by Penny Reid
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Abram has a few stipulations for your visit, which I’m going to communicate. Item one: you can only come if you’ve had your flu shot. Have you?”
“Yes! I had it. I had it in November. Ha!” I did a little triumphant fist pump and accidentally hit my knuckles against the overhead reading light. I stifled an ow, also earning an irritated side-eye from the woman next to me in the center seat. Doing my best to ignore her glare, I cleared my throat and asked, “What else?”
“Item two: you will sleep while you are here whenever you are tired, and you will not spend all your time taking care of him.”
“That sounds like two things, but sure. I’m fine with item two.” I would definitely shower when we arrived.
“Item three: you will allow him to pay for a car to pick you up, your hotel room, and anything else you need while you’re here.”
“That seems gratuitous.” I crossed my arms. We hadn’t talked much about the money thing, but I felt like it was a conversation looming on the horizon. He had a lot more than me, and that was fine. But I wasn’t penniless, I had pride, and I liked paying my own way. I liked knowing I’d earned what was mine, and that included experiences.
“He said you would have a problem with this one, so he said it was nonnegotiable.”
“Define nonnegotiable? If he covers this visit, can I cover the car, hotel, and meals of our next rendezvous?”
“Hold on, let me ask. She wants to know—” Marie must’ve covered the phone because I didn’t hear the remainder of her question. Less than a minute later, she was back. “He agrees. Also, nice use of the word rendezvous. I approve.”
“Thank you.” Her praise flustered me a little and I had to give myself a slight shake to refocus.
“Next item: you are not to sleep at the hospital. When you sleep, you have to sleep in the hotel. Basically, he wants you to get good sleep.”
I made a sound of displeasure, but eventually said, “Fine. Anything else? Any other terms?”
“Nope. That’s it. I’ll be in touch with the details for the flight. Let me call my friend and get that ball rolling. See you soon.”
“See you soon. Bye.”
The call clicked off. I lowered my phone, releasing an expansive sigh. It did nothing to ease the knots in my chest and throat. I wanted to help. I wanted to help but was stuck on the other side of the USA, waiting to deplane. I was helpless.
I thought back over my last few conversations with Abram, searching for some clue, something I could do to help from afar. Perhaps picking up something from the gift shop? Personally, I liked snow globes. I wondered how he felt about the Statue of Liberty.
“Is your hand okay?”
Glancing at the woman next to me, the one who’d just given me the side-eye, I asked, “Pardon?”
“Your hand. You hit it on the reading light.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s fine. I just, uh, got excited about something.”
She gave me a small smile. “I once broke two fingers in my right hand closing them in a car door. It was awful, being one handed for weeks. But you know what? It made me realize how many selfies I took, because I just can’t take them with my left hand.” She laughed, shaking her head at herself.
Grinning, I found myself curious. “How many selfies did you take?”
“Oh, like, a few every day. But my boyfriend at the time—husband now—was always asking for them, so I think it just became a habit.”
Ah!
AH HA!
Of course!
“Thank you,” I said, already unlocking my phone and switching the camera around to face me. “You just gave me an exceedingly excellent and exploitable idea.”
Abram was asleep when his parents and I arrived at the hospital.
Wait. Let me back up for a second, because I’m sure you’re wondering. Seeing Mr. and Mrs. Harris for the first time in over two years was significantly less awkward than I’d feared it would be.
Pamela stepped onto the jet, saw me, walked over, and gave me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re coming, but I worry for you, Mona. Abram says you’re not sleeping enough.”
Perplexed by her (shouldn’t she be mad at me for lying to her about who I was years ago?), her words (like we knew each other extremely well and often discussed such things), and my body’s reaction to both (which was to immediately return her embrace without nary a flinch), the profuse apology I’d planned stuck in my throat.
What is happening? What has just happened?
