So Many Kinds of Love

"I'll try not to die," Layla said drily, and Dr. Hsu half-chuckled.

"You're a fighter, Layla. You're not only not going to die, you're going to get well. We just need to figure out how to make that happen. We've tried the most obvious therapy. Now we need to find the right one."

"What can I do to help, doc?" I asked, still holding my sister's hand.

Dr. Hsu cocked one eyebrow. "Do whatever your sister asks, with no backtalk."

Layla laughed with a little more energy. "That'll be the day."

As we left the office, something made me turn back to look at the doctor. Her face looked grave as a medieval Madonna at the crucifixion, and I shivered.

**

For the next week, I watched with relief as Layla rallied with no chemo to poison her system. She started keeping her food down and even dug into the big bag of M&Ms I kept in her pantry in case her sweet tooth bit her. The Friday after our visit to Dr. Hsu, Layla felt able to stay up with Mom and me in the living room after dinner and add her sweet voice to the nightly chorus.

"It's amazing how much better you look in just a few short days," Mom said, patting Layla's arm.

"It's amazing how much better I feel," Layla replied. "I'm not ready to go run a marathon, but I am thinking taking about a little walk tomorrow, to see what season it is if nothing else."

"Want some company, sis?"

Her smile looked like the old Layla. "Absolutely."

"I'll sleep here tonight," I decided. "That way, we can go any time you like."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to." In truth, I stayed at her place more often than my own at this point. But I made a point of letting her know so she could agree or not. Her illness had robbed her of so much; I wanted to give her any power over her circumstances that I could.

She yawned and rose to her feet in a fluid motion I hadn't seen in weeks. "OK, then. I'm going to turn in now. See you in the morning."

I slept through the night, not waking when my bedroom door opened on its own, as it often did. When I finally did open my eyes, I was startled to see Layla peering through the doorway at me. I quickly rolled onto my side to hide my morning arousal.

"Morning, handsome. You ever going to get up?"

"In a minute. You done in the bathroom?"

She nodded. "Why don't you take a shower and I'll make us some breakfast. I actually feel like eating this morning, believe it or not."

"That's great, sis," I said, meaning it. Every little sign of health gave me hope that she could hold on till Dr. Hsu figured out the right drug regimen. "See you downstairs in fifteen minutes."

"Sounds good."

I hurried to the bathroom and took a quick shower, not lingering under the spray with any fantasies this morning. Caring for Layla took most of my energy these days; Gabriela understood, earning my eternal gratitude. Toweling off, I gave myself a perfunctory shave, put on my jeans from yesterday and dug out one of the T-shirts I kept at her place. July in Pennsylvania is usually hot, but a welcome cold front had moved south from Canada, and the day felt pleasant.

After breakfast, we headed outside for our walk. Matching my pace to hers, we strolled around the block, Layla's first outing in weeks. She exclaimed over the full green leaves of summer and the flowers all around us, smiled at the squirrels darting up the trees and across the street, and inhaled the fresh morning air with gusto.

"It's good to see you enjoying life," I said, and winced over my choice of words.

If my words bothered Layla, she didn't show it. "It's good to get out of the house. It's good to feel like getting out of the house."

"I bet. How far do you think you want to go?"

"Not much more," she admitted. "I feel like I've lost all my muscles. Unlike you."

As one, we turned to head back home. "Hey, I've got a free gym at work. You really can't make comparisons. And the more we do this, the better you'll feel. Maybe we can get out again this afternoon."

"Maybe. I think for now, I just want to go home and sack out on the couch and maybe read for a few hours."

"Sounds good. You want me to stay with you?"

She shook her head. "I'll be fine. A couple of friends are coming over in a little bit, so you can have a well-deserved break."

Putting an arm around her bony shoulders, I gently hugged her to me. "It's not a burden for me to be here."

"Well, maybe I need a break from you. Ever think of that, Einstein?"

Her Nordic blue eyes laughed at me and suddenly I felt better than I had in months. "All right, girly. I'll be back for an early dinner, though, OK?"

"Bring a pizza," she demanded.

"You are on the mend!"

After a brisk run, I spent the day noodling around with my guitar, day-dreaming, writing, and generally getting in some idle time I hadn't realized I needed.

