“Oh, totally!” Emily said, her voice loud, as if this was the best thing she’d heard all day.
Cassidy added more to her glass, then moved back to the couch. “You wouldn’t mind?” She pulled the blanket over her knees, cradling her glass in her lap.
“No,” Emily replied. “Do you have a date?”
“Thanksgiving,” Cassidy replied, feeling her cheeks pucker with more tears. She sipped from her glass and imagined a giant, glossy-brown turkey on a platter with potatoes and onions, cranberry sauce and stuffing filling decorative bowls, and baskets of bread with the Irish butter he never splurged on placed strategically around the table. Another wave of pain rolled over her and she tucked her knees tighter.
“That’s so appropriate,” Emily was saying in a voice so dripping with empathy Cassidy had to close her eyes tight to stave off an outburst. “I can check with my roommates, see what they’ve got going on.”
“I’ll pay for a hotel room for the night, if they want,” Cassidy said.
“Nish will probably go be with her family in Woodinville,” Emily answered. “And Gary will probably have to work. I think Rachel has some big ski race in Wyoming or something. I’ll ask them.”
“Okay,” Cassidy replied. The Scotch had begun to make her head feel fuzzy. She needed to hang up soon.
“Do you want to stay in your old room?” Emily asked. “I can sleep on the couch.”
A sudden memory of her bedroom blasted into her mind, and she choked on a sob. Her eyes clenched tight as she remembered being curled up in Pete’s arms, his skin warm and his breaths deep and relaxed. She then took a tour of the bathroom and its large white tub where they had lounged away many evenings, and the kitchen where he had cooked countless meals for her and worked side by side with her at the picnic table, their laptop screens erect and fingers tapping. It was all too much. “No,” she managed to say. “The couch is fine.”
“Are you sure?” Emily persisted. “I don’t mind.”
Cassidy wiped her face with her free hand and stared at the ceiling to compose herself. “I’m sure.”
The Monday before Thanksgiving, Cassidy drove to campus with a sense of doom. She felt so tired, and heavy, but the volcanology faculty members on her team had requested a meeting. Deep down, Cassidy knew she needed to reclaim her position as a highly effective postdoc ready to dazzle the world, but her broken heart wouldn’t let her. Sometimes, her computer screen felt like a portal into her memories, and she would sit there feeling lost. That she was headed to a meeting to admit all of this to her fellow staff members had kept her up for most of the night, and now her brain felt foggy.
After returning from San Francisco, one of the faculty, Dr. Bill Fischer, reached out to reassure her that she could take all the time she needed. But a month had passed and they were all surely growing impatient. It was even possible that they were preparing to kick her out of the program, a thought that filled her with panic.
Cassidy walked into the building and down the dim hallway, passing geological maps of Oregon, artwork depicting volcanoes erupting, and an informational poster about tsunamis. Ahead, the open main office door cast a bright rectangle of light into the hallway. She stepped inside, intending to stop in and pick up any mail from her cubby. Almost immediately, the chatter of one of the secretaries on the phone and the clacking of keyboard keys, a muffled conversation, and someone’s laugh all faded to silence. Cassidy felt eyes tracking her as she shuffled towards the collection of mailboxes mounted into the far wall.
“Hello, Cassidy,” someone’s voice from behind her finally said.
Cassidy didn’t turn around. The silence pressed down on her. She reached into her mail slot for the piled-up clump of papers and manila envelopes. The silence continued. Nothing to see here! she wanted to shout. Her head pounded—the bright lights bore into the backs of her eyes, making them throb. Her heart felt like it might race right out of her chest. The air around her changed, becoming dense and pressured, as if someone had closed all the windows. She reached up to wipe her brow, but the motion unsteadied her, and she had to grab the wall for support.
Everyone was still looking at her. She felt their eyes watching. She pretended to look through her mail, shuffling each piece slowly. A small envelope addressed to “Cassidy and Pete” was tucked between a welcome packet for a conference and her latest copy of Nature Geoscience. With shaking fingers, she examined the return address. It was from a postdoc in the physics department that she and Pete had met at a party earlier that fall. The red envelope was decorated with green stickers in the shape evergreen trees. Her heart’s rapid thumping knocked into her throat. A party. For Christmas. Cassidy imagined Pete in his chinos and cream-colored fisherman’s sweater, a mug of mulled wine in his hand as he mingled in a crowd of other dressed-up adults and students.
Cassidy began to cry, silently at first, the tears streaming down her face. Her balance faltered, and she slumped into the wall, pressing her face against the cool, smooth surface. A moan escaped her lips and the mail fell from her hands, landing on the floor with a cascading flump. Her legs wobbled and she gasped for air.
There was a rustling sound near her, and she heard people’s voices, but they sounded distant, as if from the end of a tunnel.
The air pressed against her lungs, and she wondered what was happening. Why couldn’t she breathe?
“Are you okay?” A man’s deep voice blared in her ear, and she cowed backwards. Her heel caught on the carpet and she stumbled. The man’s dark eyes seemed to bore into her. She reached out
