Page 43 of No One Else

Natalie laughs again, her eyes sparkling.

Am I still dreaming? Is this like a fever-induced dream?

I walk in further, and she lifts her head as I catch her attention. “Evan! You’re up.”

“Uh, yeah.” I scratch the back of my neck, so baffled I don’t know where to start.

“I’ll heat you up some soup,” she says, jumping up and opening a cabinet to grab a bowl. How does she know where the bowls are? What’s going on?

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Dad smiles, slowly standing and grabbing his cane. He winks at me as he shuffles out of the kitchen. A second later, the sounds of a basketball game fill the air, not loud enough to prevent a conversation between Natalie and me, but he won’t be able to make out what we’re saying.

She fills the bowl with something from a can and pops it into the ancient microwave, the turntable inside slowly rotating.

“I’m guessing you’re confused,” she says, turning back to face me.

I start to nod and then think better of it as the movement sets off a fresh flurry of pain in my head.

“Here, let me get you some ibuprofen.” She opens the cabinet with the glasses and fills one with ice and filtered water from the fridge. Seriously, how does she know where everything is?

I take a seat at the table and start with the first thing I can grasp. “Why are you here?”

“You’re sick. I brought you stuff to help you feel better. And I made a copy of my notes from class today for you.” She grabs a pot holder and takes the hot bowl out of the microwave, opening up the silverware drawer to get a spoon, and sets it down in front of me. Chicken noodle, the kind with real chunks of chicken. My stomach grumbles as I realize I haven’t eaten all day.

She sits down gingerly next to me, twisting her hands together. “And I came to find out about Sarah,” she admits.

I almost choke on my first bite, thumping on my chest as it goes down the wrong way. All right, I can’t focus on the Sarah thing right now. “How do you even know where I live?”

“I looked in Trisha’s employee records for your address,” she says, wincing.

This time, I nearly spray soup everywhere. “What the hell, Natalie?” Yeah, she can be determined when she wants to be, but this is on a whole other level.

“I know Sarah isn’t real.”

I freeze, setting the spoon back in the bowl and push it away from me. I can’t eat if she’s going to keep dropping bombs like this. “What?” I croak, too flustered to say anything else.

“No one’s ever met her, you never talk about her, you’re super evasive when I ask. She’s not real, is she?”

I close my eyes, unable to meet her searching gaze. Okay, this is still a fever dream. Or maybe a lucid one since I know I’m dreaming. You can wake yourself up out of those, right?

I will myself to wake, but when I open my eyes, I’m still here at the table with Natalie waiting for my response. Why the hell won’t I wake?

“Can you check if I have a fever?”

She purses her lips and complies, leaning forward to lay the back of her hand on my forehead. “It’s not as bad as before.”

“Before?”

“I checked you when I first got here a couple hours ago.”

“Hours?”

“Stop repeating what I say. And you still haven’t answered me.”

God, she’s like a bulldog when she wants something. There’s no way she’s letting this go.

I sigh, leaning back in the chair, and stare at her. There’s a determined set to her jaw, her eyes focused. Her dedication and passion for what’s important to her are some of the things I love most about her, but damn is it inconvenient when it means me fessing up to something that’s gotten so out of hand. “There’s no Sarah,” I say in a low voice, looking away.

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

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