When we reach our apartment building, Finn hovers at my side until I shout at him because he’s making me nervous. We have to wait for two elevator cycles before we get a car to ourselves, which Finn insists on, because not everyone is taking precautions as seriously as he is.
There was a time when I thought having an apartment at the end of the hall, away from the ding of the elevator, was a bonus, but now it feels Herculean to make it all the way there. Finn unlocks the door and helps me take off my coat and then immediately goes to wash his hands. He washes them like a surgeon, long minutes elapsing, scrubbing under his nails and up past his wrists. I follow his lead.
I see the pile of household bills that Finn’s been too busy to pay and take a deep breath. All of this I can deal with tomorrow. The only thing I have to do now is remember how to live a normal life.
Finn carries my duffel into the bedroom and unpacks my things. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Can we get Thai?” I ask, and then I frown. “Is there still delivery?”
“If there wasn’t I’d be dead by now,” Finn says. “The usual?”
Spring rolls, satay, and massaman curry. I love that I don’t have to tell him. I nod and glance toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower,” I announce, more to myself than to him, because there’s a tub I have to lift my leg over. But I’m going to have to do it sooner or later, and it might as well be while Finn is home to help me if I wind up sprawled on the floor.
As it turns out, I do fine. I am so proud—and so grateful to smell like my own soap and shampoo, instead of hospital versions. I brush and braid my hair, thinking of Vee, and put on clean leggings and my softest sweatshirt.
When I come into the living room, Finn grins. “You clean up nicely.”
“I really have nowhere to go but up.”
I sit down on the couch and turn on the television, skipping quickly away from MSNBC to a rerun of Friends. “Have you watched Tiger King?” I call out.
“Tiger what?” Finn asks.
“Never mind.” I remind myself that the whole time I’ve been fighting for my life, Finn has been fighting for other people’s.
Suddenly he’s standing in front of me, holding out a steaming mug. “What’s this?”
“Hot milk.”
“I don’t like hot milk,” I say.
Finn frowns. “You drank it the last time you were sick.”
Because he’d made it for me without asking if I wanted it. Because his mom used to make it for him, when he was feeling under the weather. Because I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t grateful.
“I’m not sick,” I tell him.
He looks at me skeptically.
“You’re a doctor. You should know,” I say. With a sigh I pat the couch next to me and set the mug on the side table. Finn sits down. “I know something really bad almost happened,” I say quietly. “But it didn’t. And I’m here. And I’m better.”
I slide closer to him and feel him go still. Immediately, I pull back to look at Finn’s face. “Are you worried you’ll catch it from me?”
A shadow of pain crosses his face. “More like the other way around.”
“If I just beat this motherfucker,” I say, “my veins must be full of antibodies.” I flex my arm. “I’m basically a superhero.”
That, finally, makes him smile. “Okay, Wonder Woman.”
I lean a little closer. “I wonder if antibodies are contagious.”
“I can categorically tell you they’re not,” Finn says.
“I mean, just in case,” I murmur against his neck. “Maybe we should try to get some into you.” I loop my arms around his neck and press my mouth against his. Finn hesitates, then kisses me back. I slide my hands under his sweater, feeling his heart beat against my palm.
“Diana,” he breathes, a little desperate. “You just got out of rehab.”
“Exactly,” I say.
I don’t know how to explain to him that when you find out you nearly died, there is a crucial need—a compulsion, really—to make sure you’re alive. I need to feel healthy and vital and desired. I need to burn with something that is not fever.
“Let me show you what I’ve learned,” I say to Finn, and I pull my sweatshirt over my head. I shimmy my leggings down to my ankles and kick them off. “And watch this.” I get to my feet, turn to face him, and sit down on his lap with my knees on either side of him. “Stand, pivot, transfer,” I whisper.