Suddenly, my eyes stung with a heated rush of disarrayed emotion. “Oh, Abram. You sound so sick. Don’t speak, okay?” I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against the frame of the plane window. “Please don’t worry about New York, don’t worry about anything. Like you said, we have the rest of our lives. Concentrate on getting better and being well. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I winced as he spoke. His rattled breathing and the sound of machines beeping in the background made my chest feel heavy and tight. Very little about his voice sounded like him, but it did make obvious how sick he was.
“We can text. I’ll—I’ll send you pictures, okay? Lots of candid shots.”
Abram made a sound that I assumed was one of agreement or amusement. “No pressure, but that sounds great.”
I winced again, because he’d said a lot of words, and speaking at all seemed to cost him. I wanted him to get better. Overextending himself on the phone—just so I could hear his voice—was not helping.
“Okay. No more talking. Put Marie back on. Go to sleep. Rest. I love you.”
“I love you,” he said, the last word sounding fainter.
A second later, the sound of the machines also faded, and Marie said, “Mona? Hey. Thanks for calling. You’ve definitely improved his mood.”
“No problem, I—” I shook my head, opening my eyes and staring at the tarmac beyond my oval window. “I want to be there,” I confessed, not caring how miserable I sounded, not caring that she was basically a stranger. “We were only going to have twenty-four hours in New York, but now I’m thinking about abandoning all my responsibilities for the next week and flying out to LA.”
“I’m not advocating it, but can you do that? I mean, how big of a deal would it be?”
“I’d have to start my project from almost scratch, which means I might lose my spot in the program, which means I might lose my graduate funding.” I would probably lose at least part of my funding. One of my grants was contingent on presentation of findings at the August conference. The math part was easy, getting time with the LHC was not. If I started from scratch, nothing would be ready for August.
But, strangely, uncovering the mysteries of the known and unknown universe didn’t seem important relative to the reality of Abram being horribly sick.
“He’s in good hands, Mona. I’ll be here in LA until he’s fully recovered. Our parents are coming later today. I promise, I won’t let him do anything that will jeopardize his recovery and we’ll keep you updated.”
“I just—I need to—” I heaved a watery sigh. “I’m sorry. I need to be there. I think we’re almost to the gate. I’ll get a flight to LA as soon as I can.”
“Mona—”
“You’re not going to change my mind.” I’d already been traveling for fourteen hours—Geneva to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to New York—what was another six or seven in comparison? No big deal.
“Take a step back and think about this, be rational. He’ll be fine. You being here isn’t going to—”
“I can’t—I physically cannot—fly back to Geneva. I know myself, and I would regret it so much, the gravity of my feelings might cause the formation of a black hole somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, and then we’re all dead. As such, I’ll text you as soon as I know my new flight data.”
After a brief pause, she asked, “You’re in New York?”