“I didn’t,” Dr. Nel says.
“Neither did I,” Dad replies.
My heart starts thundering as I observe everyone remaining mute, their faces grave like at a funeral. “What’s going on?” Yet no one answers. “I got expelled from Columbia?”
“No, of course not,” Dad blurts out instantly. “They are aware of your situation.”
“So what’s going on?”
“Normal life will be a bit different this year,” Alex says.
“I know I’m gonna have to work harder, but I can do an intensive program and pass last spring’s exams this year,” I tell them. The last thing I need is to be treated like a fragile little girl. Since no one seems convinced, I add, “I’ll spend more time at the library, and I’m sure my friends will help me out.”
“I don’t think you can go back to Columbia this year,” Dr. Nel says. “Given your current state, you should remain at home and do online learning.”
“No,” I snap back. “I want to have a normal life. I don’t want to stay here alone. I want to go back on campus and meet my friends. And have lunch with them, and…”
“You can’t do that anymore,” Alex interposes. “Even if you wanted to.”
My heart freezes, and my brows furrow instantly. What are they planning against me? “Why? Why not?”
“The world has changed,” Alex says. And my brows continue to crease, wondering if they are playing some prank on me. “And not for the better.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a global pandemic out there,” Dad finally announces. I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it, but they remain just as serious.
“What kind of pandemic?” I ask.
“Let me show you.” Dad pulls out his iPhone, types something on it, and gives it to me. It’s a PDF file from the Rockefeller Foundation—aka one of his go-to sources of info to know which stocks and securities to buy next—with the title “National COVID-19 Testing & Tracing Action Plan.”
I start reading it, and the more I read of the report, the more the words pandemic, economic losses, social distancing, and facial coverings become regular vocabulary. “Is this some sort of prank?”
“No,” Dad snaps as he takes his iPhone back. “And we’ve made three times more than in a normal year, our best year yet, actually. We switched most of our investments into pharmaceuticals and consumer tech. It was challenging, but a great strategy for the coming years.”
“Three times more? That’s impressive,” I tell him, sharing the same enthusiasm. I wish he could’ve been just as excited for the engagement party. But when I announced it, Dad couldn’t even feign interest in it. As I suddenly recall something, I ask, “By the way, um, did you end up buying an island in the Pacific?”
Dad’s jaw drops at my question. “Um, yes, I did. For my birthday. How do you know that?”
“I… I kind figured it out. You’ve always wanted one,” I lie, as there’s no point in telling him the truth. That nightmare must stay between Dr. Nel and me. “How is Emma? Is she here?”
“I think so,” Dad replies before looking at Alex. “Is she already out of jail?”
“What!” I can barely believe it. “Jail? She was in jail? Why?”
“From what her dad told me, she was caught at an underground party, violating safety measures, then non-compliance with police and incitement on social media. She refused to put a mask on and shouted the f-word at a cop.” Despite Dad’s serious tone, a smile settles on my lips, and I try hard not to chuckle. Oh, my Emma. How much I’ve missed her. “Can I invite her over? She could have lunch with us.”
“Let me check if she’s out.” Dad walks a few steps toward the door, and after pressing the call button, he puts his phone against his ear, waiting for Emma to pick the call.
“Meanwhile, we will start your physiotherapy,” Dr. Jade announces. “Today’s session will only be thirty minutes. Is that okay with you?”
I might have done only thirty minutes of electrical stimulation, but the real struggle came after—when Cynthia gave me a walker and helped me go to the bathroom and shower. My legs feel heavy like stone, and despite the first session, I can barely bend or move them. It’s a real hassle to take one single step, let alone walk. Nevertheless, being my first lunch with Dad and Alex, I’ve decided to be as presentable as possible. Wearing nothing but a bathrobe, I walk into Alex’s closet with Cynthia’s help, and I’m surprised to find so many clothes of mine in it. Most of them brand-new.
“What about this dress?” she asks as she takes one out of the wardrobe. “Not bad, huh?”
I smile at the color; it’s the same as my engagement ring. The dress is vintage, fresh, and summery, with a blue-and-white porcelain print. It looks like Alex did some shopping in that vintage shop, and I wonder if that was his way to cope with my being in a coma.
“Looks good,” I tell her. Cynthia then opens another drawer. As I peer over, I see many different shapes and colors of bras and panties, all matching sets and perfectly folded and aligned like on a store shelf. Letting out a quick chuckle, I can tell they are all brand-new. They seem to have come straight from a catalog of a fine, high-end lingerie store. I don’t see any basic cotton knickers though—which is what I use the most at home. Here, all I see are delicate thongs and G-strings made of sheer tulle or lace, some with bows and others with embroidered floral details.
“Beige is okay with you?”
“It’s perfect,” I reply.
They all look so thin and fragile that Cynthia takes out the matching beige set with just the tips of her fingers as if it were some sort of invaluable masterpiece.
And I can’t help but say, “It’s just lingerie, Cynthia.”
“Well, I checked out this brand online after it was delivered. This set is made in Italy from a brand created in the fifties. I was not even born back then.” Her discovery makes me laugh. She then leans closer to me and whispers, “And it’s three-hundred and ninety dollars.”
“Three-hundred and ninety dollars for this?” I repeat.
“Yes, ma’am. I’d never heard of this brand before. But damn, I can go down the street and get something similar for thirty bucks.” A quick chuckle escapes me as I observe her. “Oops,” she utters, reaching for her mouth. “Sorry, ma’am, I know it’s none of my business. I…”
“It’s all good, Cynthia.” And with curiosity tingling on my tongue, I ask, “Are you from here?”
“Yes. Born and raised in this great state.”
I glance around, making sure we are all alone. “Um, can I ask you something else?”
“Sure.”
Keeping my voice just as low, I do so. “How he has been doing?”
“You mean your fiancé?”
“Yes…”
Her head cocks to the side as she ponders my question. “Well, um… I’m not sure if I can talk about it.”
“I won’t tell him,” I assert. “I promise.”