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I quirk an eyebrow, impressed. It’s the most action I’ve had in this lifetime. “Oh man, I smoked the car, didn’t I, Max?”
“The car? You’re worried about the fucking car? You could have died!” Max whisper-hisses, and it’s like the words drop into the perfect Tetris position to make sense.
I could have died. Today.
“Huh,” I say brightly. “I could have. That really sucks.”
My brother stares at me like I’m nuts. My father looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, because I can see the classic Bloom vein throbbing in his temple. I’m saved by old Mrs. Hester, coming out of the American Legion and asking him why her daylilies always die so fast. Instantly, an argument begins.
If I had my phone, I’d hop on it and try to calm the quarrel with a peace-sign emoji. But I can barely hear what they’re saying over the din of the gathering crowd complaining about the power outage.
That’s when I look up and spot the squirrel in a tree, chittering away with another squirrel. Without warning, hot tears flood my eyes.
It’s the stupidest thought, but it rocks me.
Even the squirrel has more of a life than I do. It has a best friend, or better, a lover.
It has more than me.
Once again, Max’s words flood my ears:You could have died.
Icould have died.
Which is not new information.
Icould have met my maker today, and what would I have to show for it? What would I have written in my gratitude journal from the afterlife?
That I, Ruby Bloom, am grateful for my very planned schedule? That my father and brother hovering is one of my favorite sports? That my favorite words are:Planned. Orderly. Safe. Vegetables. Oatmeal. Hospital. Medication. Syncope.That even though I work for a luxury travel agency, running social media and content marketing from the comfort of my bedroom, I’ve never set foot outside Indiana. That I’ve only had sex once in my life with a man who sounded like a carburetor when he came and who I scared half to death by fainting when it ended.
Maybe all men sound like a carburetor, not like I would know what good sex is. I’ve never even been handled rough. Never had an orgasm. Never been in love.
I blink then. It’s like an unexpected sucker punch to the face. Thewhat-ifs.
What if I have two good years left? What if I die and have never lived?
What if I go my whole life without love? Without good sex?
My heart, agreeing with me, hammers like it wants to beat its way out of my chest.
I close my eyes and imagine my heart running off, away from my body. Where would it go? What would it do?
For so long, I thought I was happy, when all I’ve been is happily unhappy.
I’ve spent my entire life living quiet and safe for my father, but the right thing feels so ... wrong. So sad. So boring.
This world is beautiful, and I’m watching it pass me by.
I let out a strangled squeak. I feel my throat closing up, panic attack style.
And that’s when it hits me.
I’m not afraid of dying. Others are.
“Ruby?” Max’s voice floats.
“Today’s my birthday,” I tell Max.
“Yeah, Rubes.” He sounds worried. “I know. We got a cake inside that’s melting.”