Stepping back, she held my shoulders and regarded me. “I also want to tell you how proud we were when we saw you on TV over the summer, giving those corrupt Washington jerks—excuse my French—a piece of your mind. But, honey, you look tired, and I don’t mean that to be insulting, I mean that because I’m concerned. Here—” she let me go and reached into her bag “I brought muffins. This one is lemon poppyseed. Or, if you like, you can have blueberry.”
“I like the blueberry,” Mr. Harris said, standing a little bit behind his wife, giving me a matter-of-fact look. “She uses the fresh ones.”
“It’s because this one—” she pointed her thumb at Mr. Harris and chuckled merrily “—built me that greenhouse in the back. I can get blueberries in the winter. Isn’t that something? Oh, I also brought you a de-stress mix of jojoba oil, lavender, and rose.” Looping her arm through mine, she steered me toward the back of the plane and to a built-in couch. “They just added this couch last year, it’s much nicer than sitting in the other seats.”
She took a breath, so I took my chance.
“Mr. Harris, Mrs. Harris, I wanted to apologize for lying to your family when I attended your birthday party several years ago. I have no excuse, and I—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You do have an excuse, a good one too, and Abram explained everything. It’s like roses. You’re still you. No matter what we call you, you’re still just as sweet. Now, I’ve been doing some steam distillation, and you know it takes thousands of roses to make just a bit of essential oil, but I got so many blooms the last two years, I managed a few drops.”
And so it went.
Slightly shell-shocked, I spoke of essential oil extraction techniques with Pamela—as well as various other topics of interest to us both—while Mr. Harris ate his blueberry muffin and read the newspaper. All the while I fretted.
Their forgiveness felt too easy. Who forgives this easily? No one I knew. Definitely not the world. People don’t just forgive anymore. Forgiveness, like everything else, needed to be earned, hard fought, won after proving oneself with huge, unwavering acts of self-punishment and atonement.
But for now, so as not to make the flight awkward, I decided to—as Gabby would say—just go with it.
Oh! Also, Pamela and I took a candid selfie and sent it to Abram just before takeoff. Sending Abram that photo yesterday had been a big deal for me, not because the picture was risqué, but that was definitely part of it. It was a big deal because I truly wanted to send my boyfriend a risqué photo. And so I did.
As I deplaned my Frankfurt to New York flight, I’d sent a text message of warning to Marie via Abram’s cellphone, informing her that she should expect several candid selfies over the next few hours. It was the only action of potential value my brain could conjure to reach beyond geography and maybe, possibly help Abram.
Perhaps it would cheer him up?
I hoped so.
Anyway. Back to the hospital and a sleeping Abram.
His room was in the VIP wing—a very real thing in LA—and Marie had come out to gather us from security. We’d arrived late evening, therefore the paparazzi were minimal, really just one guy with a big lens, taking shots of us while wearing a perplexed expression.
Marie had also greeted me warmly, with a big hug, a sweet smile, and no mention of my prior offenses. For the record, she was just as lovely as she’d been years prior. A very weird voice in my head mentioned that it would be pretty cool if Abram and I got mar
ried, partially because Marie would then be my sister-in-law and Pamela would be my mother-in-law.
Not that I’m advocating marriage based on the groom’s family. I’m just sayin’. You know. Throwing the facts out there, he had a stellar family.
IT WAS A VARIABLE! OKAY?
Moving on.
Upon entering his room, I held back with Marie, allowing Pamela and Mr. Harris the first approach, though my heart ached to see him in the hospital bed. It was too small for his big frame, and he looked pale. He never looked pale, so this was definitely distressing.
Neither of his parents woke him, they just took a peek and hovered for several minutes. Pamela made a sad sound. Mr. Harris put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear. She nodded. Then Mr. Harris sniffled, and she bent her head toward his, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
It was so damn sweet. My eyes were misty. They really love him.
“Of course they do,” Marie whispered, turning to look at me like I was strange.
“Yes. Right. Of course.” Yikes. I must’ve spoken my thoughts aloud.
