“I know we don’t talk about it,” he says, many minutes, maybe hours, later. “But why are you with him?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I used to think I did. But I don’t know anymore.”

“Is this love?” I ask. But he’s asleep.

He mumbles something. It sounds like, “Is your uncle Artie tall?”

When we are both more awake, but still without any desire to move from the bed, I face him and ask, “Who was your favorite?”

He puts his hand on mine. “My favorite?”

“Your favorite body. Your favorite life.”

“I was once in the body of a blind girl. When I was eleven. Maybe twelve. I don’t know if she was my favorite, but I learned more from being her for a day than I’d learn from most people over a year. It showed me how arbitrary and individual it is, the way we experience the world. Not just that the other senses were sharper. But that we find ways to navigate the world as it is presented to us. For me, it was this huge challenge. But for her, it was just life.”

“Close your eyes,” I whisper.

I trust that he does. We feel each other’s bodies as if we’re in the dark.

Hours later, or maybe it’s minutes, the alarm goes off.

The day is passing, and we let it. The light is fading, and we say nothing as it goes. This is all we want. Two bodies in a bed. Closeness.

“I know you have to leave,” I say. My eyes are closed. I feel him nod.

“Midnight,” he tells me. “I have to be back by midnight.”

“But why? Why midnight?”

Now I feel him shake his head. “I can’t be sure. But it’s up to the body, and the body just knows.”

“I’m going to stay here,” I tell him.

“I’m going to come back tomorrow,” he promises.

More time. More time together.

“I would end it,” he says. “I would end all the changing if I could. Just to stay here with you.”

“But you can’t end it. I know that.”

I don’t sound mad or disappointed. I’m not mad or disappointed.

It is what it is.

We start to look at the clock. Knowing. It’s time.

“I’ll wait for you,” I tell him as he gets dressed, as he gets ready to go.

“We’ll both be waiting,” he says. “To get back to this.”

I have no idea what I am doing, and I am okay with that.

He kisses me goodbye. Like he is heading off to school. Or work. Like this is the future. Like we are used to this.

I don’t know what to do after he’s gone. There’s no computer up here for email, no phone reception.

I pick up First Day on Earth. These are not his words, but they are words he’s guided me to. For now, that’s enough.

I have spent too much of the day sleeping. I read for a little while, and then spend the rest of the night dreaming.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I wake up really cold, then start the furnace and suffer as it gets way too hot. I guess these are my options.

I know A won’t be back right away, but I also know that even if he wakes up five hours away, he’ll find a way to be here. I just have to keep myself occupied until then.

I finish reading First Day on Earth and wish I’d brought a longer book, or even my homework. Artie doesn’t have any books around that I can find. Only back issues of magazines like Field & Stream.

There’s an old newspaper where the crossword hasn’t been done. I try that, but I’m not very good at it. I play some games on my phone, and even walk around outside for a little in the hope of getting reception.

I am bored. So bored. And, even worse, I can hear Justin laughing at me, telling me, “What did you think would happen?”

“He’s coming,” I say.

“Yeah, right.”

No. I cannot be having this conversation in my head. I look at the clock. It’s after one. He should be here by now.

He’s not coming.

But he promised.

I feel stupider and stupider as the day goes on. I’m wandering around in a T-shirt and boxers, it’s so hot.

Finally, I hear a car coming. Driving up. Stopping.

All of the doubts I’ve been denying now turn themselves into relief.

I run for the door and throw it open. I’m about to jump into A’s arms—when I realize the guy in front of me is very old and has a dead deer across his shoulders.

I scream.

He also screams, stumbling back.

I scream again and retreat into the cabin.

“Who the hell are you?” the man yells.

I want to slam the door, but I can’t. He’s still yelling.

“You’re trespassing! Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Are you alone?”

He’s looking at me now. Seeing a girl. Seeing my legs.

“I’m Artie’s niece,” I say. “Artie’s my uncle. This is his cabin. I’m not trespassing.”

He looks skeptical, and I really wish he’d put the deer down. It’s making me nauseous.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the man says. “If you even are Artie’s niece.”

“One second,” I say. I scramble for my wallet, find my license. When I come back, he’s put the deer back in his truck, thank God.

“You see,” I say, holding out the license. “We have the same name.”

“Fine. Doesn’t mean you’re supposed to be here.”

“You can call him,” I challenge, knowing there’s no way, and hoping Artie will cover for me if there is. “He must’ve mixed things up.”

“Well, you’re about to get a whole lot more company. We’ve been hunting all morning, and Artie told us we could clean the skins here and do our business.”

The vegetarian in me is horrified. But I’m stuck.

“One second,” I tell the man again. I close the door and change into as many pieces of clothing as I can. I pack up all my things.

But I can’t leave, because what if A comes? I am so mad at him for abandoning me but I can’t risk abandoning him.

So I stay. As more men arrive. As they look at me funny. As they stare at me. They bring in more kills, and set up an area outside to skin the animals. I reread the only book I have. I go out to the car. I try to avoid everyone, but eventually I have to use the toilet, and there’s no room to move.