It’s the Frank Sinatra hour, on “Oldie but a Goodie.” The same six songs for sixty minutes straight. 

“Fly Me to the Moon” has played seven times by the end of the ‘marathon’ as I pull into the hospital parking lot and ease the car into a shady space by the front door.

The place looks like a wasteland. There are no cars other than mine - though there’s probably separate parking for doctors and staff - nothing in the whole area but a styrofoam container tumbling over the pavement like an urban tumbleweed. 

I guess that’s a good thing?

I shove the car door shut with one foot, my arms too full of bags of scones and paper boxes of overly expensive pastry for any bending over, unless I'm looking to give the pigeons the best meal of their lives.

I push the ‘lock’ button on my keys twice for good measure, watching the lights flash like the car is blinking back tears.

The sound of my footsteps on the pavement rebounds off of one wall and strikes the other - bouncing back again - a noisy game of echo tennis.

The receptionist just waves me through when I enter the lobby, talking hurriedly to someone on the landline. 

I hit the button for the elevator with my elbow and slide between the metal doors at the same time as a tall woman in a blue scrub with extremely gray hair. She smiles at me grimly.

“Which floor?” 

“Um, four.”

She pushes the button with an exasperated sigh, crossing her arms as it lights up and staring at the ceiling of the elevator as if that would make it rise faster. I fidget with the paper bags, feeling like all the air has been sucked out of the small space. I pity the patient she’s going to work with.

When the door opens she heads down the hallway in the same direction I’m headed. 

Oh, great.

As she stops in front of Kattar’s door, aggressively pulling on some blue gloves, I think of texting Kattar and saying I’ll wait in the lobby until the nurse’s visit is over.

I couldn’t possibly be early. They couldn’t have waved me through before visitors’ hours, but there is obviously something wrong - something somebody overlooked or did incorrectly, most likely, judging by the angry nurse’s posture-

No one would be that angry with someone who was actually in trouble, right?

I try not to eavesdrop as she opens the door and I hear Kattar’s voice give a little start of surprise.

“Oh, Mrs. Foster. Sorry. I was just expecting a visitor and I thought you were her…”

No reply to that. The voice snaps frigidly.

“You still haven’t taken the medication I see.”

Silence. But I can imagine Kattar looking at her with that steady defiance…

“You know we can’t make you do anything, but you’re going to cause yourself a whole lot of trouble…”

I inch a little closer and knock hesitantly on the halfway-open door.

“Kat…?”

“You can come in, Alicia. You’re not too early.”

I hesitate, shaking my head at that same magical ability of his to tell what I’m thinking before I’ve even said it.

As I inch around the corner, I see the nurse standing with her hands on her hips, but Kattar’s eyes aren’t on her face, eagerly watching my approach. She glances in my direction with a look of disgust, and he turns his attention back to her with the sweetest good-little-boy expression.

“Could we talk about it later, Mrs. Foster?” 

I almost expect him to bat his eyes. She sort of scoffs, rolling her eyes, but even so I watch the frustration escaping against her will as she sighs with a wave of her hand, and turns to leave.

Kat grins sheepishly in my direction as the door closes behind her with a metallic click. I take the seat by the window, watching the closed door and the empty air where the nurse stood like I can still see her shadow, brain-rattling with confusion. I shake my head to try to steady it as I turn to face him.

“What exactly is the problem?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, “Everything’s fine. How did the interview go?”

I watch his face for some telltale sign of the lie, a trace of wavering to explain what I just heard, but he’s inscrutable, smiling with a brightness that washes out whatever he’s hiding like a blazing shadow.

He’s too good at this.

“It was fine,” I sigh slowly, not really wanting to go digging through that trainwreck of thought again now. “They’re going to get me a new agent, but I’m going to have to answer a lot of questions about…what happened.”

“I guess that only makes sense,” he sighs, “How are you f-”

“I’m doing fine,” I cut him off. But he can see my discomfort - read the silent plea in my expression for him to talk about anything else. 

I guess I’m no good at lying.

He seems to sigh somewhere so deep inside him it’s like his posture deflates. But he sits back against the pillows and doesn’t ask me any more questions.

I smooth my skirt with one hand to keep from ringing my wrists, he watches the motion vaguely, as I try to change the subject to something lighter.

“Andrew’s going to be in the area for a few weeks for work stuff sometime soon. He wants us to all meet up and get lunch sometime before he goes back to Mexico. You’ll get to meet his business partner.”

He seems to brighten at that, smiling until his eyes turn into those toppled-over parentheses.

“That’ll be nice. We haven’t seen him in ages, literally. I wonder if he’s grown a real beard yet.”

“That’s doubtful. He still can’t even drink a real cup of coffee.”

“Ha,” he shakes his head, his cheeks turning a pretty rosy color that makes my own redden a little.

“Um…” I say a tad slowly, fighting the embarrassment tying my tongue into knots, “Do you think, maybe, we’d be able to get dinner together sometime before then, just the two of us?”

“Oh.” His lips part - eyes getting a little rounder than usual. “Oh, y-yeah. I think so. I’m supposed to be released Wednesday, and Utkarsh is gonna drive me home. It’ll be so nice to be in my own clothes again.” He adds with a cross between a laugh and a sigh.

“You must have been dying stuck in that white dress for all this time,” I can’t help teasing, “It’s not even stylish.”

He smiles roguishly, and I realize too late that I’ve walked right into the rebuttal-

“Yeah, it looks kinda like something you would have bought.”

“Ha ha,” I roll my eyes, but I guess I earned that, considering the amount of tee-shirt dresses adorning my hangers. The only advantage they have over the hospital gowns is that they close all the way. I shutter thinking about reliving another “wrap-dress-fiasco.” Then I hesitate, biting my lip.

“You know, your mom told me the pink dress looks like something you would have bought me.”

There’s a flicker in his face his expression, as he grows a little flusher.

“I hadn’t realized she paid that much attention,” he says a little saltily.

I’m not exactly sure what to say in response, and squeeze my knees, listening to the crinkle of the fabric…

“Are you guys doing something big for your birthday this year?”

He sighs before he answers, “Yeah, but not on our normal schedule. Mom has a lot of work stuff on her plate, between that kid’s competition and the magazine’s anniversary issue, so it’s gonna be postponed until April-”

“Good,” I say before I can stop myself, and I’m not even sure why I said it. Kattar looks at me sideways like I’m crazy.

Maybe I am crazy - I’m sure I was completely baffled that she would put his birthday on the backburner in favor of some children’s writing competition, but my mouth keeps talking faster than my brain can keep up-

“I mean, not good, if you’re disappointed about the party, but I…”

Deep breath.

“-I’d like to plan you a little birthday something if that’s okay with you.”

He’s still looking at me like I’m out of my mind, but there’s a hint of interest in the dark eyes, behind the expression he keeps blank enough to completely - almost completely - mask what he’s thinking.

“Have at it if you like, but I’m warning you, my mom’s set a high bar. She made me a little bit of a party connoisseur, you know. You think you can impress me?”

“Oh yeah,” I smirk, crossing my legs with a diva-ish air, “That’s not a concern.”

I dare to smile a little teasingly and watch the poker face waver, just a tad -

“-I have a certain secret weapon that your mother didn’t make.”

The color deepens from his cheeks to his ears under the faint shadow of his mane.

Gotcha.