I hate that this is his first assumption; that I’ve driven him to that. But it’s not him; it’s us. I force myself to look into his eyes. “Do you ever feel…broken?”
Brian stares at me for a long, quiet moment, the way I’ve seen him focus on a puzzle in his lab when he doesn’t know why an experiment isn’t coming out the way it is supposed to. Then he pulls me into his arms. “I know you by heart. I can put you back together.”
He has made the assumption that I am talking about myself, not our marriage. Because our relationship has always been rock-steady. It’s why he didn’t think twice about going to Gita’s apartment; it’s why he was so shocked by how upset that made me. I’ve always trusted him with my heart; why would that stop now?
You are so lucky,I tell myself.You have this wonderful man. Stop obsessing over what might have gone wrong and focus on what could go right.I lean into him. “Brian? Even if I forget to say it…I love you.”
His hand strokes up and down my spine. “I know,” he says.
I know.
Suddenly I am in a rainstorm in Cairo, watching the world swim in front of my eyes. I start shaking.
Feeling me tremble, Brian holds my shoulders in his hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I tell him. I tell myself. “Yes, yes, fine.”
—
WIN IS ASLEEPwhen I arrive, and Felix is working, so I clean up the kitchen and check her medical supplies. Then I go to the desk in the hallway and take the ribboned key out. I enter the locked room with all its canvases.
I know exactly where the painting of Win is, the one that Thane created. I pull it free from its hiding spot behind three other canvases and I look at the secret in her eyes. She’s almost daring the viewer to become complicit with her.
Or maybe I’m just reading into it.
I look at the gentle slope of her breast, the divot of her belly button, her hand between her thighs. I have helped Win dress and undress. I have bathed her. Her body, to me, is a responsibility, and I watch it for signs it is failing her. But this—this is an altar built to Win, to worship what he saw.
I put the canvas back, close and lock the door, and return the key to the desk. By the time I get down the hall to check on Win, she is awake and sitting up in her bed.
“I wrote something down for you,” she says. “It’s in my vanity.”
I mentally note that she is not wearing makeup. She has dark circles under her eyes; Felix has told me she isn’t sleeping well, but she is sleeping more. I cross the room to the little white mirrored table with her jewelry box on it. In a drawer, lying amidst a jumble of eye shadow and lipsticks and face creams, is a list.
THINGS I DO NOT WANT
1.Lilies
2.Religion
3.Pallbearers
4.Mosquitoes
5.Black
6.An open casket
THINGS I DO WANT
1.Red velvet cake
2.Fireworks
3.Sidecars
I pull up a chair beside her. “I’m assuming this is about your funeral,” I say. “Mosquitoes?”
“I don’t want people wishing it was over because they’re getting eaten alive.” Win grins. “Or maybe I should say getting bitten to death.”
