Frost - Marianna Baer

“Not really,” I said. “Could you bring something by when

you’re done?”

“I wish I could,” he said. “But I have to rush to a movie

screening for English. Do you want me to come visit later? Like

nine or so?”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll be too tired, though.”

“Do you think you’ll be well enough to come on Sunday?”

“Sunday?”

“My mom’s party. Did you forget?”

“Oh, right,” I said, and then after a pause, “Will Celeste be

there?”

“Of course. She and I are going home on Saturday. My mom

really wants to meet you.”

“I want to meet her, too,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be able to go.”

A knock on the door startled me awake. How long had I been

asleep? I put on my glasses and saw it was a couple of hours later.

My stomach grumbled. The knock came again.

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“Come in.”

The open door revealed Viv, standing with a red-and-white-

checked cardboard take-out box from Commons in her hands.

“I ran into David at dinner,” she said. “He thought you might

appreciate this.” She extended her arms.

“Oh, thanks, Viv.” I sat up straighter in bed.

She crossed the room and handed it to me, along with a fork

and napkins. “I wasn’t sure what would agree with your

stomach.”

I rested the heavy box on my lap; warmth spread through my

thighs. Inside was probably everything Commons had offered

tonight: spaghetti, chicken, potatoes, sautéed veggies, bread,

cake.

“This is great,” I said. “I’m starving. I just wasn’t up to

trekking over there.”

Viv sat down next to me. “I don’t blame you. I can’t believe

how sick you were. I was really scared when I found you.”

“Thanks again for helping me.” I tasted a bite of buttery

mashed potatoes. So much better than the infirmary food. Actual

flavor.

“Viv?” I said. “Not to sound all second grade, or anything, but

does this mean we’re okay? Because you know, I’m really, really

sorry about Cameron. About the whole thing. More sorry than I

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could ever say. I feel as awful about it as I have about anything,

ever.”

Viv stared at her lap. “I love you, Leen,” she finally said. “And

it’s so not Buddhist of me to stay angry. But . . . the thing is, I can’t

help getting mad, still, whenever I miss Cam. Not to mention

getting mad about what this has done to him. But at the same

time, I also miss you .”

“I miss you, too,” I said. “So much. And Abby.”

“Abby’s a different story,” she said. “That’s another reason

it’ll be hard for us to really be friends, like before. At least for

now.”

“Oh.” I took another bite; the chicken tasted like dust.

“But we can try, a bit,” she said. “You know, start slow?”

I nodded.

“So . . .” Viv smoothed out the wrinkles on the quilt next to

her. “I watered your plants. And opened the blinds, to give them

sun. And washed the puke out of your clothes.”

“It was you? Thanks, Viv. That was so sweet.”

She kept her eyes on the bed, pressed her lips together, and

smoothed the quilt over and over as if she’d developed OCD while

I’d been gone. “I, uh, I saw something while I was in here,” she

said. “I . . . wanted to ask you about it.”

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Oh, God. “It’s not as weird as it seems, Viv.” How wasn’t a

piece of paper with info about ten or so psychotropic meds not as

weird as it seems? Maybe I was studying for a test, in psych?

About medications?

“Really?” she said. “What do you do in there?”

“In there?”

“The closet. I saw that whole mattress thing you have set up,

the pillows. Do you, like, sleep in there or something?”

The closet. She knew about the closet. My chest tightened.

But, then again, she didn’t know about my conversations.

“No, I don’t sleep in there.” I drew crisscrosses in my

potatoes and searched my brain for a plausible explanation.

“So, you . . . ?”

“I . . . I meditate.”

Viv raised her eyebrows. “You? Meditate? How come I didn’t

know this?”

“Well, it’s not like we’ve been close enough recently for you

to notice.” As I spoke, I realized that the dreamlike state I went

into in the closet was kind of what I imagined meditation to be

like. An alternate consciousness. “It’s helped me be less stressed.”

“You do this in a closet?”

“It blocks out the distractions, being in there.”

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“Gosh, Leen. I’d never have pictured you meditating. Did

you, like, learn it somewhere? Or just figure it out on your own?”

There wasn’t an ounce of humor in Viv’s eyes. Just genuine

interest.

What would she say if I told her the truth? Viv, of all people,

might understand, after all. She was open-minded about these

things. She’d probably love the fact that I’d been coming to terms

with suppressed feelings. Could I . . . ?

“Well, it’s not really traditional. I have my own way.”

“You should come to the meditation center with me

sometime,” she said. “In the Berkshires.”

“I’d love to,” I said. “But, there’s . . . there’s something

different about . . . about the way—”

One minute, I was speaking, then—my throat. Swollen shut.

Hands on my neck—tightening. My hands? I loosened my grip.

Still, something pressed my throat closed. No air. No breath. Viv

leaned toward me. “Are you okay?” Blood rushed to my face.

Eyes watered. No breath.

“Should I do the . . . that thing? Whatever it’s called? Leena?”

Don’t know. Oh my God. Jesus. Can’t breathe. Something’s

pressing, pressing . . . I need air need air need—

Air.

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A shift. A release. Yes, finally, a cough. Oh, Jesus. Tears swam

in my eyes.

The cough hurt. Ripped my esophagus. My chest heaved,

sucking in all the air, all the air from the room. Oh. Thank God.

“Leen, are you okay?”

I nodded, still trying to right my breathing. I coughed again.

Tasted blood. I wiped the tears that had spilled onto my cheeks.

“What was that?” Viv said. “Did you choke on the food?”

Did I? The spaghetti-chicken-potatoes lay in the box on my

lap.

“I guess so.” My voice rasped.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Was I? I could breathe. “Yeah. Sorry for scaring you. I’m

fine.”

The food swam into an unappealing swirl of colors and

textures. I set the box aside. I was exhausted. “I think I might

need to sleep a bit more.”

Viv stood up. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything

else. Okay?”

Left alone, I touched a hand to my neck. I lay down and tried

to convince my lungs that there was enough air in the room.

Something wasn’t right, though. The episode had spurred my

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nervous system to go into high alert. My breaths were too fast.

My lips quivered. My skin crawled.

I needed the closet.

As I shut the door behind me, I realized that as unpleasant as

the choking fit had been, it was probably fortuitous—it had

stopped me from telling Viv something she really didn’t need to

know.

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Chapter 35

SUNDAY MORNING THE TEMPERATURE had plunged to

what felt like a midwinter low. Probably not the best day for

someone recovering from an illness to be out, but I had no choice.

As I sat in the car, my breath fogged up the side window,