When I returned to Layla's, wood-fired pizza in hand, I felt refreshed and centered. We ate in mutual accord, then played and sang together, and through it all, I could almost imagine that the cancer was only a dream.

She rubbed her midriff ruefully after our energetic rendition of Can't Buy Me Love. "Looks like I've lost my singing muscles too. Let's take a break."

Placing Dad's Yamaha on the stand, I sank down on the couch next to her, putting my arm around her once more. We sat there in silence for nearly a minute before she spoke.

"There's something I need to talk to you about."

I rubbed her shoulder. "What's that?"

"I have a favor to ask. A big one."

"Whatever it is, the answer's yes."

She shifted under my arm, and I could feel a new tension in her body.

"Not so fast. This is something ... unusual."

I looked down at her, but she didn't meet my eye. "What is it?"

"I want you to do something for me."

"Haven't I been saying since I got back that I'd do anything for you? I mean it. Just tell me."

She hesitated, and I gave her shoulder a little squeeze as the seconds ticked by. "Just blurt it out, and we'll tackle it together, OK?"

Layla looked up at me. "I want..." She blinked. "This is harder than I thought it would be."

"Just say it. Tell me what you want."

Her blue eyes met mine one more time. "I want you. I want you to be with me."

"I'm with you right now, girly."

"I don't mean like this. I mean, I want you to be with me. Like, a man and a woman."

My jaw dropped as I stared at her.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, she tried again, this time speaking quickly as if it would help her get the words out.

"I'm not going to survive this. We both know it. Just once, while I still feel OK, I want to find out what it feels like with a good lover. So -- I want you to make love to me. I want you to fuck me."

My head spun and suddenly, the large paneled room seemed awfully short on air. I stood up.

"I need to go. I'll call you later."

Eyes glimmering with tears, Layla watched in silence as I ran away, just like old times.

Outside, under the darkening sky, I bent over, palms on my thighs, heart pounding, gulping in air. This couldn't be happening. I started walking, then running, and my feet took me straight to Gabriela.

She took one look at my face and led me through the house to the back yard. Nervous energy raced through me as I told her what happened. She watched silently as I paced back and forth on the patio, barely hearing the birds twittering in the twilight or the occasional radio as cars passed.

"You're going to break down the concrete if you keep that up," she observed after a couple of minutes.

Turning on her, I erupted.

"Very funny. I'm in the middle of the biggest moral dilemma of my life, and all you can do is crack some stupid joke?"

Her mouth opened, then slowly closed as she thought better of whatever she had nearly said.

"What part of 'my sister wants me to fuck her' do you not get?"

Her dark eyes seemed to penetrate my soul as she sat on the bench, and I resumed pacing, as much to escape her gaze as to work off my energy.

"May I speak?" she asked in a careful voice that made me think of the ordnance disposal experts I had known in the service.

I kept moving, still feeling the fury flooding my body. "As long as it's not another joke. I have enough to worry about without you making me feel stupid."

"I wasn't ridiculing you, dear heart. I was trying to lighten up the tension, and I guess I failed."

Still fuming, but also realizing that I was acting like an asshole to someone I loved, I shot her a slightly-less-angry look. "I'm not in the mood to laugh. This is serious." Even to myself, I sounded sulky.

"I'm sorry. I misjudged. Anyway, can I share something with you?

I stopped in front of her. "Please."

"The way I see it, she doesn't want you to fuck her, per se. I mean, she's not asking for a quickie in the bushes."

"Her exact words were, 'I want you to fuck me.' I don't see how that's open to interpretation. That sounds very clear to me."

Pursing her lips, Gabriela looked down at my feet for a few seconds before meeting my eyes. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "You know Layla and I are good friends, right?"

"It is how we met," I pointed out, more sharply than I meant, and felt ashamed as I saw her flinch.

"True," and she again spoke slowly and quietly, as if I might detonate at any second. "Well, after Michael dumped her, she confided in me. Kind of woman to woman. How what had happened had felt, how what he did made her feel later, and how she couldn't imagine how anyone could enjoy sex if that's what it was all about. Following?"

Nodding, I plopped down on the bench next to her and she took my sweaty hand in her cool one. Repenting my outburst, I nuzzled her in mute apology and she patted my thigh with her other hand, reassuring me that she understood.

