The gagging was immediate. A reflex of disgust. She spat. Coughed out the soggy pieces of muffin onto the table and glared as though they had just bitten her tongue. Maybe she had picked a bad spot. She wondered if muffins, like bananas or pears, could be pockmarked with bruises. She turned the muffin and timidly took another bite. The sharp, bitter sting of salt flooded her mouth again. She smashed the muffin onto her plate and then marched over to the swinging door, pushing it open with all her strength.
Her parents were on the couch in the living room, just beyond the dining room table. Her father’s back blocking her view of her mother.
“Mama, I want some milk.”
In his hand, the thin shaft of a needle gleamed and caught a glint of light.
“Bug,” he said, “why don’t you get me a muffin?” He spoke without turning back to look at her.
Her anger immobilized her. How could her parents just forget about her? How could her mother have baked such a monstrosity? The unfairness of it all crested over her until she felt that she would cry.
“NOW!” Mama yelled.
She jumped and ran through the still softly swinging door. She glanced back and saw her father take her mother’s hand. Place Mama’s palm against his cheek. The door finally stopped swinging. She was alone once more. An orphan of time.
Spring
The light flickers before my eyes as a hand moves back and forth across my vision. I blink and meet his eyes. The blueness sinks into me, cutting off all my thoughts. Move. I need to get up from this diner counter, but the eyes are on me. He sits right next to me, but I have no memory of how he came to be beside me.
“Hey, Grace,” he says.
I stare at him.
“It’s Will.” He makes a gross smacking sound with his mouth.
I smile.
“You were completely zoned out. I thought you were sleeping with your eyes open.”
I stare down at my coffee mug. I don’t want him to know how disoriented I feel. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” I command myself to flash him another smile as I dig out a few dollars from my pocket. Smoothing out the wrinkled bills, I leave them on the counter and stand up.
“Are you leaving? Want to walk to the parking lot together?”
“I know where my car is.”
Will squints at me. “Okay. Well, I’m headed home. Let’s walk together.”
There is a prickling of annoyance itching the back of my neck, but I try to let it go. He’s trying to be nice, I remind myself. “Sure, whatever you want.”
As we head to the door, Stephanie waves to us. I raise my hand just as Will raises his, and our elbows collide.
“Oww.” Will laughs. “Are you sure you don’t have a dagger hidden up your sleeve?”
A memory flashes through my mind. The way Dad would touch my mother’s elbows, teasing her gently about the sharpness of her bones.
“Engineered for self-defense,” I say, repeating my mother’s line before I can stop the moment of déjà vu.
Will touches my elbow and then pushes open the door to the diner so that I can step outside.
The cold forces us to walk quickly, shoulder to shoulder. The blue-gray Genentium sign looms over us from across the street like a billboard. I try not to think about how I could have missed it. We quickly cross over.
There are only a few cars left in the parking lot when we arrive. Will points to one in the distance. “I’m over there,” he says, glancing at me.
I see my black Lincoln in the corner.
“You good to drive home? I could give you a lift,” he says as if I have been drinking or something.
“I’m fine. Why? Did Stephanie say something to you?” The prickling is now a full-blown heat rash. “Jesus, I got cold. It made me groggy. I don’t know why she was making such a big deal. Why can’t you people just leave me alone?” I say through gritted teeth.
Will holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, wait. Don’t be paranoid. Steph just suggested that I walk you to your car because it was so late. We’ve all been celebrating.”
“I haven’t.” I narrow my eyes and choose my words carefully. “Why would I want to celebrate something that is nothing but a fantasy?”
“Or the beginning of an arduous but incredible chance for treatment and hope.” Will gestures with one hand like a game show host.
“You sound like my dad,” I scoff.
Will grins. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”
I turn around to head to my car. Will taps me on the shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?” The intensity of his stare makes me feel like I am being examined.
The spark of annoyance blazes into anger. What does he want? I feel myself trembling. I want to explain how being disoriented doesn’t make you crazy, but if I start talking, I know I am not going to make any sense. I shift back and forth on my feet and take a deep breath. Keep it together, I tell myself.
“Have a good night,” I tell him, then move as though I am being chased and jump inside my car, slamming the door behind me. Calm down, I order myself. Calm down. Quickly I turn on the ignition and cup my hands over the heating vent. Slowly my fingers regain their feeling.
Every time I blink, I see the concern in Will’s face. He knows something is wrong. I glance over my shoulder at the spot where we were standing. He is still there, watching me.
He holds up his hand as though placing it against a pane of glass. The invisible wall that separates him from me. From who I am and who he is. I place my palm against the freezing glass in response and he
