​Numbered Days

I couldn’t leave him alone. So I didn’t.

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Or at least, I like to think I didn’t. I heard him sobbing through the door when I left the room. I felt him crying behind the walls. If there’s a way I could make him feel that he’s not alone the way Jo did with every new neighbor in the wing, I’d find it, but I’m not Jo; all I can do is be as alone as he is. I want to weep with him, but my eyes argue it is not right to shed sad tears on what is supposed to be a happy day.

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Now, I’m at the lounge where Jo and I first met, on the same couch we used to share while waiting for Niel to finish up in their room. I may have dozed off, and I still might, but I am not leaving. I’m here for him, and I will stay here until he decides he no longer wants to be alone.

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That’s what I tell myself. My soulmate would think it was nice of me, wouldn’t he?

But a part of me still waits for Jo to walk out of the door to tell me to go to bed like it’s dusk instead of dawn. In fact, the first thing I looked for after the first time I nodded off was a red-striped blanket. A part of me still hopes she’s in their bedroom, looking for a tribal blanket to offer, or using it for herself as she sleeps in for the first time since I’ve known her.

Cold fingers wipe the warm liquid off my cheeks, and the first thing I see when I open my eyes is a thin scar at the wrist of someone’s right hand, its width no greater than that of my fingernail. When the hand is out of the way, I find my arm looped around theirs.

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Jo?

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It’s not the writer. It’s her former student — colleague? — and friend.

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I don’t know when the actress got here, and I don’t know how long it’s been, but judging by the taste in my mouth and the pain in my neck, I must have been asleep on her shoulder for at least an hour already.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

“It’s okay.” Paula says, resting a hand on top of mine as if to say, “You’re not alone. You have me.”

Maybe this is what made her and Jo friends.

I need that.

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And so I rest my head on her shoulder again. We stare at Niel’s door together. Then, at nothing — just listening to distant chatter and different soles making contact with polished mahogany floors, wasting what feels like hours watching people come and go.

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Those hours shrink to seconds when one of the residents stops cubits in front of us, looking at Paula, then me, then back.

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I can smell his perfume from here.

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His presence is comforting. It’s a reminder of another life to look forward to, a world where I can meet Jo and Niel again when we’re all already there.

He’s my favorite piece of art, not to mention he might be my soulmate. I really thought I would never see him again. No one can blame me if I run after him now, right?

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Can’t you stop chasing guys for a second, B? I hear Jo’s voice in my head, and I can almost see her in my periphery sitting at my right. It won’t be the death of you.

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The boy leaves, taking the stairs down to the lobby.

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No, wait!

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“She’s not dead, you know.” Paula pipes up, and suddenly, everything is louder, as if the bubble that protected us from a world without Jo and filtered all its noises for us just popped. Even the sun shines brighter, washing everything in warm yellow.

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“If you’re just going to make me feel stupid, get lost.” I pull away and move to the opposite end of the couch.

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“That’s impossible here, but I can try.”

God, I hate that it’s not Jo sitting with me right now.

“Although I must ask: Are you sure you want your friend count to drop to one so soon?”

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Jo is still my friend, a voice in my head argues.

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Jo doesn’t even know us anymore! Niel counters.

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“Anyway, Herbert’s got a gig out west later.” Paula straightens up, tugging at her blouse and smoothening her slacks. “His friend’s a guitarist there.” She slings her woven bag over her shoulder as she rises, heading for the stairs.

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If Jo was still here, we’d be having breakfast together even if it’s late. She thinks I only get to rest from searching when we’re all together — she’s actually not wrong if we don’t count the time I spend sleeping — and the only times we spent together were the beginning and the end of each day. Soulmates aren’t the only thing in this world, she’d say. You still have so much time. You should spend some for yourself.

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I always argued that the time I spend searching is for myself.

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I can spend my entire day in front of Niel’s unit for Jo. Or for the man she left behind.

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You should spend some for yourself. It’s Jo’s words spoken in a different context, but in this reality, the look on Paula’s face when she glances at me says the exact same thing.

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Am I even reading her right?

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Go. You’ll regret it if you don’t.

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Last time I checked, she does not give a damn about soulmates.

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I find myself chasing after her as she takes her first step down the stairwell. “Wait!”

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Oh, come on! Jo exclaims in my head.

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The thing is Paula’s words rung true last night. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Who’s to say they won’t hold?

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“Are you going? To that gig, I mean.”

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Paula meets me halfway, forcing me to slow down at the landing, which reminds me to watch my step for some reason. “You’re hell-bent on finding your soulmate, huh.”

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“No, it’s just — misery loves company.”

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“No, it doesn’t. It’s the miserable who do.”