She continued her survey of me for a few seconds, then said, “How are you doing with all this?”
“Me?” I frowned at the obvious worry for me in her voice. “Forget about me, how are you doing? You must be exhausted.”
Marie gave me a closed mouth smile, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “I’m not the one who spent the last twenty-four hours traveling. Mona, really, how are you? Are you hungry?”
I shook my head, her genuine concern disconcerting. “Marie, I—” I snapped my mouth shut, shaking my head harder, turning to face her fully, and whispering, “Why is your family being so wonderful to me? I lied to you, all of you. I want to earn your forgiveness, prove to you that I can be trusted, prove myself. I need to be the one—”
“Oh my goodness, stop.” Once again, Marie was looking at me like I was strange, a little bubble of quiet laughter escaping her lips. “Abram said you were like this. But, honey, we don’t want you to prove anything.”
I eyed her suspiciously. “Then what do you want?”
She shrugged, her gaze flickering over my face. “I don’t know. Kindness, I guess. Just be kind.”
Swallowing around some unidentified thickness, I nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Good.” Marie’s smile grew, as did the warmth in her eyes. She slipped her arm around my back and held me next to her, hip to hip, turning us to face Abram again. “He wanted me to wake him up when you arrived.”
I worked to keep my chin from wobbling, my mind in disarray. “No, no. Don’t do that. He needs rest.”
“That’s what I decided too. I thought, instead, you could write him a note? Something for next to his bed? And then come back in the morning before he’s discharged.”
“Or, I could stay here.”
Marie squinted at me. “You promised not to sleep at the hospital.”
The potential for a debate helped clear my chaotic mind and rein in my emotions. “Correct. But I’ve been on Geneva time, so it’s morning there. Plus, someone should stay. Plus, you’ve been here all day. Plus, your parents must be exhausted. Plus—”
“Okay, okay. You had me at Geneva time.” Marie released me and covered her mouth to yawn. “You stay, we’ll go, and we’ll be back early in the morning.” She stepped closer and embraced me again, giving me a full body hug, like she meant it. “Thank you for coming. He’s been in a much better mood, been a much better patient, since you called from New York.”
“No problem. I’m just—” I couldn’t continue, choking back some emotion I couldn’t identify. It was the strangest thing.
Obviously, I was worried for Abram. I hated that he was so sick, in pain, frustrated and disappointed. But I was also bizarrely happy, to be here, with this loving family who supported each other, who forgave so easily. It made me feel like, during this anxious time of crisis, everything was going to work out just fine.
Abram was an essential part of something real, meaningful, stable, safe. Which meant, by extension, so was I.
Taking a deep breath, I finished roughly, “I’m happy, so happy, to be here.”
I felt Marie’s cheek smile against mine and she held me tighter. “We’re happy, so happy, that you’re here too.”
9
The Quantization of Energy
*Mona*
Not going to lie, I spent a considerable portion of the night staring at him, unable to fully comprehend that, after so much time spent waiting and wishing and longing, we were together. But let the record show, I didn’t smell him, though the temptation was a strong force.
I also took a shower, changed into fresh clothes, and got a good amount of work done, chasing a random hunch that ended up leading to a different hunch that ultimately yielded an extremely promising preliminary result. I ended up sending my calculations to Poe, asking him to double-check my math and assumptions. This was not unusual for us—sending notes, data, and calculations back and forth for comment—and he was the only one I’d trust with inception work like this.
After sending the email, I stretched my arms over my head, giving into a yawn, and glanced up to find Abram’s eyes open and watching me. My body jolted, him being awake startled me. His mouth hitched higher on the left side.
“Hey, brown eyes,” he said, sounding just as sick as the day prior. But his voice was soft, sleepy, and full of affection. Part of me melted, part of me tensed.
“Do you need anything?” I set my computer aside, closing it, standing, and stepped next to his bed. My hand sought his. Our fingers entwined. My other hand gently sifted through his hair, testing his forehead. “What can I do? Are you uncomfortable?”
