My dad was dead. But I was alive. The pain in my arm proved it.
—
I paid Daryland left the studio, my arm wrapped in plastic, my mind buzzing and whirring like the tattoo gun.A fresh start. A new day.
I called Chris from the L platform.
“Anne.” His voice flowed into my ear, warm and reassuring. “How are you feeling today?”
As if I was sitting on his exam room table in a stupid paper gown, waiting to be treated for some minor ailment. Not that he saw many minor ailments. His specialty was life-and-death-type stuff.
I opened my mouth. Shut it.
“Honey? Is everything all right?” More personal now. Worried.
Probably it would have helped if I’d rehearsed what I was going say. What actually came out of my mouth was “I got a tattoo.”
“What?”
A train rumbled down the track, the noise reverberating on the platform. I raised my voice. “For my dad. Do you want to see it?”
“I can’t believe you went out. You have Covid.”
“I tested negative. Twice.”
“So you decided to get a tattoo.” His voice hovered in the middle range between amused and disapproving, Dr.Reasonable to my Miss Flaky. “Honey, do you know what kind of germs are in those places?”
I flushed. “Everything was very clean. And I wore a mask.”
“You shouldn’t be going anywhere right now. Not until you’re fully recovered.”
“Actually, I was hoping I could come see you tonight. We need to talk.”
“You need to rest.”
Again, he wasn’t wrong. My energy was draining away through the soles of my feet. A headache ticked behind my eyes. Under the bandage, my arm stung.
“Then why don’t you come to my place?” My mind darted to the veggies moldering in the fridge, the used tissues and dirty laundry piled by my bed. I suppressed a twinge. Chris wouldn’t mind if my apartment was a bit of a mess. We hadn’t seen each other—really seen each other, hugged or kissed or had sex—in weeks. “We could order Chinese,” I suggested.“General Tso’s chicken and some of those dumplings you like?”
He hesitated.
Unease squiggled on the back of my neck. Didn’t hewantto see me? Or was he operating out of an excess of caution for his patients? “Or we could meet somewhere. Eat outside. Like a picnic.”
“Honey, I’d love to. Unfortunately, I need to pack tonight. I’m flying to Atlanta tomorrow.”
I stood stock-still, phone in hand. Blindsided. “Your fellowship doesn’t start for another month.”
“The hospital requires an on-site physical before I start work. I thought I’d look around while I’m down there. Find a place for us to live.”
I seized on the reassurance of that tinyus. Chris and I were a couple. We had plans, a life, a future, together. But…visions of his sterile, devoid-of-personality apartment danced in my head.
“I thought we’d pick out someplace together.”
“There’s no time. I’ve got meetings this entire trip. And you shouldn’t be traveling now, anyway.”
Reasonable. Chris was always reasonable. But he was making another decision without me—always in my best interest—and assuming I would go along. Like Sarah, telling me a break would do me good while she hired my substitute and boxed up my library. My stomach hollowed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll send you the listing,” Chris said. “I want you to be happy.”
