Page 58 of Follow My Voice
There are so many things I want to ask him, especially about Perla. She warned me about him; maybe she knew I would get my hopes up only to find out that he was simply trying to help me.
Me:All good.
I send the text and sit staring at my phone, thinking about what I’m going to do now. I told Kamila that I was going to ride home with friends; she’ll worry if I ask her to come get me now. Besides, the hospital is not close; it would take her a while to get here.
Would Perla be able to give me a ride?
I quickly brush that idea aside. I don’t feel like seeing Perla right now, either. We’re just starting to establish a friendship and I don’t want her to see my face all red from crying.
Maybe I should just get an Uber. But somehow the idea of a stranger seeing the state I’m in is even more terrifying than being stuck on campus.
Diego.
For some reason I don’t mind him seeing me so vulnerable; maybe because he saw me at my worst when I was receiving my chemo alongside his father.
I scroll through the group chat for our class and find his number. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
Me:Have you left yet?
I pray he hasn’t, because otherwise I’ll have no choice but to ask Kamila to come get me, or Andy, who always leaves the law firm late. A few minutes go by with no response and I start to lose hope, until, finally:
Diego:Still here, picking up the paintings from last Friday’s exhibit.
Me:Where are you? Are there people with you?
I don’t want anyone else to see my red, swollen face.
Diego:Just me, in the auditorium.
And then I get another text from him:
Diego:Why so many questions? Are you okay?
Me:I’m fine, I was just wondering if you could give me a ride home. If you can’t, don’t worry.
Diego:Of course, on the way we can stop for the best strawberry Jell-O in the world.
And right there, I smile.
Diego:Come to the auditorium, I’m almost finished. I’ll wait here.
I tell him I’m on my way and stand up, rubbing my cheeks in a futile attempt to disguise the fact that I’ve been crying. I take a deep breath and open the door, then poke my head out to make sure the hallway is empty.
As I make my way to Diego, memories of Kang flash in my mind. I can almost see him standing there smiling at me, waving goodbye.
“It’s an honor to finally meet the mysterious K.”
“You don’t have to hide, Klara—you’re very… hot.”
“Hello, Klara with a K.”
“Damn, you’ve got such a nice smile.”
What am I to you, Kang?I can’t help but ask myself this question as I walk through the entrance to the auditorium. Inside, it’s biggerthan I expected, with three sections of seating. I walk down one of the aisles toward the stage, where I see Diego moving paintings around behind the open curtains in the back. He’s slightly sweaty and has a few strands of red hair stuck to his forehead. He smiles when he notices me and carefully lowers the canvas he’s holding. His smile fades, however, as I step closer and he gets a look at my face.
“Are you okay?” he asks, stepping forward. The concern in his voice is obvious. “Klara?”
He used my name—a first. Another obvious sign he’s concerned.
