Page 47 of Friends with Benefits

He comes home to a semiassembled bookcase.

“Shit. You’rehome?”

Theo snorts. “Hello to you, too.”

Evelyn is sitting, legs crisscrossed, in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by screws and pegs and shelves, the assembly instructions for a Billy bookcase in her hands. She’s still in her pajamas, pink satin shorts paired with an old NYU sweatshirt. His sweatshirt. Theo swallows, then steps over a particleboard shelf and sets his thermos on the counter, narrowly avoiding being impaled by a screw in the process.

“How is it already four?” Evelyn groans, eyes lifting from the instructions to meet his. Still dressed as a toy cowboy, he braces for teasing that doesn’t come. “I meant to finish this hours ago… then got derailed.”

“What happened?”

“My old insurance was billed for my last infusion, resulting in acutebill.”

She gestures to the statement on the coffee table and Theo’s eyes bulge at its total. “Jesus.”

“I called the infusion center before the appointment, they scanned my new insurance card at the appointment, yet still I spent three hours on the phone with the billing department this afternoon to fix someone else’s mistake. It’s fine. The claim is being resubmitted. But dealing with this shit? It’s so exhausting.”

Theo’s nostrils flare.

He remembers the hours Lori spent on the phone, the back-and-forth between billing departments and insurance, the delay of her treatment plan because of a denial. Because you can’t just be sick in this country. You must also argue, appeal,begfor insurance to approve and cover lifesaving screenings and treatments. Lori needed a colonoscopy years before her doctor ordered one.You’re too young for cancer! It’s just IBS. Have you tried eliminating dairy? Gluten? Every major food group?By the time her symptoms progressed to the point where the scope became medically necessary… they learned that she was, in fact, not too young for cancer. And it had spread to her lymph nodes.

It’s more than exhausting.

It’s infuriating.

“It’s bullshit,” he says.

“I know. I was supposed to build a bookcase today.”

“We still can.”

Theo cannot fix the entire healthcare system, but he can build a bookcase. He removes his cow-print vest and yellow button-up, then sits on the floor next to Evelyn and starts inserting pegs into the shelves, not needing the instruction manual. In undergrad, he had a whole TaskRabbit moment. Manhattan is expensive.

Basically, Theo can build a Billy bookcase in his sleep.

Evelyn doesn’t resist the help, just passes him a screwdriver, her fingers brushing against his. Then she pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, exposing the sound wave tattoo across her right forearm. It’s the intro of Peppy Bloom’s radio show. Her fourth tattoo. After Pep went on-air for the last time, Theo drove Evelyn to a tattoo shop in Santa Monica because Iris Cameron, once a student of Miss Stella’s, is the only nonmedical professional that Evelyn trusts to stab her repeatedly with a needle. Theo once called Evelyn’s tattoos etchings for the people she loves. She corrected him.Not love, Theodore. Trust.His eyes linger on the sound wave. He glitches. Fuck. This is why he tries to avoid them. The music notes on her rib cage. The lavender sprig on her left triceps for Gen. The bee on her ankle for Mo. This sound wave.

It’s safer.

To avert his eyes.

To not obsess over her tattoos.

To not feel some kind of way that there isn’t one for him.

“How was school?” she asks.

His eyes shift away from the ink on her skin. “The kids call meMr. Theodorenow.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry, but that’s kind of incredible.”

“Evelyn.”

“What? It could be worse, Mr. Clown.”

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