Callie’s Last Dance

47.

“HI BEAUTIFUL!” I say.

“Hi Romeo,” Callie says.

She’s pale, her voice is slurred.

She says, “I’m so sorry, Donovan.”

A tear trickles down her cheek.

“We’ve got a plan.”

“If it involves kickboxing, you’ll have to start without me,” she says, forcing a weak smile.

“We’re taking you to Sensory as soon as you’re stable enough for MedEvac.”

“Why?”

“We found a doctor who might be able to get you on your feet again.”

Her eyes light up. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

She sees Dr. P. standing behind me.

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Dr. Petrovsky.”

Callie frowns. “You’re still palling around with Darwin?”

Dr. P. looks around, nervously. “Please, my dear,” he says. “Let’s refrain from using the D word.”

“You trust him?” she says.

“Sometimes.”

“Is this one of those times?”

“Yes.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Rest. Enjoy the drugs. But get stronger.”

“You want me to multi-task at a time like this? Good thing I’m a woman.”

“Why’s that?”

“Women are better multi-taskers than men.”

“Bullshit.”

“You disagree?” she says.

“Of course. Men can have sex and a headache at the same time.”

“The headache is an excuse. We say that when we don’t want to have sex. You didn’t know?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve still proven me right.”

She arches an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Men don’t have to have sex, but when it’s available, we don’t want to leave it on the table. So if we’ve got a headache, or if there’s a ball game on in the next room we can deal with the headache, listen to the game, and have sex, all at the same time. We’re the ultimate multi-taskers.”

“When it comes to sex.”

“And football. And eating.”

“I can’t think of three things less important to a happy life.”

“You just need the right dinner, the right team, and the right sexual partner.”

“Any suggestions?”

She gives me her come-hither look.

I smile and give her a kiss.

She says, “You owe me a dance. Even if I’m in a wheelchair.”

“At Sal’s party you danced alone. I let you down.”

“I agree. So how do you plan to make it up to me?”

“By doing everything in my power to help you regain the full use of your dancing legs.”

“And if I do?”

“You’ll never dance alone again.”

“Say it better.”

“From now on I’ll dance with you every time you ask.”

“For the rest of your life?”

I nod.

She laughs.

“What?”

“You hate dancing.”

“But I love you.”

“I appreciate your love. But don’t start wearing a dress, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now quit hanging around,” she says. “Go fetch my doctor!”