“I… I never gave him a chance to prove me wrong,” I whisper, tears blurring my vision. The sudden clarity is a match in the darkness.
“‘Bout time,” Aunt Joan declares. “Now, what are you gonna do about it?”
Chapter Forty-Three
The hospital garden looks different from the last time I was here. The tree, which was sprouting leaves when Mom was admitted, is now a blaze of reds and oranges. Everything is muted by the dark clouds overhead. I could have waited until tomorrow, but I knew I’d lose my nerve if I did.
I sit on the same bench Cosmos and I sat on before, where he told me he wanted to be a superhero when he was little. A present, large and rectangular, rests heavy on my lap. The solid brown wrapping paper and red bow feel too understated for something so significant.
I straighten the bow before digging my phone from my pocket and sending the text.
I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I’d like to give you something. Would you meet me in the hospital garden whenever you have a break?
I came prepared to wait for a while, but almost immediately, my phone vibrates. The buzzing in my chest drops to my stomach. I almost don’t look. I feel terrified of what I might find. He’s going to say he can’t meet me. It’s too late.
But it’s not from Cosmos. It’s just the group chat with Kiara and Aunt Joan. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Kiara:
Have you done it yet?
I just got here.
Kiara:
So.
He hasn’t responded
Kiara:
He might be in surgery.
He might have moved on
I picture him making out with a nurse or Dr. Barbie in the closet where we had our first kiss, and I want to vomit. Maybe he finally gave up hoping for magic and realized Dr. Barbie is better for him thanI’ll ever be. I mean, who wouldn’t want a woman like that? Smart, put together, gorgeous.
Aunt Joan:
Stop catastrophizing, sugarplum.
Kiara:
He doesn’t seem the type to jump ship that easily.
Easy? I haven’t spoken to him in weeks. And our last conversation didn’t exactly go well. I never responded to the poems, either. He probably wants nothing to do with me.
Kiara:
You’re spiraling. Take a deep breath.
I do as she says, but the air gets trapped in my tight lungs. Closing my eyes, I count backwards from ten and focus on my breathing the way my therapist showed me. Each exhale is longer than the inhale. Nice and slow. My pulse goes from a gallop to a trot. A marginal difference, but a significant one. I open my eyes and look down at my phone again.
Kiara:
He’s worth the risk, isn’t he?
“Yes,” I whisper aloud, the single word steadying me. This might go horribly wrong—now, or in the future. He could say he’s not interested. He could cautiously agree to give it another go and then break my heart in a week.Still, all the worst-case scenarios pale in the light of the best-case scenarios. I don’t want to be naïve or unrealistic. But somehow, hope has snuck back into my heart, and I can’t seem to squeeze it out completely.
