“Neil Putnam from HR at Simtex.”

My new job! Oh, God—I had forgotten all about it. Should I explain what happened? Did they already know? That interview felt like a hundred years ago in somebody else’s life.

“I remember,” I said, after a pause. Neil Putnam was the guy who’d told me that I unofficially had the job. “How are you?”

“Doing just great.” His voice was overly bright, but I didn’t notice at first. “Hey,” he went on, like he’d just thought of something. “I’ve been asked to call and let you know that the guys upstairs have made an official decision about the position.”

I held my breath. It was an impossible problem. I was twenty-eight and just out of business school, and I’d landed a dream job that nobody with my lack of experience had any right to, and it really was the offer of a lifetime, and at this moment, given that I couldn’t even pee without help, it seemed unlikely I could make the most of it. What would I do if they wanted me to start next week?

I’d never in my life faced a challenge and given up. The non-quitter part of me could not imagine doing anything other than wrestling myself into an Ann Taylor suit and hauling my ass out to their corporate campus the minute they said go. But a much more vocal part of me—the part, shall we say, with the catheter sticking out—could not imagine ever even leaving this hospital room, much less dedicating my thoughts to “strategic and higher operational level engagement with the logistics environment.”

My only hope was to delay. Maybe I could wrangle a start date later in the summer. How long was it going to take me to get myself back to normal? Two months, maybe? Four?

But as I opened my mouth to suggest it, Neil Putnam said, “They’re going with another candidate.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Someone with more experience.”

“But you said I had it!”

“Unofficially. But then a better candidate came along.”

I closed my eyes.

“They’ll send an official letter, but we wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“I see,” I said at last. “Of course.” Had they somehow heard about the crash? Did they know what I was up against?

“We wish you the best of luck, and hope you are up and around again soon.”

Guess they did.

I pressed END and let out a long sigh comprised entirely of the word “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

When I looked up, Ian and the new nurse were watching me.

“I just got fired,” I explained. “Though not really. It wasn’t official yet. But right before the crash, they told me it was mine. The most amazing dream job ever. And I was going to rock it out.”

“They can’t do that!” the nurse said, all sympathy, like we’d been pals for years.

“Sure they can,” Ian said. “That’s how the world works.” No sympathy there. Dry as chalk.

“Bad luck,” the nurse said, and took my hand to squeeze it. It wasn’t until she touched me that I realized how cold my own hands were. “I’m sorry about your bad news.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay,” I said, and in a way, it was. A relief, at least. An impossible challenge that I didn’t have to rise to.

I had enough impossible challenges these days.

But in a much larger way, it wasn’t okay. I wanted that job, yes—but I also needed it. I had bought a fancy condo on the strength of my bright future. I had student loan payments and car payments and credit card payments. Plus, I had no idea what the medical bills were going to be like for this situation.

A panic about the future swirled inside my body like a dust storm. Another piece of my old life had just crumbled away.

Here’s the weird thing, though, about all the emotions swirling through me right then: I felt them intensely—and, at the exact same time, I could barely feel them at all. I have no idea how that works, but I swear it’s true. I felt full-out panicked and quietly numb simultaneously. I wondered if I’d ever feel things normally again—and then immediately hoped it would be a long, long time before I did.

Never would’ve been fine.

Ian was already back to business. “So,” he said, rocking back a little, “let’s recap. We basically made a map of your entire body today—and in the coming weeks, we’ll strengthen what’s working and try to wake up what’s not.” He spoke with his eyes on his clipboard, as if the topic in general, and me in particular, bored him to tears. “There’s a great deal of mystery with spinal cord injuries, and we can’t always predict who will see improvement and who won’t. Your deficits are all at the patella level and below, and that’s the area we’ll focus on. Do you have any questions?”

As he waited for my answer, he looked out the window.

I shook my head.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, then,” he said, turning away. “And next time,” he called over his shoulder, “you have to try.”

The nurse and I watched him go. I could have been irritated with him, I suppose, but I was too tired to be mad. In fact, I felt all remaining energy whoosh out of my body like a sigh as he left. The day was over. All I had left to do was get myself back into bed. Then I could close my eyes and sink into oblivion.

But just before I turned to look for the transfer board, another figure appeared in doorway.

Kitty.

Again.

“I thought I told you no,” I said.

“That was a long time ago,” Kitty said.

“That was yesterday.”

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“Nope.”

“Fat Benjamin confessed to me after I got home last night that he still had a ponytail holder of mine from high school. And then he tried to put his tongue in my ear.”

I faced her dead-on. “I have many problems right now,” I said then. “But Fat Benjamin’s tongue in your ear is definitely not one of them.”

Kitty looked affronted. “I’m not asking you to solve my problems.”

“Yes, you are. Like you always do.” But not anymore. I didn’t say it, but she’d lost the right to ask that of me.

“Not this time,” Kitty insisted. “I’m here to help you.”

“I already told you that you can’t.”

She blinked.

So I said it again. “All your being here can possibly do is make things worse.”

“What if I bring you cupcakes?”

“No.”

“What if I bring trashy novels and spring rolls from that Thai place you love?”

“No.”

“Don’t just send me away,” she said. “Let’s talk about it. Let’s rap it out.”

She was being cute, but I had no patience for cute. “I’m serious,” I said. “Get out. Go home. Go back to New York, even. You are something I just can’t handle right now.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Both.”

*

KIT LEFT, BUT she came back again the next night, just as I was finishing dinner. With cookies.

I sent her away.

She came after dinner the night after that with macarons, and I sent her away again.

And then, on the night after that, when she didn’t show up after dinner, I noticed I was disappointed. I was waiting to see her. More than that: The idea of seeing her didn’t seem weird and destabilizing anymore. In fact, it felt like something to look forward to. I was anticipating the sight of her with her crazy hair and tattoos, wearing a tutu or something equally nutty. Not to mention the cake pops she’d bring, or brownies, or doughnuts, or whatever.

I found myself worrying that she might have given up on me, and regretting being so cold.

When she finally did turn up at last, she was carrying one perfect, exquisite chocolate cupcake from my favorite bakery of all time, twenty minutes across town.

“Are you bribing me?” I asked, as she held it out.

“I am demonstrating,” she said, “that I am not just here to escape trading sexual favors with Fat Benjamin in exchange for lodging. I am here to do whatever I can to make your day just a little bit better. Starting with cupcakes.”

I looked at the cupcake. I took it.

“I also apologize for ignoring you for three straight years.”

“Fine,” I said, taking a bite and pressing the smooth icing against the roof of my mouth. Then, after swallowing: “You can stay.”

“Really?”

I took another bite and savored it, then spoke louder for more authority. “But if you wind up making things worse for me, you’re out.”

“I won’t,” Kit said.

“For example,” I said, throwing down the challenge. “It’s time for bed now.”

Kit glanced at the clock on my wall. “It’s not even nine o’clock.”

The cupcake was suddenly gone. We were done here.

“Yeah,” I said, like, Duh, like it was past the whole world’s bedtime. “Get your bed ready and let’s hit the sack.”

I watched her unfold the recliner and make it up with a sheet from the cabinet. She’d brought a pillow and blanket of her own—both plaid, which added a camp-out vibe. As I watched her work, her movements and her silhouette so familiar, my eyes kept trying to close on their own. I remember thinking I was so tired I’d never wake up. I remember wondering if she was going to sleep with that crazy nose ring in.

*