Kat never liked labels for her sexuality, especially since getting cancer made her completely indiscriminate when picking bedroom partners. Kat just wanted sex after each doctor’s appointment, after each reminder of death. It didn’t matter who or how, she would merely walk into a bar and cruise for someone to spend the night. As her cancer worsened, she found herself being more attracted to women more than men at the bars. Maybe it was their softer bodies, their simple ways of knowing without speaking, or many of the other stereotypical reasons women were better lovers. They knew where to find what mattered and knew when to back off. It didn’t really matter to Kat. All she knew now was that Carmen was into women too. She was exactly Kat’s type.

“What do you do?” Kat asked. “For work, I mean. I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Is that really the question you wanted to ask?” Carmen said, raising one of her manicured eyebrows. “I mean, everyone else is talking about it, so why not? I don’t mind you asking.”

“About your girlfriend?”

Carmen nodded.

Kat looked down. “I don’t want to know, honestly.”

“You’re the first person. Can I ask why?”

“Because the ending is always the same. The story may be different, but we all get to the final conclusion.”

It took Kat a moment to realize that Carmen hadn’t been around for the earlier conversation in group about endings. But if Carmen knew Gabi as well as she seemed, she had probably heard all of the drivel before. Nothing here was unique, just like death.

“I suppose,” Carmen said eventually. She eyed Kat from the side. “It’s nice to meet someone who doesn’t care about the personal -- or at least the past.”

“I guess so.”

“So long as you care about something.” Carmen’s eyes lingered. Kat swallowed hard. She wanted to take another cookie so she could distract herself and her sudden desire, but she didn’t. Too much sugar, too much bad coffee, and she would grow another tumor. Easily.

Carmen turned back to the crowd. She watched as the woman with the oxygen tank tried to hug someone, got tangled, and had to back track. “It sometimes feels like an orgy here.”

“Excuse me?” Kat said.

Carmen grinned, wide and maniacal. She was clearly used to this talking point before, pulling it out to make a scene. “Everyone talks about their feelings, everyone tries to hug, and yet -- no one ever wants to fuck. Or at least talk about fucking. But people are driven towards sex when faced with such life and death extremes. It’s the sudden overdrive of the body that wants to procreate when it knows it may not be able to anymore. The sudden desire to reaffirm life in all its best forms.”

“Ah,” Kat said. “I get that. But it doesn’t make much sense for some of us in this room. The radiation has taken away fertility.”

“Fair enough. I suppose I’m not giving pleasure enough credit here. Our brains can overwrite our desire to breed by replacing it with pleasure instead. When everything is bleak, and there is no hope, then why not fuck anyway? There is never a downside, as far as the body is concerned, in sex for sex’s sake.”

Kat nodded. She could understand pleasure and desire. Most definitely. She leaned back and took another cookie, in spite of herself. Carmen’s hands followed hers, their fingertips brushing. Their eyes caught the other’s gaze. They paused. Kat knew they understood one another in that moment. The heat of their fingertips and the small smiles that bloomed on their face spoke about something much deeper than merely exchanging backstories. They wanted one another, without worrying about death.

“You’re okay? About her?” Kat asked, one last time, to be sure. “I mean, how long ago was it?”

Carmen shrugged. “I’m fine. As good as I can be. The ending is the same, remember? I was prepared.”

Kat nodded. Her eyes scanned the clock. Another person left the therapy room.

“You doing anything tonight?”

“No,” Carmen said. “I’m not. Come home with me.”

“Okay.” Kat grinned. This had been the easiest hook-up yet. “Sure.”