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Eli

alright bro. We’ll be waiting

I put the phone down.

Outside the window, Mountain Springs is the same, and my lease runs until the end of May, and I’m going to stay here and wait for Bea to reach out. I can’t give up yet. She’s special, and I know I can’t let her slip through.

Joshua Tree can wait a few more weeks.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Bea

The makeup counter is selling to me: if I buy this and this, then maybe I’ll look as beautiful as the model on there. I know it’s a lie, but I buy the lipstick anyway. The shade is questionably called “slutty pink”. Perfect.

I’ve just spent over 20 minutes swatching different colors on my arm, thinking that if I find the exact right shade of something I will feel like a person again. In my basket I have the lipstick, a face mask that promises radiance, a candle that smells like a forest, and a hand cream I do not need. None of it is going to work. I have a degree’s worth of understanding of the dopamine system, and I am out here trying to bribe mine with a candle.

I’m comparing the radiance mask against a second, more expensive radiance mask, as if either of them is going to do the one thing I actually want, when a voice beside me says, “Beatrix?”

I know the voice before I turn. You don’t sit across a desk from someone while she takes your future apart with complete kindness and then forget the sound of her.

“Priya.” I straighten up too fast, the basket bumping my knee. “Hi.”

She’s in weekend clothes, a soft coat, a scarf, a tote with a baguette actually sticking out of it like she’s in a commercial. Out of the office she looks less intimidating.

“You look well,” she says.

“Thank you. I’m self-medicating with skincare now the exam is over.”

“Mm.” A small twitch at the corner of her mouth. “The radiance ones don’t work, by the way. If you’re asking.”

“I appreciate the peer review.” I cringe at myself. She huffs a small laugh. Can the earth swallow me up now, please?

An intercom announces somebody’s shift is over, and I realize I am not sure when I’ll next see Priya. I sent the report she asked for, but I haven’t heard back.

“Priya, I know I submitted the report, but I just needed to say I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have told you about Cal, and I didn’t, and the reason I didn’t is the reason it was wrong. I knew what you’d say, and I didn’t want to hear it. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” she says simply.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I accept your apology, Bea.”

I let out a breath.

“For the record,” Priya says, looking conspiratorial, “he passed.”

“He passed!” I exclaim.

The radiance masks are still in my hands. I forget I’m holding them.

“Results came out Friday, so he’ll know by now.” She settles the tote strap on her shoulder. “He passed the course, Beatrix. Which means you finished the job you were assigned. Well done. I know it can be hard getting somebody there. He must have had a good tutor.” She smiles. “Whatever else happened, it clearly didn’t get in the way of the actual work. He learned the material. You taught it to him, and that is the part I can stand behind.” A small nod, as if confirming something to herself. “So, I’ll do what I can with the committee letter. I’m not making promises because you did break the rules. But I’ll do what I can, and if you score good on the MCAT, I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about.”

My eyes begin to water and I will them to stay dry.

“Thank you,” I manage.

“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t written it.” She holds my eyes. “I’m still disappointed in you, Bea. Not about him. I’m disappointed because you didn’t tell me. That habit can’t follow you into a hospital one day where the stakes are a great deal higher than a learning assistant post.” A pause. “You have to tell your seniors everything that could impact a patient.”