Darla patted the top of his head. “You’re my friend, idiot.”
“Thanks,” he answered. “Are you just my friend because you think you can use me for a better future?”
She winked. “Nah, kid. But now you’re catching on.”
It was Ainsley who brought him breakfast. It was one of his father’s MREs: a biscuit with sausage gravy, and it was room temperature and gelatinous. He gagged it down, under Ainsley’s faithful eye, and then handed her the debris.
She made a face at the leftover brown goop before dumping the remaining packaging into the wastebasket by his desk.
“Some future, huh?” she said nodding toward the container.
“What’d you have for breakfast?” Ethan asked incredulously.
“I haven’t had anything yet,” she answered, stepping in for her nursing rounds, which Ethan thought seemed like nothing more than making sure he didn’t have a temperature and that his heart was still beating. He certainly didn’t need Ainsley’s warm body leaning over his, touching his arms, his chest, to tell her that he didn’t have a fever and he was, in fact alive.
“When I’m up here eating that shit, I just keep imagining that it’s a big party downstairs and you’re all feasting on bacon, eggs, pancakes,” he paused and assessed her reaction. She didn’t even glance at him. “That’s ridiculous, I know.”
Ainsley shrugged. “I’ve dreamed about milkshakes for the last two nights,” she said. “Giant, cold, smooth, chocolate milkshakes. Except in one dream, the milkshake was talking. I don’t know what that was about.”
Ethan paused. Besides divulging that she was a nursing student, it was the first time Ainsley had muttered anything about herself. It wasn’t revealing or intriguing, but it was a start. Darla’s comment about Ainsley’s potential attraction played on a loop as he watched the girl take his blood pressure, her hand on his arm, clammy and soft. He debated about whether or not she was pretty.
He cleared his throat.
“I feel isolated up here,” he said. “Alone.” The truth felt nice to say, but he worried that Ainsley would shred his honesty and leave him wanting. His mind wandered to Anna. God, he missed Anna. How had they started? It was so long ago. He was a senior, and she was a sophomore. She sent him a semi-flirtatious text message and he showed it to his friends. They mocked her lack of subtlety, but the conversation shifted: should he ask her out? He did. Winter Formal first. A barrage of photos, doting parents, group dinner, a sweaty and boiling ballroom, rigid formal pictures—his hand placed on her waist by the overweight portrait studio photographer, who winked at him as Anna adjusted her corsage.
There was no courting Anna, no masterful feats of dating acumen. They just clicked. She was simple and didn’t require him to put on a song and dance for her. They were content with ordering pizza and watching movies, sitting in silence. He loved her. And he missed her. No matter how much Lucy hated Anna and mocked him for dating her, Anna was always there for him. She just wanted to be loved. So, he loved her.
Even entertaining Ainsley’s crush seemed like a monumental betrayal to his girlfriend, not even three-weeks dead.
He pushed aside Darla’s innuendo. This girl was not for him—even if she might be the only girl his age left in existence. He pined for Anna; wished it was Anna’s hands helping him, Anna gently wiping away the blood on his stumpy wound, inspecting his surgery scars with tenderness and not disgust.
Ainsley sighed. “Everyone’s alone no matter where they go,” she replied. “Even in a big house full of people.”
“Comedian and philosopher now,” Ethan answered with bite. He didn’t need another Darla who seemed to physically balk at validating his worries and insecurities. It became even more evident that he was a stranger in his own house. Ainsley finished her routine with detached steadiness. He watched her; she never responded to his comeback—didn’t flinch, didn’t narrow her eyes, or crack a smile.
It was like he didn’t exist.
She wasn’t pretty, Ethan thought. Her nose was too big, her hair too frizzy. She was too thin and angular. And her perpetual frown made her seem older than her twenty years.
“Pain level?” she asked.
“Just go away,” Ethan whispered. He regretted it the moment he said it and he wished to take it back, but it was liberating too. He closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest and breathed in and out at steady intervals. “Please,” he added to soften the blow.
“Whatever you want, boss,” Ainsley answered in a calm voice. She finished her inspection though and noted his vitals on the notebook paper chart doctor Krause had created. She shook out his pills and placed them on his bed stand, within reach, and then turned her back and walked out without another word. Ethan caught a glimpse of Ainsley as she turned the knob in her hand before shutting the door. Her eyes were dark and empty, bottomless, unreadable.
He trembled and tucked his blanket up under his armpits and stared at the ceiling.
Darla didn’t knock. She opened Ethan’s door and walked right up to Ethan’s bedside. Since that morning, she had changed into her trademark black leggings and her white tank-top; she stood with her feet apart and her arms crossed, her gun back in its holster, visible and gleaming. The outfit indicated that she was heading out to hunt—even without a population to trade with, Darla took long trips exploring the area. She said she was out looking for others, survivors, but the effort was futile.
“Heading out?” Ethan asked.
Like thunder, Teddy’s footsteps raced down the hallway and came to a stop outside the door. Then Ethan saw the child peek around the door, his eyes wide, full of mischievous curiosity.
“Mo-om,” the child said, drawing his mother’s name into two syllables. “Hey, Uncle Ethan. Do you have more of the alien toys?” Teddy trotted into the room and over to Ethan’s bed.
“Hey buddy. I do. You like playing with them?” Ethan rolled his head to look at the child—his eagerness palpable.
“Joey plays Star Wars with me. We have sword fights, like this.” Teddy brandished an imaginary sword and swung it around his head, emitting the familiar drone of kids playing with light sabers filled the room. Ethan felt a rush of nostalgia; he looked away.
Dropping to her knees beside Teddy, Darla brushed a wisp of sandy-colored hair away from the boy’s face. She kissed him on his forehead and pulled him in for a hug. “Teddy, Mommy is going to talk to Ethan now. Like we talked about, okay? I’ll be right down. Then we’ll go to the park.”
“You’re packing heat to go to the park?” Ethan mumbled down to them. Darla shot him a look.
“It’s not unwise to be careful,” she said through clenched teeth. Then looking back to Teddy, she physically turned him toward the door and gave him a tender pat on his bottom, sending him scampering away—buzzing and humming his sword noises as he went.
“Park outings, huh? I thought you were scouring the area for life and supplies.”
“Jesus, Ethan. I’m a mom. Teddy’s everything to me and I’m not going to let him hide away in the dark, afraid, all the time. So, I’m going to the damn park. Sorry that you don’t approve,” Darla stood and crossed her arms.
“He’ll never get a real childhood,” Ethan said in a half-whisper. “He’ll never get to watch a movie in the theater or have friends.”
“It’s a little early to predict what will and won’t happen in my child’s life.”
“What kind of life is this?”
Darla sighed. “You do the best you can with what you have. Always. That’s what I’m doing.”