The following Friday evening, I sit at Gloria’s bedside with my laptop, an iced coffee stuffed with six artificial sweeteners, and a vague sense of satisfaction. I still haven’t figured out the buttons or plastic cheese or picture, so all three lurk on my ‘areas of chaos’ list, but I’ve made it through my first 2468 cycle and am now on my second 400-calorie day.
The 200-calorie days are tough, no question, but only for lack of energy. I’m surprised by how little actual hunger I’ve felt since the second day of this. A dull flat exhaustion, for sure, and a strange silence in my head most of the time, but not hunger. In fact, sometimes when I know I should be eating I just don’t feel like it so I don’t. I’ve obviously been eating too much if I can feel okay like this.
I haven’t been sleeping well, not a surprise given everything, so yesterday I bought a small bottle of over-the-counter pills. Small, because I don’t want to be taking them for long. It seems wrong. But I took one last night and it put me to sleep almost right away, so today even though the exhaustion is still with me I do feel better than I have in a while.
And even better because I lost three pounds during my first cycle, which is a decent start. I’m not going to try the dress on again until I’ve lost about twenty, since there’s no way it’ll fit now, and every time I see it hanging in my kitchen or notice its picture on my phone or computer I think of Gloria and know I can’t let her down. Whenever I even consider eating something bad, the dress stops me.
I take a long sip of my coffee, and let the feeling of energy I get drive me to focus on my laptop and the report I’ve got half-written. I know the caffeine probably hasn’t reached my bloodstream yet, but fooling myself into thinking it has is surprisingly easy.
As I finally figure out a sentence I’ve been stuck on all day even though it shouldn’t be this tricky, I hear a soft, “Excuse me,” and look up to see a tall man in a black t-shirt and vintage-looking jeans carrying a large leather bag. My mind flashes to the picture I found in Gloria’s things, but this guy has brown hair not blond.
“Hi,” I say, smiling with pleasure at getting my sentence working. “I’m Gloria’s sister Valerie.”
He smiles back, his brown eyes warming. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I blink. “Really?” Gloria’s roommate hadn’t. “I’m sorry.”
Clearly fighting a chuckle, he says, “May I join you?”
I don’t know who he is, but he’s cute and having finally had some success in my work I can permit myself a break, so I say, “Of course.”
He pulls over a chair to sit beside me while saying, “And I only heard good things, so don’t worry.”
I don’t know what to say to that since I can’t imagine what good things Gloria could have told him about me, so I busy myself with closing my laptop.
Once he’s settled onto his chair, he reaches out and lightly touches Gloria’s hand, which as usual lies on her chest curled in toward the other one. “I always want to straighten those out for her,” he says quietly. “I know it’s how coma patients go, for some reason, but it looks uncomfortable.”
I nod. “I’ve thought that too.”
We sit in silence for a moment, then he says, “Hey, Gloria, I brought something for you. I hope you like having it here.”
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small painting in a sleek black wood frame. “This is her favorite of my work,” he says to me, then adds, “Isn’t it, Gloria?”
I know nothing about art, but the painting is stunning. He’s moved the huge New York Public Library at Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street into a forest, so there are trees of every kind surrounding it instead of tourists and taxis. Vines twine up its stone columns and birds flutter about and sit on the roof, and in place of the big stone lions by the steps he’s painted a squirrel on one side and an owl on the other. Though it’s tiny, the detail is amazing.
“I see why she likes it,” I say, leaning in to study it.
“Thanks. Now, where should I put it?” He looks around. “Somewhere that she can see it without having to turn her head. When she wakes up.”
My gratitude burns behind my eyes. When I arrived today after work my parents were dejected because it’s been nearly three weeks since Gloria was hurt and she doesn’t seem to be getting any better. They and the increasingly sombre doctors don’t think it’ll happen. Nobody does except for me, and now also….
I clear my throat. “I don’t know your name.”
He turns away from inspecting Gloria’s room and smiles at me. “Sorry, Valerie. Since I know yours I didn’t think to introduce myself. I’m Remy. Remy Hendrickson. I’ve been lucky enough to have Gloria in my life for nearly three years now.” He holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I say as we shake, wondering exactly how Gloria has been in the life of this handsome man who smells like sexy citrus but not sure how to ask. “So, where should the painting go?”
After a bit of debate, we choose to remove an uninteresting landscape from the wall near the door and hang the painting there.
“That way,” he says as we return to our seats, “when she opens her eyes, it’ll be right in front of her. And did you put the MP3 player and the speakers behind her?”
I nod. “She had a player in her stuff so I bought the speakers for her. It’s noisy in here sometimes and I thought she might like to listen to her music.” Gloria’s player was filled with songs about living in the now and being happy. Not a surprise, given how she was. Is.
