Page 20 of The New Couple in 5B

A cackling voice, impossibly loud, follows us out the door.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

Out on the street, I lean against the building, struggling for air, to hold on to my consciousness. Max leaves me to get water but comes back quickly with a bottle, cracks it open.

It’s not just me; other people have left the theater, too. I see a young man breathing off an inhaler. Another woman coughing uncontrollably. I look around for the strange woman from the theater, having the unexplainable feeling that she followed us out. But she’s nowhere to be seen.

“I think it was the smoke machine,” says Max.

It wasn’t. Not for me. I had a panic attack. I can count all the things that might have brought it on. Ivan’s death. Our money worries. Dana’s visit. The apartment. The call from my sister. The incident in the basement of the Windermere. All moments, as my therapist and I have identified, when I’ve felt out of control, at the mercy of things larger than myself, powerless, helpless.

Chad comes rushing out the side door, still in costume, his makeup still terrifying.

“Rosie,” he says, coming right to me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, looking past his wrinkles and warts, right to his eyes. “You were amazing.”

“Was it a panic attack?” he asks, pulling me tight to his body. I take in the familiar scent of him.

“Or the smoke machine?” I offer, embarrassed to have my issues be ruining his night. “I couldn’t breathe.”

My airways are opening, fear has passed, leaving my hands still slightly shaking, adrenaline still pulsing.

He pulls back to put a hand on each cheek, his gaze searching. “You’re under too much stress, Rosie. This happens when we’re not looking out for you.”

“I’m okay,” I say, eager for it to be so. “The desk, the box, the flowers...thank you.”

“Ah, you found it,” he says, pleased.

His fingers lace through mine. Everything around us disappears. It’s only us.

“I saw it, Rosie,” he whispers, leaning in close. “The pregnancy test in the wastepaper basket.”

I shake my head—sadness, embarrassment, welling. His eyes search mine with love, compassion.

“Itwillhappen, Rosie,” he says. “I promise. When it’s our time, it will just happen.”

I nod, wanting to believe him, glad not to have to hide it from him.

“Remember,” he whispers. “I care about one thing in this world. You.”

We press our foreheads together, the rubbery nose of his horrible mask rubbing against my cheek. Finally, reluctantly, he pulls away.

After he disappears back inside, I take a few minutes to pull myself together.

“Let me guess,” says Max, who knows me too well. “You skipped lunch.”

He magically produces a bag of nuts from his pocket, and I gratefully scarf them down and drink the water as we walk back inside. The usher lets us in between scenes.

When we take our seats again, I look across the aisle to find with relief that the woman is gone, her seat empty.

I barely see the rest of the play, so lost am I in the chaos of my thoughts.

six

It’s moving day.

The bright morning is fresh and cool in the way of new beginnings. But I am groggy with lack of sleep, and Chad’s chipper mood is not doing anything to improve mine.