Comedic Timing

Chapter XIII

XIII

On my fifth day of not speaking to David, Chloe rushes to my desk, forehead creased.

“Naina, we need to go now ,” she says, reaching for my chair and spinning it away from my computer. “Where’s your bag? Grab it. Let’s go.”

“Chloe, what the fuck,” I respond, clumsily dropping my phone. “What’s going on?”

“David just called me ,” she says. “He says he couldn’t reach you. Christian got into a bike accident. He says he’s going to be okay, but David sounds... not okay. We need to go .”

We approach Alice, who is battling a cold and blowing her nose into a tissue. “Alice,” Chloe says, “our friend is in the hospital. We need to leave right now.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, sniffling. “Both of you?”

“Yes,” Chloe says. “So, we’re going now, okay?”

“All right,” Alice responds, turning away from us. “As long as your work is finished.”

“It’s not,” Chloe says. “But our friend is in the hospital, so we’ll finish it later.”

Alice shrugs. “All right.”

“What a bitch,” I say while Chloe calls us a car in the elevator. I’m restless now, spewing a million questions: How badly is Christian hurt? What did David sound like on the phone? How long ago did it happen? How far is this hospital?

The weary nurse at the emergency room reception says only one of us can go in. Wordlessly, Chloe sits down in the waiting room and gestures toward me. My restlessness morphs into hesitation—I can’t stand hospitals, the smell of them, the sound of patients in pain, the dodging of gurneys. I sanitize my hands, applying more pressure than I need to. I take a moment to collect myself. Then I begin my search for Christian and David.

I get lost in a maze of beeping machines and cubby-like rooms. Doctors and family members are too absorbed by their duties and tragedies to notice me circling around helplessly. I actively push thoughts of previous visits to halls like these out of my mind. I know I need to find my friends soon, before my brain jumps the track. I make eye contact with a woman stressfully dabbing at her wet, flushed cheeks. Realizing I’ve passed by her four times now, I finally give up and call David. He answers on the first ring.

“Naina,” he says, “are you here?”

“Yes, but I can’t find you.”

“Walk straight from reception. We’re last on the right.”

I trace my footsteps back until I find David’s back poking out from behind a curtain, the left side of his body leaning against the wall. I say his name, and he shoots up, pushing the curtain open. His eyes are pink and puffy. Christian is a lump under layers of sheets, nose pointing toward the ceiling.

David pulls me into him. “Christian, Naina’s here,” he says, still embracing me. Christian waves. “Hi, Naina,” he says weakly. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’m so glad you’re talking and that you’re okay, Christian,” I say, leaning over him. “Or that you seem okay?”

“He will be. Right, Christian? Rana is on her way, too.” David pats Christian’s leg. My heart swells at David’s tenderness toward his best friend and the relief of hearing Christian speak.

“Chloe brought me here,” I tell them. “She’s in the waiting room. Only two people at a time.”

David nods. “I drove here,” he says. “Christian’s car. He called me from the ambulance.”

Christian smiles and looks back up at the ceiling. I motion for David to step outside of the room, and he does, closing the curtain.

“What happened?” I whisper. Christian starts to explain, but David interjects, urging him to rest. He explains that Christian was leaving work early, biking home, when a car turned into him and knocked him off his cycle. His shoulder is probably broken. Luckily, he was wearing a helmet—he’d learned his lesson from the last time he fell—but he will need a CT scan. They’re waiting on X-rays.

David exhales a gust of air and shakes his head, placing his hands over his eyes. “The doctor told me that car and bike accidents go up by 20percent during the winter,” he whispers. “I know I’m not the one who got hit, but I think I am about to lose it. I need a Xanax or something.”

I rub David’s left forearm. His sweatshirt is bunched up at his elbows. I think about him driving Christian’s car, making his cautious turns, double-checking the mirrors, keeping the music low to concentrate.

“You’re allowed to not be okay,” I reply. “I know what this is like.”

He chuckles, like he can’t deal with himself right now, and tears stream down his face. I hug him, hard, my head pressing against his chest. My own anxiety at being here melds with gratitude that I can be here with him, that I can bring him comfort.

“I’ll be okay,” he says, pulling away. “I’m just emotional. It’s not about me. I don’t want to have an anxiety attack when Christian needs me. And anyway, the hospital staff needs me to save them from Christian.”

“I can hear everything you’re saying,” Christian calls from behind the curtain.

David rolls his eyes. “You need more drugs or something,” he calls back. “You should be asleep.”

“Do you know when my parents will be here?”

“They’re on their way. Driving down right now,” David says.

“My mom is going to be so pissed at me. She hates that I bike in the city.”

“She won’t be pissed,” I respond, pulling the curtain back open. “She’s going to be so relieved. And then maybe later she’ll be a little pissed, but you don’t need to worry about that.”

David and I sit back down to talk to Christian, hoping to bring some levity to the moment. He’s on painkillers, mostly ibuprofen, despite begging the doctor for Vicodin. I distract him with a rant about Alice, specifically her annoyance that I had to leave work for an emergency.

“I honestly think she needs to go on a date. Or make a friend,” I say. “That might put her in a good mood.”

“Is she cute?” Christian asks. I shrug. “Once I’m better... I got you. Put me in the same room as her, and I’ll take care of the rest.” He gives me a thumbs-up with his good arm but still winces as he moves it.

“The meds are affecting your judgment,” David says.