"So, we talked for a long time about men, and sex, and I told her how sex between us has always brought me pleasure, from that first time after the restaurant when you went berserk."

"I wouldn't call it berserk," I replied. "Just very, very eager."

"You ravished me like a Viking," she riposted, and I couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Maybe a little."

"Maybe a lot. Anyway, I said that some men were better lovers than others, due to talent or experience or perceptiveness, or all three. She asked which category you fell into, and I said I thought all three."

A cool breeze wafted over us and I shivered as my temper cooled further. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm. You've always been open about your past as a Don Juan..."

I sat up. "Now wait a sec. I've had a few girlfriends, but I'm not exactly a player like some guys."

Her eyes twinkled and she squeezed my hand. "...And I told her your musical experience gave you some extra skills with your mouth and fingers. Not to mention a good sense of rhythm."

Letting go of more tension, I kissed her forehead. "It's true. I can lay down a beat with the best of them."

She snuggled into me, and her warmth felt good in the cool evening. "Of course you can. And then, there's your perceptiveness. You tune in to me like no one else. It's kind of freaky sometimes, how you seem to know what I want right when I want it."

By now, I was smiling, Layla's proposal shelved in favor of this much happier conversation. "It's probably the musical training again. When you play and sing with other people, you have to listen to them with your whole body." I tried to look modest. "And of course, some of us just have special gifts in that area."

"Uh-huh," and I could hear a teasing note in her voice. "I'm sure that's it. Anyway, back to Layla, we talked about all that. I could tell that the idea of a man who could please her like you please me really grabbed her imagination. She said she wished she could be loved like that, just once."

She shifted against me and I put an arm around her. "Honestly, though, I thought it was just talk. I never considered she would ask you what she did."

As I reconsidered our conversation in this light, it seemed a lot less demented. "Mmm. Well, I guess I'm flattered. But I still have to say no."

"Because?"

I looked down in surprise. "Because it's wrong. Even if she weren't my sister, I have a girlfriend. I wouldn't cheat on you."

"I know you wouldn't, love." Wrapped in my arms, she paused for so long that I thought she had drifted off. "I think this is one of those things we can't resolve in one conversation. Let's sleep on it, and talk again in the morning."

As one, we stood up, a bit stiff after sitting in the cool air for so long, and walked into the house.

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk earlier," I said, needing to make things right. "I was the worst possible version of myself. You didn't deserve that."

"Apology accepted. You've been under so much stress for so long. Not surprising you'd crack like a tortured prisoner after a while."

As we climbed the stairs, I could faintly hear Jess talking on the phone in her bedroom. I couldn't hear the words, but the rhythm sounded Spanish, and I smiled, imagining her talking with her mother.

Gabriela's own bedroom felt warm and comfortable after the night air. As usual, I looked around with pleasure at its elegance as Gabriela headed to the bathroom. So many women have fussy bedrooms, with roughly eighty-seven pillows, assorted tchotchkes, and clothes everywhere, but my girl favors simplicity. The pale blue walls made her feel serene and centered, she had told me once, and she slept better in uncluttered spaces. Taking off my clothes, I folded them neatly and placed them on the chair in the corner, then sat on the bed, waiting with my arms open.

Our love-making that night didn't feature the berserk Viking. After the day's revelations, we both needed comfort, and when she came, it was with sighs and soft moans rather than shrieks. My own orgasm mirrored hers, intense and loving, and we both fell asleep quickly, nestled in each other's arms.

"You always know just what I need," she murmured as we drifted off.

Waking the next morning as she got up, I quickly put on a pair of sweats and sneakers for a post-breakfast run and headed to the downstairs bathroom to pee, sighing with relief as I did so. Padding to the kitchen, I started the coffee and was checking the pantry for bread when her voice startled me.

"Smells heavenly," Gabriela observed, inhaling as she walked in. "Now sit down. I'm making breakfast for once."

Fifteen minutes later, as we tucked into her special breakfast burritos, she spoke. "I think you should do it."

"You think I should do what?" I asked, taking a big bite of my burrito.

"I think you should say yes to Layla."

I sat back, absently swallowing my mouthful of eggs, cheese, chorizo and tortilla without tasting it. "But ... I can't ... why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

I stared at her. "How in God's name did you decide that?"

