remote. “You know, moping and all.
Good for the soul. Everyone needs a good mope now and then.” I curled my legs under me on the couch. “Besides, I have studies to read.” I waved to the pile of papers on my desk. “We’re working on a stem cell push for next year.”
“Sounds important,” he said, then paused. “Actually, I believe 100
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
the saying is that fresh air is good for the soul.” He got a puzzled look on his face. “Or something like that. So why don’t you take off your slippers, put on your shoes, brush your teeth, and join us.” He paused and smiled. “I like your new ’do.” Then his face fell. “Are you okay with it?”
I shrugged and steadied my voice, trying not to betray the enormity of the loss I felt. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Well then.” He clapped his hands together. “Hop to it. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I sighed and gingerly lowered my feet to the floor. “Christ, if I’d wanted a drill sergeant, I would have asked my mother to come over. Fine. Give me a minute.” I went into the bedroom and self-consciously ran my hand over the rose-colored silk scarf on my head. I pulled on my now too-baggy jeans, a ratty Dartmouth sweatshirt, and my sheepskin winter boots. Then I reached for the babushka-like hat that Lila had bought for me on her recent work trip to Prague—as a consultant, she spent half of her life around the world—and surveyed myself in the mirror. With the hat, you could barely tell that I was bald, which I supposed was the sole perk of shaving your head in the winter. I grabbed my North Face jacket and a ball for Manny and rejoined Zach in the living room, where he was crouched over Manny, tousling the hair behind his ears.
“Let’s do this. Get this show on the road,” I said unenthusiastically.
“With that kind of attitude, I think maybe Manny and I could make do without you.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?” I said, opening the door and locked up, trudging through my overly lit apartment hall to the elevator.
“What’s with the dreariness?” Zach asked, as we stepped in and I pressed the lobby button.
The Department of Lost & Found
101
“What’s not with it? I think I’m entitled to a little self-pity.” I caught myself. “I know, I know, statistically, a positive attitude helps beat cancer. I swear, if Sally tells me that one more time, I’m going to punch her lights out.”
“Well, that certainly wouldn’t be constructive. Though perhaps therapeutic.” He laughed. “I’m not telling you that you can’t feel sorry for yourself. You’ll never hear me say that. It’s just . . .”
He paused and looked at me. “It’s just when your face is clouded over like that, it disguises how beautiful you really are.”
Before I could reply, the elevator opened, and Manny hurled himself out the door to the waiting street, pulling Zach in his wake.
I stood behind them and watched them go, astonished, confused, and a little bit flattered. Not that I thought that I was beautiful.
Because right now, I assuredly wasn’t. But the way that Zach said it—the look on his face when he took me in and I saw him consider whether or not to put it out there—well, I knew that whether or not I believed that I was beautiful, he most definitely did.
I caught up to them outside, and we walked the five blocks to the dog run in silence, the tension-filled bubble floating between us. Finally, because I felt weird and then felt weird about feeling weird, I broke the silence with some small talk, misconstrued as it might have been.
“Lila asked about you the other night.” I regretted it as soon as I blurted it out, since this seemed to be perhaps the only thing I could have said to exacerbate the already blooming awkwardness.
“Oh. Okay. Should I ask what she said? Or just leave it at that?” Zach kicked at the gravel.
“Just passing it along.” I shrugged and got up off the
Good for the soul. Everyone needs a good mope now and then.” I curled my legs under me on the couch. “Besides, I have studies to read.” I waved to the pile of papers on my desk. “We’re working on a stem cell push for next year.”
“Sounds important,” he said, then paused. “Actually, I believe 100
a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
the saying is that fresh air is good for the soul.” He got a puzzled look on his face. “Or something like that. So why don’t you take off your slippers, put on your shoes, brush your teeth, and join us.” He paused and smiled. “I like your new ’do.” Then his face fell. “Are you okay with it?”
I shrugged and steadied my voice, trying not to betray the enormity of the loss I felt. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Well then.” He clapped his hands together. “Hop to it. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I sighed and gingerly lowered my feet to the floor. “Christ, if I’d wanted a drill sergeant, I would have asked my mother to come over. Fine. Give me a minute.” I went into the bedroom and self-consciously ran my hand over the rose-colored silk scarf on my head. I pulled on my now too-baggy jeans, a ratty Dartmouth sweatshirt, and my sheepskin winter boots. Then I reached for the babushka-like hat that Lila had bought for me on her recent work trip to Prague—as a consultant, she spent half of her life around the world—and surveyed myself in the mirror. With the hat, you could barely tell that I was bald, which I supposed was the sole perk of shaving your head in the winter. I grabbed my North Face jacket and a ball for Manny and rejoined Zach in the living room, where he was crouched over Manny, tousling the hair behind his ears.
“Let’s do this. Get this show on the road,” I said unenthusiastically.
“With that kind of attitude, I think maybe Manny and I could make do without you.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?” I said, opening the door and locked up, trudging through my overly lit apartment hall to the elevator.
“What’s with the dreariness?” Zach asked, as we stepped in and I pressed the lobby button.
The Department of Lost & Found
101
“What’s not with it? I think I’m entitled to a little self-pity.” I caught myself. “I know, I know, statistically, a positive attitude helps beat cancer. I swear, if Sally tells me that one more time, I’m going to punch her lights out.”
“Well, that certainly wouldn’t be constructive. Though perhaps therapeutic.” He laughed. “I’m not telling you that you can’t feel sorry for yourself. You’ll never hear me say that. It’s just . . .”
He paused and looked at me. “It’s just when your face is clouded over like that, it disguises how beautiful you really are.”
Before I could reply, the elevator opened, and Manny hurled himself out the door to the waiting street, pulling Zach in his wake.
I stood behind them and watched them go, astonished, confused, and a little bit flattered. Not that I thought that I was beautiful.
Because right now, I assuredly wasn’t. But the way that Zach said it—the look on his face when he took me in and I saw him consider whether or not to put it out there—well, I knew that whether or not I believed that I was beautiful, he most definitely did.
I caught up to them outside, and we walked the five blocks to the dog run in silence, the tension-filled bubble floating between us. Finally, because I felt weird and then felt weird about feeling weird, I broke the silence with some small talk, misconstrued as it might have been.
“Lila asked about you the other night.” I regretted it as soon as I blurted it out, since this seemed to be perhaps the only thing I could have said to exacerbate the already blooming awkwardness.
“Oh. Okay. Should I ask what she said? Or just leave it at that?” Zach kicked at the gravel.
“Just passing it along.” I shrugged and got up off the
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