I smile, tired.
She pauses. Then, more pointedly, “Wait, you were gonna head out for dinner alone? That doesn’t sound like you.”
My fingers tense around my mug. Fuck. “Oh-um, no. Not alone,” I say, tripping over the words. “I was supposed to have dinner with Theo.”
Silence.
“Cami?”
“Since when do you have dinner with Theo?” Her tone isn’t angry. Just agitated.
“It was last minute. A professional thing.” I shift on the cushion, suddenly too aware of how quiet the room is. “We were just gonna go over the stalker messages again. We realized — well,herealized that they’ve changed. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when we meet.”
“What do you meanchanged? Changed how?”
“Something about grammar and punctuation, and how it said ‘4’ as in the number instead of f-o-r ‘for.’”
“And Theo picked up on all this?”
“Yeah.”
More silence.
“Cami?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is lighter now, but too much so.
“So, see you in a bit?”
“Mmhm. You got it. Bye.” The line goes dead.
I chug the last of my coffee, grimacing as it burns down bitter and stale. I rinse the mug in the sink and grab my stuff. The hospital hallway is quiet. Just the low hum of machines and overhead lights buzzing faintly. I’m halfway down the corridor before I realize I’ve slowed in front of Kennedy’s room. I knock once on her door.
“Unless you have strawberry ice cream, I’m not interested,” she sings.
I step in. “Sorry to disappoint. Just me.”
Kennedy looks up from her iPad. “Ugh. Great, it’s the unfunny one.”
“I’m funnier than you.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the difference between a pizza and a baby?” I ask.
Kennedy frowns. “You can put pineapples on a baby?”
“A pizza doesn’t scream when you put it in the oven.”
“You need serious help,” says Kennedy.
“How’s your post-op recovery going?”
“I’m being discharged tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank God. I can start looking forward to work again.”
She flips me off. “Is Theo going to be here? I made him a goodbye card.”