Putting down her food, she looked back at me. "I know it's not exactly what you expected me to say..."

"It's the exact opposite of what I expected!"

She took a quick sip of coffee. "Just hear me out."

"All right." I didn't bother to keep the skepticism out of my tone.

"First, we have to face facts. She's extremely sick and may not recover."

A lump rose in my throat and tears prickled behind my eyes. I nodded.

"Which means finding someone else is not likely to happen. Even if another man did come along, he'd probably say no."

Thinking of Layla's skinny frame, her cheeks puffy from the medications and her pale, bald head underscoring her vulnerability, I nodded again. I found Layla beautiful at any size, but I had loved my sister for her whole life. Another man wouldn't have my knowledge, my frame of reference.

"Even if we did find another man, we have no way of knowing whether he can give her the experience she needs and deserves. But we know you can. So... it has to be you. I don't see another way."

"But... the moral part."

Gabriela shrugged. "I didn't say it was a perfect solution, just the best one we have. And while I don't want to share you, I do want my dearest friend to have one blissful night of loving before she dies."

I gulped. "But what will it do to us? How will you be able to look at me and not think of it?"

She shrugged again. "I think your real question is how you will be able to face yourself and not think of it -- but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"You seem to have plotted this out perfectly," I said, suddenly resenting her presumption. "Thanks for asking me how I feel about it."

"Love, this decision is all yours. But this affects me too, and if we're going to be partners, well, I'm going to have my say." She lifted her chin. "I am a Garcia woman, after all."

I sighed. "That you are."

She regarded me. "I know you're not all that religious, but even looking at this from that standpoint, I think you can make a case. You're not deceiving either of us, you're not using either of us, and you are giving someone you love with your whole heart something she will treasure for the rest of her life. I think the act of love far outweighs any sin -- assuming there is one. And I'm not even sure about that."

"Well, yes, but..."

She continued as if I had not spoken. "It's not like this will be an ongoing thing. It's just one night, and there's no chance of a baby." She looked over at me, her expression unfathomable. "I can handle it if you can."

Feeling overwhelmed, I stood up. "I'm going for a run." I walked out of the kitchen, stomach roiling, palms sweating. I felt confused and somehow sullied, with the dark thoughts of all kinds ricocheting around my head. Idly, I wondered what Dr. Harrison would advise me to do, and the laughter that bubbled up in me at that thought contained no joy at all.

Unconsciously, I followed the same route as I had nearly a year ago on that first run, but this time, everything looked and felt different, and it wasn't just the change in the season.

**

Sometimes when I run, I drop into a four-beat cadence while words come to me. If I have a problem on my mind, the words might define the problem, or suggest the solution. And occasionally, they just come and I have to figure them out later.

Today, they came gradually, in stages, washing over me as I ran, chasing one another around my skull.

I thought of the night I found her crying at the stove as she tried to cook dinner. As I ran, I could almost feel her in my arms, shuddering with grief and betrayal as she confessed what Michael had done to her.

Lay-la, Lay-la, I'm-your-bro-ther

Lay-la, Lay-la, you're-my-sis-ter

Not seeing the tidy rowhouses and shops around me, I ran on. Her words from last night -- God, was it only half a day ago? -- echoed back to me. "I'm not going to survive this. We both know it."

Lay-la, Lay-la, please-don't-leave-me

Lay-la, Lay-la, I-can't-do-this

Around the halfway point, dark clouds started forming in one of those abrupt weather changes we sometimes get in the summer. Shifting breezes stirred the leaves, revealing their silvery undersides. The scent of ozone made me fill my lungs to capacity, over and over, my drive to survive strong even as I considered my sister's death.

Lay-la, Lay-la, help-me-show-you

Lay-la, Lay-la, how-I-love-you

I quickened my pace at a distant crack of thunder, and my sister's worried face, eyes huge with pain and anxiety, winked into my mind. Fresh tears welled up. Much as I wanted to, I couldn't take away anything that had happened to her.

Lay-la, Lay-la, I'd-die-for-you

Passing Gabriela's house, I didn't even look over; my thoughts focused entirely on my sister. All I could do, I realized, was give her a new memory to think about in the days and weeks to come.