After an hour of us attempting to pass the time, a doctor appears with the X-ray results. Christian has indeed broken his shoulder, in three places. Christian stares catatonically as he absorbs this information, our small dose of humor draining away. The doctor leaves just as quickly as he arrived. David turns to Christian, apologetic.

“Your parents will be here in thirty minutes or so,” David says, checking his phone. The curtain flies open, and Chloe appears this time.

“I snuck in,” she says, shrugging at me. She sits on the edge of Christian’s bed and squeezes his ankle. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispers.

“Me too,” Christian says, cocking his head to the side. “You’re so pretty.”

Chloe places a hand on her chest, endeared by Christian’s still intact charisma.

David’s leaning his head against the wall, eyes closed, seemingly taking deep breaths. I exchange a glance with Chloe, who gives me a consolatory nod. “Go,” she mouths, making a shooing motion with her hands.

“Christian, how about I spend some time with you until your parents get here,” Chloe says, smoothing the sheets. Christian looks at David, then me, then smiles at Chloe.

“David, can I drive you home?” I ask.

David shrugs weakly, eyes still closed.

“Thank you for coming here,” Christian tells him. “I know hospitals are tough for you. I needed you and you came. I love you.”

David opens his eyes, tears running down his cheeks again. He stands up to pat Christian’s knee.

“I was excited to finally call you today,” David murmurs, his head in his hands. “And then this happened.”

I’m driving Christian’s car, focusing closely on this job I’ve given myself to get David home safely. I haven’t driven since I left Chicago and have always hated being behind the wheel. I didn’t tell David this, though. When we exited the hospital, I held my palm open, and he placed Christian’s keys in it.

“Life is boring and mundane until it’s not,” I respond. David doesn’t say anything to this. He’s looking out the window.

“I wish I wasn’t like this,” he says with a sigh, mostly talking to himself. “I should be able to be there for him. What happened in high school—that was such a long time ago.”

“You were, though,” I insist. “There for him. You spent nearly three hours at the hospital. You called his parents and his friends so he’d have his support system around him.” I want to look at him, but I keep my eyes straight ahead. “David, what happened to—you were retraumatized. I know how you feel, at least a little, because I feel it every time I walk into a hospital. It’s a lot.”

He shakes his head. “I feel weak,” he mumbles. “Really fucking weak.”

“You are not weak. You showed up for Christian.”

“So did you.”

“I did. But I also showed up for you.” I feel David’s hand come to my knee as he tilts his head back into the headrest and turns his face toward me.

“Thank you, Naina. You’re the only person I wanted.”

Nearly an hour later, we’re back in Brooklyn. After multiple frustrating attempts, I manage to park the car. David trudges toward his apartment. I follow closely behind him, sympathetic toward this side of him.

Inside, he collapses on the couch, furling into a fetal position. I go through his fridge and cupboards.

“What’re you doing?” he mumbles sleepily.

“It’s almost eight,” I say. “We should eat something.”

He grumbles in response as I take stock of ingredients, dig around for a cutting board, and preheat the oven. While tomatoes, onion, and garlic roast, I walk over to the couch and sit next to David, his large body curled up like a little boy’s.

I tousle his hair gently, and he stirs, looking up at me.

“I’m making tomato soup,” I say. “And grilled cheese.”

He releases a groggy sound. “You’re cooking for me,” he says.

“Of course,” I say, tugging at his hair between my fingers.

“Tell me something good,” he begs. “Please. I need to be distracted.”

“Well,” I say, “my essay is going to be published.”

David looks up at me, his face upside down. “Naina,” he says, “that is the best thing I’ve heard all week. Who’s publishing it? When will it come out?”

I tell him the details, and he listens closely, his puffy eyes now growing wide with supportive excitement.

“I’m so happy for you,” he says.

“Thank you. And thank you for helping me, for being there for me,” I say.

David turns onto his back and shifts his weight to rest his head on my thigh, his hands clasped across his chest. “I want to be there for you,” he whispers. “I know I asked for time to think. And I guess I did—think. I mostly just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Wishing I was with you. I need you.”

I run a finger up and down the length of his nose, and he closes his eyes, exhaling.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I ask. He nods.

“I think I got caught up in this myth,” he says after a few minutes.

“What myth?”

“That you have to wait to be some ideal version of yourself before you go after what you want. Like growth can’t happen alongside it, or even because of it. I guess I felt like we needed to wait until conditions were perfect—for both of us—to pursue anything. But I’m realizing the whole point is that the conditions improve when we’re together.” He is quiet again, but just for a moment. “And I’d like to be together.”

The combination of relief and clarity I feel at hearing him say this renders me momentarily speechless. I want to grow into a better version of myself, but I want to do that with David. I am tired of trying to control the terms of being human: when I will get hurt or cause hurt. It’s an impossible balancing act, and I can’t do it while being fair to him or myself. That’s the inherent risk of loving others. I’ve been too stubborn to accept it.

“I do too,” I say. “And I choose you because you’re imperfect. And so am I.”

David’s eyes flutter open to meet mine. I lean over to kiss him at the corner of his mouth, tasting the salt from his tears.

“We’re going to be okay,” I tell him. “We all are.”

“I know,” he replies. “But you and me especially.” He reaches for my body, his arms stretching over his head.

“Come here,” he says. “Come home.” I move toward him, tears pooling in my eyes, clouding my vision as they fall. Something inside of me slowly expands, stretching like a rubber band. I shut my eyelids as my face finds its rightful place in the crook of his neck.