He shook his head in a subtle movement, his gaze lowering to my lips. “I’m great.”
I grinned. “You have the flu, you’re not great.”
“I’m so great.”
That made me laugh, and I indulged myself by caressing his cheek, his stubbly jaw, trying not to frown when I noticed the slight green tinge to his skin, how his eyes lacked vibrancy. He turned his head toward my touch, his lips brushing against my knuckles.
“Thank you for coming,” he whispered against my fingers.
“I’m not sure I had a choice,” I admitted thoughtfully to his profile. “I think I might’ve gone crazy if I didn’t see you for myself, make sure you’re okay. Are you sure I can’t get you anything? Some water?”
“Just you.” He lifted his hand to mine and opened my fingers. He then pressed his cheek against my palm, closing his eyes. “Just you.”
We stayed like that for a moment, holding still, being together. He took a deep breath and I heard the rattling in his chest, the crackle and wheeze as he exhaled. He winced, and then so did I.
Yes, I knew, reasonably, rationally, that thousands of people had the flu every year. It was rarely fatal. Most recovered with no lasting effects. And yet, Abram was in pain, now, in this moment. I wanted to alleviate it with a desperation I rarely felt. Emotion was the enemy of physicists—especially theoretical physicists, who spent more time chasing shadows than answers—and desperation had no place in my life.
But I felt desperate now, desperate to do something.
Therefore, hoping to distract him from whatever was making him wince, I asked, “How long have you been up?”
“Not long.” He shook his head lightly, opening his eyes and giving them back to me. “You’re very sexy when you’re concentrating.”
“Oh, well, thank you.” I wagged my eyebrows. “Is it the cargo pants? Or the baggy T-shirt that caught your eye? Or perhaps the glasses?” I only wore glasses to read.
His lips twitched, like it took too much effort to smile again. “Hey, by the way. Thank you for the photo, but—”
“You’re welcome. I hope you liked it.”
“I do. But, uh, Mona. I don’t want you to feel pressured to send me that kind of stuff. I’ve been thinking. I’m going to delete it, and
you should too. I honestly just wanted to see your smile, I wanted—” he had to stop himself, covering his mouth as he coughed.
Gah. It sounded painful and it made me anxious for him. I passed him a cup of water. He took a sip. I placed it back on the adjustable tray table.
Needing to touch him, I placed my hand on his forearm. “Okay, first. Please don’t delete it. I honestly wanted to send it.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, the subtle curve of his lips telling me he didn’t believe me.
“It’s true. When you called me powerful, it struck a nerve. You were right. But you were also wrong.”
Abram’s eyebrows lowered over his eyes, making him look like that news eagle from The Muppets.
I didn’t want him to waste his energy arguing with me about this, so I rushed to add, “I’m not powerful, not like I want to be. Think about it, how powerful can I possibly be if I’m constantly acquiescing to the very people who want to keep me powerless?”
His brow cleared, his eyes were hazy with fever, but I saw I’d said something that resonated.
“Therefore, I sent the photo. I could’ve sent you one of me smiling, just my face, but I didn’t. I wanted to send you that one. And so I did.” The picture made me feel sexy, and it reminded me of that moment between us in the pool, in Chicago, after he’d forfeited the race. The way he’d looked at me, I loved it. Just thinking about his eyes at that moment made my heart race. It was a memory I cherished.
“But.” He tried to clear his throat, wincing slightly. “But if it ever gets out there—”
“I know the risks.” I gave him a resigned smile. “I’m an adult. I’m aware of the possible damage it might do to my credibility, should the photo ever be shared. But if our phones are hacked and it goes public, I’m prepared to weather the storm. In fact, I’ve begun to think of it as an opportunity.”
“Opportunity?”
“Yes. Someone has to be the woman who stands up and proudly says, ‘Yes. I send my rock star boyfriend sexy photos of me. Why is that relevant to my work?’”
