“How about next week?”
“Next week?” I could tell I’d surprised her with the offer, but I was serious.
“Yes. Next week. I have nothing for the next two weeks but prepping my stuff for next semester in Europe, and everything is basically done. I can come next week.”
“And we’ll hang out?” She sounded so hopeful and—despite the blanket of numbness to protect me from the Abram-angstravaganza—my heart softened.
“Yes.”
“Awesome! Okay. Well.” Even with the static on the line, I heard her take a deep breath. “I guess I’ll see you next week.”
“See you next week.” I opened my eyes, sighing, nodding resolutely, and turning away from the corner to face the room.
Step one, done. Step two, after a shower!
“And good luck with Abram,” she added. “And though I’ve never believed he was actually in—”
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and so forth. I waited until the count of twenty before the line made a definitive click-off sound, followed by a beeping dial tone.
Frowning, I reselected her number, wanting to ask Lisa to finish her sentence, but also end the call the right way, with I love yous and plans to talk about my trip to see her next week. But each time I tried to dial her number again, it wouldn’t connect. Peeking out the window, seeing the blizzard-like, whiteout conditions, I understood why.
I gave up, for now. Gathering a steadying breath and placing my phone next to the letter on the side-table, I dragged myself into the bathroom to take a shower.
Soon, all of this choas would be set to order.
6
Geometric Optics
*Mona*
I concocted a plan in the shower.
First, I would write Abram a note, which—after drying off, dressing, and braiding my hair—I did. It went through several revisions.
Dearest Abram,
Dear Mr. Fletcher,