we returned to the topic we settled on most frequently; each other's love life - or lack thereof.
I followed along as she regaled me with stories of her recent sexual escapades. I refused to call it dating since she usually only went out with men once and rarely knew their last names. I was often impressed she bothered to learn their first. For a moment, I was tempted to tell her about Bryce, but I already knew what she would say. Fuck him - and she would mean it both literally and figuratively. To Felicity, sex was currency, and she would encourage me to spend it before old age dried up my bank account.
"Are you even listening?"
I had zoned out, and it took me a moment to remember she was still talking. "Oh, sorry. I was thinking about work."
"No, you weren't. I know that look. You were thinking about a man. Who is he?"
"No one. There is no man." I was lying, and she knew it. Why did I even bother? No matter how hard I tried, I could never lie to her. She always saw right through me.
"Honey, I'm not a fucking gardenia, don't feed me fertilizer. Spill it."
So, I did. I was careful to leave out some of the more sordid components of the story - for my comfort, not Felicity's. She would have preferred to hear every detail in crystal clarity. Perhaps even a demonstration using sock puppets. After I finished, I watched her through the screen, waiting for her reaction and the advice that would follow.
"First of all, pics or it didn't happen," she chided, and we both laughed.
"And secondly?"
"Ask yourself, what would Felicity do?"
My eyes widened. "I try never to ask myself that question."
"Very funny," She glared in mock anger. "But I'm serious. If I were in your situation, what do you think I would do?"
"You'd never allow yourself to be in this situation."
"Very true," she admitted, so she took a different approach. "Let's examine the facts; He likes you. He invited you to stay at his home - who does that to someone they just met, by-the-way? He's attracted to you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Well, he slept with you, for starters. People rarely fuck someone who repulses them. I mean, sometimes beer goggles can make a four look like a ten. Then you find yourself wanting to chew off your arm to escape the bed the next morning but --"
"Speaking from experience?"
"You know it," she winked. "Point being, if he was attracted to you enough to sleep with you then, he still is now."
"What does that matter? He's made it clear that it won't happen again."
"Yeah, he freaked out afterwards. Most men do. They act all, 'we shouldn't have done that,' 'I don't wanna ruin our friendship,' 'What if my wife finds out,'" I raised my brow at the last comparison. "But that's their way of ensuring you understand that it meant nothing. That it was sex - good sex - but nothing more."
"I'm not following how this helps me."
"I can almost guarantee you, if you stay there, it will happen again - as much as he says it won't. It's the whole, 'if you build it, they will come' philosophy. If you make them hard, they're going to want to put it somewhere."
I blushed at her vulgarity. "Gross."
She ignored me and continued. "Casual can be a lot of fun, under the right circumstances. That's all it could be anyway. I mean, you're only there for a few more days. You need to decide if that's something you can live with. The trick to keeping things casual is not to get invested. You can't care if it ever happens again." But I did care, and I did want it to happen again.
"I'm not sure if I can. I like him."
She sighed. "I figured. Casual has never been your thing. You've always been a relationship guy. There's nothing wrong with that, but it does mean you have a problem."
"I know! That's why I'm asking you for advice."
She slowed it down for me, like a parent teaching a child to read by sounding out the letters. "Honey, you don't need my advice. You already know what you must do. You only have two options." Stay or leave. I knew it as much as she did. Either stay and pretend that nothing happened between us - which would be torturous. Or go and spend the rest of my time avoiding him.
"Look hon,” Felicity said suddenly. “I hate to cut this short, but I must start getting ready. You're not the only one with men on the mind."
"Have a date, do you?" When did she not? Felicity was a beautiful woman. Although she was in her mid-forties, the years had been kind. On most days, and especially in soft lighting, she could still pass for mid-to-late twenties. With the help of monthly Botox injections, she aimed to keep it that way.
"Netflix and chilling is not a date. It's not a date until someone spends money. Have I taught you nothing?"
"You are a wealth of knowledge. I learn from you daily," I replied with sarcasm. "So, who is this man of the moment?"
"That new lawyer in my firm that I was telling you about a few weeks ago, Mathew."
"He finally asked you?"
She shook her head. "The guy is a fabulous litigator, but when it comes to flirting, he's as clueless as you are."
"So, you asked him?" I connected the dots.
"There is no shame in it. I am a modern woman: equality, feminism - all that bullshit."
"So, when you and Mathew do go out on a real date, I assume you'll be willing to pay then?"
She shook her head again. "I am not that modern."