The second I get out of the meeting I text Kattar - willing myself not to think until after I press send.

‘Hey Kat, can I come over? I have something really important to tell you.’

There’s a brief pause - a longer pause than it takes to text anything he could be trying to say - I almost scream in the space in between.

‘Sure.’

I start toward the subway station and try - fruitlessly - to look composed - oblivious to the rain soaking into my hair and my coat. I’m exploding at the seams with nerves and ecstasy.

This is real - if the award ceremony and winning the prize have yet to sink in - today is really real - really happening-

But who do I have to tell, besides Kattar?

For the first time in a long time, I wish I could call my mom - but I know I shouldn't dwell on that - it would only ruin today. 

I shove that thought to the side - smother it with a blanket - and text Kattar’s mom instead. She deserves that much, hard as it is.

In ten seconds my phone is exploding in my hand - I fumble not to drop it on the pavement as I swipe up to accept Mrs. Moon’s call. 

Her voice is shrill, screaming with excitement and she speaks so quickly I can hardly make out the words as they blur into one, euphoric squeal.

“My Darling! My God! Querida! I’m so proud of you, sweetheart! I can hardly believe it - but of course, I knew you were so talented - but my god! Are you breathing? You didn’t even tell me to sit down! You know I’m not so young anymore - I almost had a heart attack-”

I laugh into the receiver as she pauses to breathe. When she speaks again, she’s calmed down some, and her voice washes over me like a warm breeze.

“Ohhhh, my darling. I’m so happy for you. We’ll have to celebrate - not next week, because I have a business trip to California - but definitely this month - hopefully before Christmas, but no later than New Year’s, okay? I’ll call you back soon, after work - I have a client but I didn’t want to forget. Kiss kiss. I’ll talk to you later, darling. I love you.”

Just like that the phone clicks on the other end, but I’m irradiated by the afterglow, even after the silence settles in her wake. I slide my phone into my coat pocket and make my way down the stairs of the subway station.

40 minutes later, I emerge from the cigarette-stinking, smelly abyss and walk the few blocks to Kattar’s place, with a lightness in my step that I haven’t felt since…maybe ever. When was the last time I felt this vibrant? Age nine or ten?

I use my key to get into the apartment building, rather than calling at the intercom, and, though I’m wearing high heels, I take the stairs - dragging the five or six-minute trip to the fifth floor into a fifteen-minute escapade - pausing at each landing to take a deep breath and brace myself.

When I reach the door, I raise my left hand to knock, but a voice calls, “It’s not locked. Come in.”

I turn the knob, letting the door swing in at its own pace.

Kattar is waiting in the living room when I step in, smiling impatiently. 

All the beating around the bush - hem-and-hawing - I had planned on using to tease him a little fly out the window and I blurt:

“I’m a ‘Rainbow Ocean!’ I’m signed to The Vegerra Foundation!”

His eyes get huge, rounding out into full moons, and shining like stars, lips parted in stunned surprise-

And he looks so beautiful that for one second, I’m aware of an uncomfortably strong sensation - thrills made of fire -

I keep talking to distract myself.

“I met with them today, just before I called you - their office building is the weirdest thing ever - like a fever dream - but they’re paying for me to have an agent - I picked him myself, and we’re gonna start working together next week.”

Kattar starts - just the tiniest little flinch - when I say ‘him.’ His mouth opens, but he hesitates - shaking his head, before saying.

“The agent’s a guy?”

“Oh yeah,” I say casually, choosing to ignore the slight redness rising in his cheeks. "He seems really nice. I had two other options, but I just decided to go with him since I liked his energy.”

There’s an expression I’ve never seen before in Kattar’s eyes. 

Jealousy? Disappointment? Something like a flash of black fire - and it rattles me.

He’s always been so good at hiding what he was thinking, up until now. 

But maybe he’s just tired today…

I shift uncomfortably, and try to change the subject, taking a seat on the sofa next to his wheelchair, and saying lightly:

“What are your plans for the next few weeks? Other than your mom’s Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties-?”

“I’m going to be learning to walk again,” he says brusquely, in a tone that feels like stabbing. I try not to let my smile tremble - but my eyes sting. I won’t let him make me cry…

“How long do the doctors expect the process to take?” 

He stubbornly refuses to look at me, running his fingers over the arm of his chair.

“It takes two years for infants,’ it’s almost a mutter, “I don’t see why I should be any different.”

I feel my obstinacy dissolve - angry and sorry at the same time - the feelings butt heads, into pathetic, watery disillusion.

“I’ll come keep you company when I can,” I say meekly.

Frustration boils in his eyes - sharp words seeming to simmer under the surface - but he just sighs, defeatedly.

“Thanks.” But I don’t think he means it.

I don’t know whether I want to scream or cry. Probably both.

This can’t be real life. This can’t be us.

And I wish… I could make myself say something - but then - I’m just the ghost on the outside - watching helplessly as my body says goodbye to the boy with the angry, dark eyes, and makes the long trek home.

I beat the snow off my shoes in the front entry, letting the stray flakes melt into little dirty pools that melt into the carpet, and slam the door like breaking something else could unbreak me - unshatter my emotions. 

I scream something between a shriek and a wail and kick the door, glad there’s nobody close enough to hear me. Then, throwing my shoes against the wall I march up the stairs into the bathroom and set the tub running. I drizzle a long line of pinkish-blue solution into the steamy stream, and the artificial ocean, until the bathroom smells like a chemically engineered garden.

I hate the smell of flowers, but Mrs. Moon bought me this bath-and-body kit ten Christmases ago, and it’s about time I use it.

Throwing my slacks and stockings into a pile on the cold floor, I sink heavily into the mountain of lavender bubble bath, hugging my sudsy knees to my chin, in as close to the fetal position as I can manage - without drowning.

My mind flashes through thoughts as slideshows and snapshots of time - faces - yesterday - today - Kattar - Mrs. Moon - Shannon Carmichael - Mrs. King - Kattar - Kattar - Kattar.

I’ve seen that look in his eyes too many times at this point - that bright, gentle, fire, that makes my heart burn through my skin.

If I was younger I would let myself imagine he’s in love with me - but one of us has too much or too little ego for that to be easy to believe-

-If he was any other guy, I would just expect that the fact that he’s never said so meant he isn’t in love with me, but there's never been any way of telling with him - never any sure signs of anything - whenever he could help it.

He’s always loved his privacy. Always been willing to listen to but rarely volunteered any vulnerability.

He would save me ten thousand and one times from my regrets - all my demons - if he could - but if he has any - if he ever needs saving - he keeps that to himself - with a Prince Charming complex as impressive as it is imposing, and impenetrable. A statuesque little carved-from-marble god. And I’m mortal. I hate feelings - and I need them.

That’s what was different between him and Etan. 

Etan was chaotic - sometimes - most of the time - crazy and volatile and turbulent - but he told me how he felt about me. He told me…

And when he was mad - he was terrifying - but he rarely tried to hide his emotions - he let them explode out like scorching variegated fireworks-

But he told me I was beautiful - which Kattar has never been willing to do.

I remember when Mrs. Moon dragged me out of the bathroom from doing my makeup that first time and showed me to Kattar - how I burned with embarrassment and begged him with my eyes for a little affirmation-

“Tell ‘Licia how pretty she is.”

“Do I have to?”

I wipe the salt water from my face with the heel of my palm, getting soap on my lash line - bringing the burning into my eyes - and the tears.

I was so stupid for hoping…

That was the only time he’d ever made me cry - before today. That and every time I remember.