Page 77 of Dead Set on You
Oh Mamma Mia.He’s been out of the race for as long as I have.
Whatever he’s hiding might … it might not have anything to do with Media Lab.
Take that.Coma Evie jabs her finger into Pre-Coma Evie’s chest.He hasn’t been back at work.
And if he hasn’t been at work, he’s been elsewhere.Planning your demise.Pre-Coma Evie props her fists on her hips.He wanted to make sure he wasn’t distracted.
I force both voices from my mind, because I need to think clearly and piece it together already. I replay the conversation. Rafael hasn’t returned to Media Lab since the accident.Blame it on guilt,Pre-Coma Evie says.Guilt can get to a person.
Does he look like he’s guilty?Coma Evie, the one who notices his hands and muscles, offers.Plus, look at those eyes. If anything, he was traumatized and needed time off.
Rafael looks neither guilty nor traumatized. He looksgood. Whatever his reasons for taking time off, it has nothing to do with me.Nothing.
No matter how much Pre-Coma Evie would like to convince me otherwise, I don’t think Rafael has some elaborate plan to beat me while I’m down.
I let the realization settle.
Something stirs in my chest—tight and unfamiliar, like I’m expanding too fast from the inside out. It presses against my ribs, making it hard to breathe. Rafael watches me, and I will my outside to appear less vulnerable than my inside. “Rafael?”
“Evie?” He holds my gaze.
“I think I figured out my unfinished business.”
CHAPTER NINETEENTEN DAYS AFTER (LATER THAT DAY)
There are secrets, and there are things I wouldn’t admit out loud, not even to myself.
Like WWRD—What would Rafael do?It’s a question I’ve asked myself more times than I care to count—whenever I’ve been stuck or stumped. Because (for better or worse) Rafael always has a way out of situations. A half-assed solution. A witty response. Whatever it is, I’ve never seen Rafael fall apart under pressure. I both hate and admire that about him. While I’d never,everadmit to using him as a way to motivate myself, it has often helped.
And now, with time pressing so crushingly against my spirit—literal and figurative—and a bucket list that might be my way back into my body, I ask myself:WWRD?
Would he hand his nemesis his deepest, most secret dreams and wishes?
Would he put himself out there if it meant getting back to his life?
I thinkyes. Hell yes.
So I blameWWRDfor bringing us to my apartment. More specifically, my kitchen, where Rafael’s ordered himself a large deep-dish pizza and a bucket of wings. He’s halfway through his second slice when he asks, “So? Plan on telling me yourwhyanytime soon?”
No! Yes!
My stomach knots the more I think about telling him about the bucket list. He’ll probably think it’s silly or stupid—likely both. Or maybe that I’m wrong … because I don’t know forsurethat the bucket list is my unfinished business. It could have been the sun searing my brain cells and playing tricks on my mind, making me feel like I was onto something and …
“I can practically see the fumes coming out of your ears,” Rafael says, stopping midchew. “Whatever’s got you looking like you’re trying to solve an episode ofBlack Mirror, get it out, E.”
I think about chickening out, buthewouldn’t.
I take a deep breath.
Time to WWRD.
I start. “Before I get to the details,I was wondering if our roles were reversed and you hadn’t gotten to all the things you wanted to do and had a few days left to figure it out …”
Rafael goes still, making me wonder if the pizza has lodged itself in his throat. “You don’t know that.” His hard tone makes my chest feel too tight again. I press my hand to the place between my ribs, where the pressure is the strongest, and I’m wondering if it’s a heart issue and not a head issue I’ve suffered.
“Well, I don’t know anything for sure,” I clarify, “But what I want to know is—what would Rafael do? In my place?” It feels strange to speakWWRDaloud when it’s only been something I’ve kept to myself, but I can’t take it back, nor do I want to. “If you were in my shoes, what would you be doing with the time you had left?”
Rafael sets the rest of the slice on a plate and leans forward, a faint smile playing on his lips. “If you must know what I’d bedoing, I’d probably spend it at Abuela’s house. The backyard, food for days, and the family going about their day.” He shrugs. “Can’t ask for more.”
