“No,” he says, still looking into my eyes. I think for a moment that he might stop talking, that he might not offer me anything else. He blinks a few times and touches my arm. “She wasn’t that kind of sick. She was just broken inside.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can say. He regards me for a moment or two. I think he is waiting for me to say something else. But I can’t. I can only mentally shove my tears back into my eye sockets. David closes his eyes and snuggles his head down into his pillow.
“You need to go to work, Emma, and I need to go back to sleep,” he says softly. “We can talk about it later. I’ll pick you up at work, and we’ll go get something to eat. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, kissing him on the forehead. I know that I will spend the entire day thinking about David’s mother. About what he means by “she was just broken inside.” I steady my breath and consider asking him outright, but I know from his closed eyes that he is done talking. “Good night, David,” I add, lightly brushing his cheek with my hand as I climb out of bed.
I gather my things and head to the bathroom, pulling my favorite green dress from the closet as I go. I was wearing this dress the night I went up to his apartment and straddled his lap in front of his friends. When he picks me up tonight, I want him to see it and remember our first night together. I want this dress to remind him that I was the one who made the first move. I was the one who wanted us first. And I hope seeing it serves as some sort of confirmation for him. Proof that I love him. Proof that I want to be with him, despite the wounds the past has fashioned for both of us.
* * *
Instead of thinking of David and his mother all morning, I am surprised to find myself engaged in an all-too-lively discourse with Matt and one of my supervisors. We are debating the merits of several different schematic circuit designs and having trouble coming to a consensus about it. I’m eating this shit up—not only because I’m presenting an intelligent and accurate argument, but also because they are listening. I think I may be right about this, and it is so fucking satisfying just to be heard. When lunchtime arrives, we still haven’t settled on the specific design, but we are making great progress. Their openness to my ideas is thrilling, and I can’t wait to tell David about it.
Matt ends up grabbing us a quick lunch from the cafeteria, and we eat it as we work. It is nearly four o’clock before I am able to head back to my cubicle and check my cell. When I flip it open, I find a message from David. It was sent nearly two hours ago.