He wants to gently set me down exactly where I was before this happened, like he’s been holding that place for me in a board game, and we are going to pick up where we left off. The problem is that I’m not the same player.
“When I thought you were going to die,” Finn says, “I didn’t believe there could be anything more awful than a world you weren’t in. But this is worse, Diana. This is you, in the world, not letting me be a part of it.” His eyes are dark, desperate. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Immediately, I reach out, my hands catching his. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” I say, because it is true.
The relief in his eyes nearly breaks me. Finn’s arms come around my waist. “You want to go back to school?” he says. “We’ll figure out how. You want a PhD? I’ll be in the front row at your dissertation defense. We’ve always wanted the same things, Di. If this is a detour on the way to everything we’ve dreamed about, that’s okay.”
A detour. Inside, where he cannot see, I flinch.
What if I don’t want what I used to?
“What did you want to be when you grew up?” I murmur.
A laugh startles out of Finn. “A magician.”
I’m charmed. “Really? Why?”
“Because they made things appear out of thin air,” Finn says, with a shrug. “Something from nothing. How cool is that?”
I nestle close to him. “I would have come to all your shows. I would have been that annoying superfan.”
“I would have promoted you to magician’s assistant.” He grins. “Would you have let me saw you in half?”
“Anytime,” I tell him.
But I think: That is the easy part. The trick is in putting me back together.
The next morning, I video-call Rodney and tell him that Finn doesn’t want me to go back to school. “Remind me why you need his permission?” he says.
“Because it changes things, when you’re a couple. Like how much we can pay in rent, if I’m not making a salary. Or how much time we’ll actually spend together.”
“You hardly spend any time together now. He’s a resident.”
“Well, anyway, I didn’t call to talk to you. Is Rayanne there?”
Rodney frowns. “No, she’s working.”
“Like … ?doing a reading for someone?”
“Nursing home,” he says. “The only thing that pays worse than a career in art is being a psychic.” His eyes widen. “That’s why you want to talk to her.”
“What if I’m being an idiot, thinking about starting over now? Finn could be right. This could be some weird reaction to having a second chance, or something.”
Rodney slowly puts it all together. “So you want Rayanne to take a peek a few years out and tell you if you’re gluing pom-poms together with kids who have anxiety from gluten allergies—”
“—That is not art therapy—”
“—or if you’re wearing stilettos and in Eva’s old office? Mmnope. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Easy for you to say,” I tell him, pressing my hand to my forehead. “Nothing makes sense, Rodney. Nothing. I know Finn thinks that I shouldn’t make any radical changes, because I’ve been through so much. Instead of trying new things, I should find the stuff that feels comfortable.”
Rodney looks at me. “Oh my God. Nothing bad’s ever happened to you before.”
I scowl at him. “That’s not true.”
“Okay, sure, you had a mother who didn’t know you existed, but your daddy still doted on you. Maybe you had to go to your second-choice college. You had a share of white lady problems, but nothing that’s knocked the ground out from under your feet. Until you caught Covid, and now you understand that sometimes shit happens you can’t control.”
I feel anger bubbling inside me. “What is your point?”
“You know I’m from Louisiana,” Rodney says. “And that I’m Black and gay.”
My lips twitch. “I’d noticed.”
“I have spent a great deal of time pretending to be someone that other people want me to be,” he says. “You don’t need a crystal ball, honey. You need a good hard look at right now.”
My jaw drops open.
Rodney scoffs. “Rayanne’s got nothing on me,” he says.
In late May, the strict lockdown of the city is eased. As the weather improves, the streets become busier. It’s still different—everyone is masked; restaurant service is solely outdoors—but it feels a little less like a demilitarized zone.
I get stronger, able to go up and down stairs without having to stop halfway. When Finn is at the hospital, I take walks from our place on the Upper East Side through Central Park, going further south and west every day. The more people venture outside, the more I tailor my outings to odd times of the day—just before dawn, or when everyone else is home eating dinner. There are still people out, but it’s easier to social-distance from them.
Early one morning I put on my leggings and sneakers and strike off for the reservoir in Central Park. It’s my favorite walk, and I know it is because it makes me remember another static body of water and a thicket of brush. If I close my eyes and listen to the woodcock and the sparrows, I can pretend they are finches and mockingbirds.
This is exactly what I’m doing when I hear someone call my name. “Diana? Is that you?”