“That’s great. Now she has the painting and the music to enjoy.” He smiles, then touches Gloria’s hand again and says, “So, Miss Glorious, how are you? What’s new? You may have noticed the painting you love is on the wall. Feel free to check it out. Maybe now that you’ve got time to lie here and stare at it you’ll actually find the polar bear.”
I can’t resist turning in my chair to look, and he chuckles. “Valerie’s looking for it now, Gloria. Don’t want her to find it first, do you? Better wake up.”
“It’s not really the right scene for a polar bear, is it?”
He shrugs. “It wanted to be there, hiding in… well, it won’t be hiding if I tell you where to find it. I didn’t have a choice, it wanted to be there. Art does what it wants. Who am I to argue?”
“Indeed,” I say, managing a half-smile at him. I don’t like the idea of things doing what they want. Things should do what they’re told.
He returns the smile but then his fades. “Would you mind if I talked to Gloria alone for a minute?”
I do, actually, but I don’t know why. I can’t imagine he plans to hurt her but the idea of leaving and not knowing what’s happening between them terrifies me. Not knowing how to explain what I don’t understand myself, I say, “Can I wait in the hall or do you need more time than that?”
“Just a minute will do fine. Thanks.”
I get up, leaving my laptop on the chair, and close the glass door behind me. Though I should probably look away to give him privacy, I feel like I can’t risk letting something happen to her on my watch so I keep my eyes on him as he leans in and takes Gloria’s hand and speaks to her. He’s turned partly away, so I wouldn’t be able to read his lips even if I knew how to do that, but from what I can see of his face I can tell what he’s saying matters to him.
Gloria matters to him.
Is he her boyfriend? And if so, then who is the guy in that photograph?
After a minute or so, he leans in and kisses Gloria’s hand then her forehead below the bandages she still wears. Then he turns toward the door.
I look away as quickly as I can, but I have a feeling he saw me watching, and sure enough when he comes over and opens the door for me he says, “Keeping an eye on me, were you?”
I feel myself blushing but admit, “Yeah. Sorry, I guess I was scared—”
His smile cuts me off, but I’d have cut myself off anyhow because of the shock of realizing exactly why I was scared. It’s the same reason that I’ve been at the hospital so much. I want to prevent something bad happening to my sibling when I’m supposed to be in charge. Like I didn’t do with Anthony.
“No problem at all,” he says gently, and I push away my sadness and guilt by reminding myself that I’m doing everything I can for Gloria now. My stomach grumbles, as if reassuring me I’m doing well, and so when Remy adds, “Just don’t strip-search me,” I’m feeling calm enough to be able to smile back and even reach out as if I’m going to rip his clothes off.
Not that that would be a hardship, I think, as he chuckles and turns to take his chair again and I notice how well those jeans fit over an ass that might be nearly as good as Dustin’s.
“I’ve been in a lot during the days,” he says while we settle into our seats, “when I understand you’re at work, but I was in the area so I stopped in now and I’m glad we got to meet. You can take care of her in the evenings and I’ll handle the days, at least the parts when your parents need a break, and between the four of us we’ll get our girl up and running around again in no time.”
He speaks so casually, as if there’s no way this won’t happen, that my throat tightens and all I can do is nod.
If I’d spoken, though, I’d have been cut off by a loud growl.
“Sorry about that.” He pats his flat belly. “Shut up in there.”
I giggle, and he smiles and says, “To be fair to it, I am a few hours past my usual dinner time. Hey, have you eaten? I’d love to get to know you better.”
I haven’t, but I also have only fifty calories left on the day and I can hardly go out for dinner on that. “I have,” I say, hoping it’s not obvious I’m lying. “But maybe another time?”
He glances at his watch. “The hospital cafeteria closes in ten minutes. Can you join me for a coffee and a snack?”
“A coffee would be great,” I say, knowing they have artificial sweeteners so I can avoid taking in any calories.
“We’ll be back soon,” he says to Gloria. “Check out the painting while we’re gone.”
“Bye, Gloria,” I say as I stuff my laptop into its bag.
In the elevator, Remy says, “This is a good start but I’d still like to have dinner with you. Tomorrow night, maybe?”
“Sunday’s better.” I’ll have 800 calories available to me, so I could save a good chunk for dinner.
“Sorry, I’m teaching an eight-hour art class that day and I’ll be exhausted after,” he says, sounding truly apologetic. “Lunch next week?”
I do some quick mental math. “Thursday?” Another 800-calorie day.
“Sounds great.”
I smile, for what feels like the first time in forever. “It does.”