“Who do you want to give power of attorney to?”
“My daughter.”
“Do you need a will?”
“There’s not much to leave behind.”
“Do you want to be resuscitated?”
“I… don’t know.”
“What’s your opinion on life support?”
I can’t listen anymore. “I’m gonna grab some…” I rush out of the room without finishing the sentence, unsure where I’m going. It’s smart to go over things while Mom’s doing relatively well—I know that—but I don’t want to think about Mom dying. We’re not there yet, right?
Chapter Seven
Itap my foot impatiently as I wait for the elevator. It stops on every floor, and by the time it opens, there are four people waiting with me. I wish I’d brought my phone, so I’d have something to look at, or rather, hide behind, but I left so quickly I didn’t think to grab it. Instead, I awkwardly pick at my nails.
I don’t push a button when I get on the elevator. It doesn’t matter where I go. I just need to get away. Everyone else is going to the first floor, so I guess that’s where I’m going, too. Maybe I’ll check out the cafeteria. I don’t have any money with me, but I can at least see what they have. I haven’t been down there yet.
I turn the corner to see a crush of people carrying trays, paying for food, shouting to one another across the room to indicate where they’re going to sit. A little girl comes out of nowhere and slams into me as shetries to escape her laughing brother. Their harried dad orders them to calm down, but the girl just bounces off and keeps running like the cafeteria is her playground, like there aren’t people upstairs dying.
It’s lunchtime. I didn’t even realize it until now. I haven’t eaten at a normal mealtime since we got here. Not that I’ve eaten much at all. The crowd makes me want to turn on my heels and leave. I fight the urge. I’ve come this far, so I might as well see what they have in case I decide I need more than hot chocolate and Mom’s leftovers. Navigating the lines of people, I move closer and read the menus at each station, ignoring the grumbling in my stomach.
They have a wider selection than I imagined. Stir-fry, pizza, pre-made sandwiches and salads. By the cash registers, there’s a smoothie stand with at least twenty people lined up waiting for blended fruit. I could go for a smoothie, but this definitely isn’t the right time to come to the cafeteria. I hate crowds and feel even more vulnerable being here on my own, without my phone, or a purse, or anything to hide behind.
As I turn to leave, I spot a familiar flop of dark hair. Cosmos is about twenty feet away, holding a tray with two slices of pizza and a salad, talking to a small group in scrubs and lab coats. They laugh, and I wonder how well they know each other. Are they close? Or does he think of them the way I think of Kiara? Does he talk to his sister about them?
As if he can feel my attention, he looks over and our eyes meet. The cafeteria freezes. An eerie quietsettles over the room. The people standing between us look like pieces from a wax museum. An apple hangs suspended over the hand of a teenage boy who threw it at the exact moment Cosmos held my gaze. A little girl pulls at an older man’s sleeve and points at the smoothie stand. The writer in me wants to look more closely, to catalogue each frozen detail, but I don’t want to break contact with Cosmos. This isn’t like freezing things in Mom’s room, or with a few nurses. This is amazing and horrifying, and I have no idea what to do.
I was ready to pretend that the other times were flukes. A strange occurrence of being in the right place at the right time, some inexplicable something that science has yet to discover. I was ready for it to be a secret I looked back on with a smile years from now, when I’m grey and surrounded by cats I hate, who equally hate me. But this isn’t something I can explain away or pretend didn’t happen. It’s not happening to just one or two people for a brief moment. This is a crowded cafeteria.
I don’t know how long we’ve been staring, but it’s definitely the longest we’ve stopped time.
At first, the horror and awe I feel is mirrored on Cosmos’ face. Then, his lips lift to reveal two deep dimples. The perfect size for my thumbs.
“You didn’t come back.” I wince as soon as I say it. The words came out whiny, or desperate, or both.
“I didn’t think it’d be a good idea.” He’s halfway across the room, but his voice carries in the perfect silence. “It’s not ethically appropriate.”
“To talk to me?” I step closer, amazed, and a little terrified that everything and everyone is still frozen around us.
He mirrors me, taking a single step and giving a brief shrug of his shoulder. His dimples deepen. “I didn’t want to just talk to you.”
My cheeks flare with heat, something low in my belly fluttering at the subtle suggestion in his words. I want to look away and escape the potency of his gaze, but I also don’t.
I’ve never been great with eye contact. It’s not that I don’t look people in the eye. It’s more that I’ve never known the appropriate amount of eye contact to make. I’m either antisocial for not looking at someone enough, or I’m intimidating and rude for staring too long.
Looking Cosmos in the eye feels like breaking a rule. It’s intense and freeing at the same time. There’s a clear reason I have to hold his gaze, an excuse. He sucks me in, pulling me closer.
We both take another step toward each other at the same time.
“I would have asked you out.” He says the words simply, but the force of them almost knocks me over. I can’t imagine a man like Cosmos wanting to go out with me.
When I was in junior high, one of the popular boys asked me to be his girlfriend. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or making fun of me, and I didn’t know what it meant to be someone’s girlfriend in seventh grade. Overwhelmed and notknowing what to do, I walked away without saying a word.
Later, some girls in my class told me I’d hurt his feelings, but they said it while laughing, like they knew a secret I wasn’t privy to. I never knew whether they were serious or making fun of me.
