All You Could Ask For A Novel - By Mike Greenberg Page 0,84

her. So I would answer her questions with truthfulness, whatever they might be, rather than the defensive posturing that has characterized pretty much every relationship of my adult life.

When finally we had stopped laughing over the tragic game-show contestants, I sighed deeply and tried to steer the conversation back to what I really needed to talk about with her. “I have been doing a little research on the Internet about the disease. There is so much out there that I feel somewhat overwhelmed. I don’t know what’s credible and what’s not.”

“I did the same thing,” Samantha said. “I felt the same way. I was all over the place. The truth is I got the most out of the social sites, like message boards and Facebook.”

“I’m not even on Facebook. I think that’s why I’m always behind on all the gossip,” I said. “I don’t know why I haven’t signed up. I guess I just figured if I haven’t heard from you in twenty years it’s probably for a reason.”

Samantha laughed at that, but I didn’t. That wasn’t honesty. That wasn’t what I promised myself I would bring to this lunch. That was my typical use of humor as a defense mechanism, and what good was that doing me here?

“Actually,” I said, glancing away, “that isn’t the reason. In all honesty, I think I never signed up because I was afraid no one would friend me. Even now I don’t want to go on and talk about my diagnosis. I guess I’m afraid there’d be no one who cared.”

I kept my gaze away, waiting for her reply, but she didn’t say a word. It was quiet for so long I finally had to look at her. She is a very pretty girl. Her eyes are deep blue and she has the sort of cheekbones people would pay anything to have surgically implanted. But her best feature is her compassion, her humanity. You can see it in her face. It oozes from her.

“My god, Samantha,” I said, “I am so alone.”

She put her hand back on mine. “Not anymore.”

I cleared my throat a time or two. I was afraid I might begin to cry. I wanted to keep talking but I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Do you need a minute?” she asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “Just talk to me. Tell me about yourself. All I really know is that you weep during game shows, and, frankly, if I’m going to put my life in your hands I’m going to need to know more than that.”

She seemed to get my sense of humor, which is nice, because I happen to think it is my best quality. Not when it is being used to deflect or to compete, in those cases my humor probably does me more harm than good, but in the right moments saying something funny is the best thing you can do for a conversation. I could tell Samantha could appreciate that.

Then, to my shock, she told me the story of her ill-fated marriage. I hope my genuine reaction wasn’t evident in my face, meaning I hope my jaw didn’t actually hit the table. It all just seemed so unlikely, so unlike the woman Samantha is. She seems so stable, so together. I don’t know what type of person you expect to have her marriage annulled after three days, but whoever that is she is the opposite of the woman who was sitting across from me.

“All I can say,” I told her, when she finished her story, “is that this guy has got to be one of the most irretrievably stupid people on the planet to let you get away. And while I realize I barely know you, I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“What an asshole,” I said, for emphasis, and she laughed.

“What about you, Katherine? Have you ever been married?”

“I’ve never been married,” I told her. “I was close one time. At least I thought I was, maybe I wasn’t as close as I thought. Actually, my history with men is something of a horror show. You’re either going to laugh or punch me when I tell you some of the crap I have put up with.”

“Try me.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, I once was dumped in the midst of a session with a couples therapist. I suppose being in couples therapy before we were married should have been a sign, but somehow I missed it. Another time, I cooked