“You’ve always been angry, Plum. I just want you to direct that anger where it belongs, not at yourself.”
Verena was trying to help me, even more than she already had, and I was grateful, but I couldn’t help feeling annoyed at her sometimes. She didn’t know what it was like to be me, no matter how empathetic she was. There was a line between us, the line that existed between me and most people.
“I’d like to be alone now,” I said. I moved from my sitting position onto my side, resting my head on the pillow, curling up under the sheets.
Verena didn’t argue. She stood up and collected her belongings. On her way out, she placed a slip of paper on the nightstand in front of my nose. It was a check for $20,000.
“Why are you giving this to me now?”
“It’s time,” she said. “You made it to the final task of the New Baptist Plan. No matter what you decide to do with your life, we had a deal. A Baptist always keeps her word.”
I picked up the check, noting all those zeroes. “If I don’t have the surgery, I’ll have to say goodbye to Alicia. I’ll miss her. Is that silly?”
“You’ll grieve for her,” Verena said, “and then you’ll move on.”
When she left, I pulled the sheet over my head and began to cry, welcoming the release. Crying existed beyond thinking, beyond words. It felt good. When I couldn’t cry anymore, I thought about what Verena had said. In my mind the balloon was red, like the walls of Calliope House. I thought about the painful things I might put into it. I imagined letting go.
“Knock, knock.” Sana entered my bedroom, a white box in her hands. I had fallen asleep, but now lifted my head from the pillow. “What time is it?”
“About four o’clock in the afternoon.” She came into the room and set the box on the desk. I struggled to sit up, worried that my face was red from crying. My eyes still felt swollen.
Sana was wearing loose gray slacks and a white T-shirt, with Keds on her feet. Her body wasn’t thin or fat, but a slightly curvy place in between, and solid as well, as if she had strength. She smelled like the outside, like fresh air and sunshine.
“You need to eat,” she said, not as a suggestion. From the box she removed a platter of small pastries and cakes, as well as a dish of what she said was saffron-infused cream. To make room, she pushed aside the books, including Verena’s Adventures in Dietland. “If you don’t eat you’re going to get sick.”
“Did you make all that?”
“You’re kidding, right?” She placed a knife, a fork, and a tiny spoon on top of a napkin. “There’s a Persian bakery on Seventh Avenue that I like. I thought I’d buy you a treat.”
I appreciated her kindness, but I also felt exposed. “I need to wash my face. I feel like a mess.”
“Take your time.”
In the bathroom, I felt the urgent need to shower, wanting to wash from head to toes. Under the stream of water, in the steam and heat, I stood for much longer than was necessary. I didn’t have access to the summer sunshine, so this was the next best thing.
When I returned to my room, the pastries and cakes, the dish of cream, were all spread on my desk, but Sana wasn’t there. I picked up a slice of cake with my fingers—white sponge with icing and a sprinkling of crushed pistachio nuts on top. Once I bit into it, I tasted cardamom and rosewater. The bliss inside my mouth soon reached my stomach, filling the empty space, and I finished the cake in three rapid bites. I was so close to heaven, there were angels all around me.
I ate and ate. I thought of the baby birds and how their mouths were filled, but this wasn’t the same. I didn’t bother to count calories. There was no time for math. I had always hated math. Into my mouth I placed the leaves of phyllo, honey, and nuts, the deep-fried pastry sweetened with syrup, the soft cookies flavored with coconut and almond, dipped into the saffron cream. Vibrations of pleasure ran through me. My lethargy ebbed with every bite and I began to feel human again.
When I was finished, I placed my hand on my belly, unable to stop smiling. After several minutes I was thirsty, so I went to the kitchenette and drank two glasses of water. On my way out, I heard the sounds from Marlowe’s room growing louder, then stopping suddenly.
“Sana, are you still here?” I called out.
“Yes!”
For the last time, I walked down the dark corridors to the circular room, feeling full and satisfied. Sana was there, sitting in one of the chairs in the center of the screens.
“I don’t know how you can stand this place,” I said.
“Sometimes I think of it as my church.”
“You’ve lost me.” I found that this often happened when I was talking to the women of Calliope House.