I hesitate. “And how will you get home?”
“I’m sure the happy couple can spare a few minutes. I’ll get them to give me a ride back to pick up my car. I’m texting them now.”
I relent and we enter my car. While Mo turns on the ignition, I lean against the window for the coolness of the glass.
“You really don’t need to do this,” I say, trying to be brave.
“Andyouseriously need to see a doctor. Maybe we should go to the hospital.”
“No!” The fierceness in my voice is a surprise even to me. “I really don’t want to.”
Mo frowns. “Why?”
“Because…” I say.
Because I don’t want to see Jason.
The realization sends a shock wave through my body.
I don’t want to see Jason.
Maybe Mrs.R isn’t crazy after all.
If I go to the hospital, I’ll feel compelled to see Jason. And I don’t want to see him looking limp and paler each day, like a ghost of himself—not when I can just keep seeing him as he used to be. Healthy and strong and on top of the world.
It makes no sense, but it’s the way I feel.
“Because it’s not a very big one,” I tell Mo. “And I’m pretty sure it’s a PMS headache.”
Mo is wary but finally says, “Those suck.”
“I also didn’t sleep too well last night,” I say, to really put a nail in it.
“Oh! I was reading this research about how not getting enough sleep, even more than vitamin deficiencies, is like the worst thing formigraineurs,” she says. “I should really say ‘people who suffer from migraines,’ but I just like the wordmigraineurs. It sounds like some kind of French delicacy, don’t you think? Or like some fancy type of nomad.Migraineurs.”
“Oh, totally,” I say, feigning a laugh. When Mo abruptly ends the conversation, I’m afraid she’s seen me grimace and is going to insist on the hospital after all. She’s been so overprotective ever since the crash. But she just plays with the air controls in the car, turning down the fan.
Then she says, “I’ve been thinking lately about how wild it is that no two experiences are the same. Like even migraineurs don’t have the same pain. Who knows if we’re describing the same things when we talk about headaches? This came up because I was, like, inputting symptoms in Zebra for pneumonia or something, and it just blew my mind that someone might have three of these key symptoms and someone else has seventeen, but it’s all the same disease.”
“That is kind of wild,” I say.
“Then I realized we might not all be having the same experience ofanything. Like my grandparents’ version of falling in love might be different than your experience of falling in love, so is itultimately the same thing? How can anyoneknowanything? Everything is unknowable!”
“That’s probably true.” Trying to keep up with Mo is making my brain hurt more.
“So then I was thinking more about love and relationships, in general. And I…Do you remember what I told you right before you and Jason got together?” Mo asks.
I try to recall what she’s talking about, ignoring the pulsing in my temples. “You’re not ready to be Aunt Mo-Mo?”
Mo cackles. “Well, that too.”
I smile despite myself. “You told me to make sure Jason is good enough for me.”
She nods. “Yeah, how did you know he was?” She won’t look me in the eye, and something shocking occurs to me. Whatever is keeping Mo preoccupied, making her late and distracted, it’s bigger than an app. Maybe Amber was right this morning; maybe Mo is hiding something for real. “How can we know anything?”
I let myself consider what she’s asking. Is she going through something with her family? Is it a guy?
“Like, even now, how do you know Jason is good enough for you?” she continues, and her sudden curiosity about Jason feels as close to confirmation as I’m going to get.
