-- practically in her head -- still finds her unprepared, and she almost drops her cup of tea. The cup rattles in her hands, which -- yes, she confirms it -- are actually shaking.
She exhales slowly, then inhales slowly. She repeats this a few times.
When she is calm, she says, This isn't real.
And David says, But it is real, Tasneem.
Jesus, she says, hopping out of her seat and backing away from the window. How are you doing that? Who is doing that?
Tasneem. Tasneem, calm. Breathe.
It is what David would say.
She breathes, and she says, I need proof.
Of course you do, David says. I would be disappointed otherwise.
How do I know you aren't some asshole reporter camped out somewhere with a remote wave system and a voice modulator?
You don't, not yet, David says. Although I think you just made those two things up.
Despite herself, she almost laughs.
David chuckles, too.
Alright. Tell me something that --
-- that only I could know? Sure. Where should I begin? Oh, I know. You once kissed me. You thought that I didn't know, but I knew. You thought that I was asleep. You couldn't have known that it takes me a very long time to fall asleep. I used to practice my breathing to try to lull myself into sleep. That's what I was doing when you crept over and kissed me. You know, it probably should have been unsettling, but it wasn't. Do you want to know something else, Tasneem?
Tears are streaming down Tasneem's face.
That was my first kiss, Tasneem. You would have thought Audra would have been the first, but it was you.
Oh, David, Tasneem says. I wish I could hug you.
Imagine it, David says. Imagine it right now, quickly.
Tasneem closes her eyes and imagines David standing in front of her. She enfolds him and squeezes tightly. God, I wish this was real, she says.
That was nice, David says. Maybe the closest thing to physical contact I can enjoy now.
You felt that?
I can read your biorhythms, actually. I can extrapolate emotion from a rise in adrenaline, or a rush of endorphins, and the context in which that change occurs.
David, I --
You're confused. I know. Why don't you sit, have some tea. I'll try to explain. It's simple, really.
Tasneem returns to the window. Her tea is still warm enough to drink. She folds one leg beneath her, then looks across the table at an empty chair.
She laughs.
What is it?
I just realized, Tasneem says, that I don't know where to look when you talk to me.
Would you say that I am a well-prepared man?
Tasneem says, Sure. You always have been.
And would you say I have the talent of observing possible outcomes, and responding to them?
Yes. What are you trying to say?
Have I ever done a rash thing in my life?
I can't think of anything, Tasneem says.
Then answer me this: if you were me, and you were going to have the treatment done, what would you do beforehand?
Tasneem considers this. I'd research the treatment carefully.
I did that. But that's not what I mean.
I'd choose the doctor carefully, she says. I'd learn about the interviews, and prepare for them.
I did not do those things , David says , but then, I couldn't.
Why, David?
Later , David says. That's another topic altogether. But let's assume that, if I could have, I would have done those things. If you had been me, and you knew everything you could possibly know about the treatment -- what else would you have done?
I suppose I would have said my goodbyes, she says. Just in case.
That's not it, either , David says.
Okay, then I give, David. I don't know what you're talking about.
As she says the words, she realizes that she is slipping back into easy conversation with him. Almost as if he hasn't actually gone anywhere. As if he's right here.
A good scientist always --
-- saves his work, Tasneem says. Okay, but --
Think about it.
It dawns on her a moment later. Holy shit, she says. It's not possible. David, that's just not
She exhales slowly, then inhales slowly. She repeats this a few times.
When she is calm, she says, This isn't real.
And David says, But it is real, Tasneem.
Jesus, she says, hopping out of her seat and backing away from the window. How are you doing that? Who is doing that?
Tasneem. Tasneem, calm. Breathe.
It is what David would say.
She breathes, and she says, I need proof.
Of course you do, David says. I would be disappointed otherwise.
How do I know you aren't some asshole reporter camped out somewhere with a remote wave system and a voice modulator?
You don't, not yet, David says. Although I think you just made those two things up.
Despite herself, she almost laughs.
David chuckles, too.
Alright. Tell me something that --
-- that only I could know? Sure. Where should I begin? Oh, I know. You once kissed me. You thought that I didn't know, but I knew. You thought that I was asleep. You couldn't have known that it takes me a very long time to fall asleep. I used to practice my breathing to try to lull myself into sleep. That's what I was doing when you crept over and kissed me. You know, it probably should have been unsettling, but it wasn't. Do you want to know something else, Tasneem?
Tears are streaming down Tasneem's face.
That was my first kiss, Tasneem. You would have thought Audra would have been the first, but it was you.
Oh, David, Tasneem says. I wish I could hug you.
Imagine it, David says. Imagine it right now, quickly.
Tasneem closes her eyes and imagines David standing in front of her. She enfolds him and squeezes tightly. God, I wish this was real, she says.
That was nice, David says. Maybe the closest thing to physical contact I can enjoy now.
You felt that?
I can read your biorhythms, actually. I can extrapolate emotion from a rise in adrenaline, or a rush of endorphins, and the context in which that change occurs.
David, I --
You're confused. I know. Why don't you sit, have some tea. I'll try to explain. It's simple, really.
Tasneem returns to the window. Her tea is still warm enough to drink. She folds one leg beneath her, then looks across the table at an empty chair.
She laughs.
What is it?
I just realized, Tasneem says, that I don't know where to look when you talk to me.
Would you say that I am a well-prepared man?
Tasneem says, Sure. You always have been.
And would you say I have the talent of observing possible outcomes, and responding to them?
Yes. What are you trying to say?
Have I ever done a rash thing in my life?
I can't think of anything, Tasneem says.
Then answer me this: if you were me, and you were going to have the treatment done, what would you do beforehand?
Tasneem considers this. I'd research the treatment carefully.
I did that. But that's not what I mean.
I'd choose the doctor carefully, she says. I'd learn about the interviews, and prepare for them.
I did not do those things , David says , but then, I couldn't.
Why, David?
Later , David says. That's another topic altogether. But let's assume that, if I could have, I would have done those things. If you had been me, and you knew everything you could possibly know about the treatment -- what else would you have done?
I suppose I would have said my goodbyes, she says. Just in case.
That's not it, either , David says.
Okay, then I give, David. I don't know what you're talking about.
As she says the words, she realizes that she is slipping back into easy conversation with him. Almost as if he hasn't actually gone anywhere. As if he's right here.
A good scientist always --
-- saves his work, Tasneem says. Okay, but --
Think about it.
It dawns on her a moment later. Holy shit, she says. It's not possible. David, that's just not
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