“Is he only mostly dead? Like in The Princess Bride?”
Chloe loves romance. We watch The Princess Bride every year on her birthday and rom-coms when it’s her turn to choose on movie nights. Honestly, all that mushy stuff is like nails on a chalkboard to me, but this is Chloe. In seventh grade, she took the fall when I brought a set of steak knives to school for my Edward Scissorhands Halloween costume, and in eleventh grade she sneaked me in the classroom window when I overslept and almost missed our final calculus exam. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.
“Is there a degree of deadness that involves breathing?” I asked.
“You were the one who was supposed to become a doctor.”
I heard cupboards slam, keys rattle on the counter, the click of a lock. Chloe was on her way. She was nothing if not efficient.
“If I’d become a doctor, I wouldn’t be living in a low-rent basement suite and drowning in debt.” I pressed an ear to the dude’s chest, listening for a heartbeat.
“You would have had even more debt,” she said over the rapid thud of footsteps and the hum of traffic. A single mom working three jobs to make ends meet, Chloe couldn’t afford a car, so she took public transport to get around.
“Yes, but I would also have had the kind of job that would enable me to pay it off before I hit middle age.”
“Almost at the bus stop.” Chloe huffed into the phone.
I gave myself a mental pat on the back for choosing to stay in our hometown of Evanston, Illinois, when I finally moved out of my parents’ house. I had briefly considered finding a place in Downtown Chicago, but rents were high, and I spent most of my free time with Chloe and her daughter, Olivia, so putting almost fourteen miles between us didn’t make sense.
“The paramedics are here,” Rose called out from the hallway. She’d put on a robe after I called the ambulance, a small mercy for which I was undyingly grateful. I wasn’t judging her. I just didn’t need a visual of what the future held in store for me fifty years from now.
“Gotta go, babe,” I said to Chloe. “Rose needs me. I’ll see you soon.”
A gorgeous blond paramedic with green eyes and a face so chiseled it could cut glass gestured me to the side while his two equally hot companions crouched down to check out the almost naked dude on the floor—I’d thrown a tea towel over his hips for the sake of modesty.
“What happened?” he asked.
“My basement suite flooded this morning.” I smoothed down my hair, acutely conscious that I’d come upstairs with a bad case of bedhead and wearing only PJ shorts and a ratty Chicago Bears sweatshirt. “I woke up with my stuff floating past my bed, so I came upstairs to tell Rose. She gave me keys to her place when I moved in so I could check in on her from time to time.”
He smiled, which I took as a good sign. Maybe he liked curvy South Asian girls with long, matted dark brown hair and a little extra lip fuzz because they hadn’t had time for the morning groom. Or maybe he was just a Bears fan.
“Unfortunately, I walked in on her and her boyfriend doing it on the couch.” The visual had been bad enough, but the cost of the extra therapy I’d need to undo the trauma of what I’d seen was beyond imagining.
“Doing what?” he asked.
“You know . . .”
Respect was the guiding principle of my family. Respect for parents. Respect for aunties. Respect for elders. With respect drilled into me from birth, I couldn’t bring myself to use the S word when it came to describing the intimate relations of two seniors. But what word could I use? Why did the paramedic have to be so sexy? Did he wear contacts or were his eyes really that vivid green? Was that a medical device in his pocket? I quickly shut down the runaway train of random thought process that was the bane of my existence.
“Boning.” The word dropped from my lips before I could catch it.
His finger froze on the tablet he was using to record my information. “Boning?”
“Okay. Fine. Sex,” I said quickly. “They were having sex. On the couch. Naked. Curtain ties were involved. And a curtain rod. I also saw a can of whipped cream, which I should really put back in the fridge so it doesn’t spoil.” I leaned in close, lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I didn’t know that position was possible after the age of forty. The dude really knew his stuff. I guess that makes sense if you’ve been doing it for eighty-plus years minus maybe fifteen or so. Of course, I can only guess when he lost his virginity. I didn’t have sex for the first time until I was twenty.”
His eyes glazed over, a telltale sign that I’d overshared.
“Name?” he asked.
“Simi Chopra. Currently single.”
“I meant his name.”
I bit back a grimace. Why couldn’t he have been plain or even average? I could never speak in coherent sentences when a dude was too good-looking. “To be honest, she has so many boyfriends, I can’t keep track of their names. She usually goes for younger men—fifties to seventies and occasionally forties if they’re having an early midlife crisis. She said the octo—and nonagenarians usually have performance issues—although from what I saw, this dude is an exception. I kinda liked the last guy she was seeing. He runs the Lincoln Park 10K Run for the Zoo every year. He’s super fit and has a six-pack, although I did wonder if it might just be his ribs poking out because he only eats raw, especially grass. She liked his stamina, but she got annoyed at meal times because he kept running out to the backyard to graze.”
“Would anyone like tea?” Rose had gone to change when the paramedics arrived and was now wearing a tropical print dress with a giant pink belt cinched around her waist and a pair of matching heels. Rose was in theater and still performed onstage. She loved loud colors and bold prints because they matched her personality.
“Maybe not the best time,” I called out. “What’s this one’s name?”
“Stan,” she said. “I don’t know that much about him. I met him in a bar last week after a show and we’ve been hitting the mattress hard ever since. He’s eighty-eight with the stamina of a man in his fifties. It was nice being with someone mature for a change.”
The paramedic coughed, choked before asking, “How did he wind up on the floor?”
“I walked in and scared him,” I said. “Rose was on the couch. Sort of. She saw me and screamed. Stan jumped off her. Well, it was sort of a slow push away followed by a concomitant drop elsewhere. Not that I was looking, but your eyes have to go somewhere, and mine went there, and then I immediately wished they could be somewhere else.”
“I’m not here to judge,” he said, shaking his head in a way that belied his words.
I could see my chances of getting laid in the back of his ambulance were quickly disappearing. “He lost his balance trying to get up,” I continued. “Then he fell and hit his head on the coffee table. I called 911 and checked to make sure he was breathing with a makeup mirror.” I hesitated, waiting for an acknowledgment of my skill. None was forthcoming.
A rush of air cooled my heated cheeks before I heard the back door slam.
“I’m here,” Chloe called out. “I’ve got bleach and rubber gloves. The tarp’s in the car. Where’s the body? We could probably dump him in the river.” She froze behind the island counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “You’re not alone.”