New York City was in a cold snap that first week in November 2021, temperatures remained below freezing for five days straight. I wasn’t looking forward to facing the frigid weather, but hopefully my date with Jay would be worth it.
It took me longer than I thought to decide what to wear. Ultimately I’d settled on an oversized gray sweater and black jeans under my full length Canadian Goose puffer. I was afraid I might be late, but he hadn’t arrived yet.
Steven would have balked at the price of the coat, but I made a conscious decision to spend whatever I could afford to make this first year without him easier and more comfortable. I’d always hated the cold, so I considered this purchase money well spent.
I felt like I was doing a good job financially speaking. I’d received the check from Steven’s life insurance policy, and his sizable 401(k) had been transferred into my name as an inherited account. I met with our financial advisor who created an investment plan based on my financial goals, and I finally had a closing date set next week for the sale of our old apartment.
I was acting responsibly and taking care of business.
Wasn’t it time for me to have some fun?
“Excuse me miss, would you like something to drink?” The waiter was standing in front of me, proffering a drink menu.
I put up my hand, palm out, signaling I didn't need it, and said, “I’ll have a Corona please.”
As he heads back towards the bar I see my date walk in.
My first thought was that everything about Jay was average. Average height, average weight, average hair, average clothes. I could have passed him on the street every day, and never noticed him.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” he said apologetically.
“No, I just got here,” I said, faking a smile.
I hated when people were late. Before Steven died I might have said something sarcastic like, “No problem, I have all day to sit here drinking by myself,” but then I thought if Steven were alive I wouldn’t have been on this date. Suddenly I felt defeated, and so unsure of myself.
We exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and then moved on to the ‘get to know you questions.’
“What kind of work do you do Jay?”
“I’m an educator at a museum, and you?”
“I handle the finances for a small grant-making institute at Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism. Are you from New York?”
“No, I’m from Tampa, Florida, but I’ve lived here for ten years. And you?”
“I’m from New York, born and raised. How about your family, do you have any siblings?”
“I have a sister and three brothers. Well, two brothers now, one of them died two years ago. Colon cancer.”
That got my attention. I already knew he was 53-years-old, divorced for four years, with dual custody of his two teenage daughters who were still in high school.
He knew I was recently single and that I had a son, but not that I was a widow. I wondered since he has mentioned cancer, if now was a good time to tell him.
“I’m so sorry about your brother. I know how devastating cancer can be….” I paused and took a swig of my beer before I continued, “So, um, I am recently single because my husband died from soft tissue sarcoma, a rare form of cancer.”
I didn’t feel it necessary to tell Jay that he and my husband were the same age.
“Oh! Gosh, I am so sorry,” he said. “It really does suck. As a matter of fact, I finished treatment for skin cancer on my back six months ago.”
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.
He was the first to break the awkward silence, “I am totally fine now. The doctor said they got all of it and chemo killed any lingering cells.”
Was he trying to reassure me or himself that he wasn’t going to die too?
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay. What a relief!” I said, flashing him my best smile.
I wasn’t concerned about his future because I knew I wouldn’t see him again. I absolutely could not dive back into cancer-land, no way, no how.
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