other dire medical emergency, just because my boyfriend of the past two years had walked out of the room without a backward glance. I’d wanted him to go.
But I couldn’t figure out what else was going on. One moment, I was watching Timothy walk back into his kitchen. The next, I was surrounded by nothingness—a vague gray space that stretched as far as my eyes could see. The fireplace, my table, everything about Garden Variety, simply disappeared. I couldn’t see my soup, couldn’t smell it.
I staggered forward a step, surprised to find that I was standing, when I’d been sitting in the restaurant just a moment before. My feet moved; I could sense my muscles bunching, feel my toes rocking to maintain my balance. When I looked down, I could see my body, but there wasn’t anything else. There wasn’t anything beneath my feet. My belly swooped in disorientation, and I was grateful that I’d only swallowed a single spoonful of soup.
“Hello?” I called out, hating the fact that my voice quavered. At the same time, though, I was proud that I managed to get out any sound at all. “Help?”
“I do not understand you humans!” I whirled at the voice that came from behind me. “Seven out of ten just look into the distance instead of using their time here to study the Garden!”
“What?” I asked stupidly, absurdly grateful that my eyes had something to focus on. A well-muscled man stood in front of me. His sandy hair was chopped into a brush cut, and his blue eyes were sharp enough to cut wood. He wore a gray T-shirt that was stamped Garden Athletic Department and sweatpants to match. He bounced lightly on his Nike-clad feet, as if he had just finished an invigorating run and was ready to drop and give me twenty.
I wasn’t entirely surprised to find a tattoo encircling his wrist. The flames shone particularly brightly in the neutral air around us, kindling with an orange-and-yellow light as if they glowed from within. The black outlines flickered as I stared.
“Teel?” I asked.
“You were expecting someone else?” The efficiency of his tight smile was underscored by the stopwatch that he held in his right hand. I was willing to swear that the thing had appeared from nowhere; surely, I would have seen it when I noticed the flickering flames on his wrist. He nodded as he watched the second hand tick past some noteworthy point, and then he raised his left hand to the pulse point in his neck. After fifteen seconds, he was apparently satisfied with his heart rate, because he nodded and thumbed a button on the stopwatch. “Ready? Get set, go!”
“Go where?” I asked. If I kept my gaze tightly locked on the genie, I could just avoid the queasiness that assaulted me every time I looked at the nothingness around me.
“To the Garden, of course!”
“What are you talking about?”
He bounced on his feet like an overly enthusiastic personal trainer, the kind who should be shot at dawn. “The one right in front of us!” He drilled into me with those thermonuclear eyes. “Let’s go, now. You can see it. You can make it real!”
I barely managed not to groan. “Teel, can you just stand still?”
He jogged over to my side. “Okay, now. Take three deep breaths.” He settled one broad hand on my chest, watched as my lungs filled, arching his fingers as I exhaled. “There you go. Another. One more, deeper now. Hold it. Hoooold it!” I clamped down on the air in my lungs until I thought I was going to explode. “And exhale! Excellent!”
Again, he fiddled with his stopwatch. I had no idea what he could possibly be timing. My breathing? I felt like I was confined with some insane paramedic, someone who was measuring the time between my contractions, intent on helping me deliver a healthy baby. Um, if I were actually pregnant. Which we’d all established, cataclysmically, that I was not.
“Okay, now,” Teel said, turning away and obviously not noticing—or not caring—that I wasn’t bouncing along
But I couldn’t figure out what else was going on. One moment, I was watching Timothy walk back into his kitchen. The next, I was surrounded by nothingness—a vague gray space that stretched as far as my eyes could see. The fireplace, my table, everything about Garden Variety, simply disappeared. I couldn’t see my soup, couldn’t smell it.
I staggered forward a step, surprised to find that I was standing, when I’d been sitting in the restaurant just a moment before. My feet moved; I could sense my muscles bunching, feel my toes rocking to maintain my balance. When I looked down, I could see my body, but there wasn’t anything else. There wasn’t anything beneath my feet. My belly swooped in disorientation, and I was grateful that I’d only swallowed a single spoonful of soup.
“Hello?” I called out, hating the fact that my voice quavered. At the same time, though, I was proud that I managed to get out any sound at all. “Help?”
“I do not understand you humans!” I whirled at the voice that came from behind me. “Seven out of ten just look into the distance instead of using their time here to study the Garden!”
“What?” I asked stupidly, absurdly grateful that my eyes had something to focus on. A well-muscled man stood in front of me. His sandy hair was chopped into a brush cut, and his blue eyes were sharp enough to cut wood. He wore a gray T-shirt that was stamped Garden Athletic Department and sweatpants to match. He bounced lightly on his Nike-clad feet, as if he had just finished an invigorating run and was ready to drop and give me twenty.
I wasn’t entirely surprised to find a tattoo encircling his wrist. The flames shone particularly brightly in the neutral air around us, kindling with an orange-and-yellow light as if they glowed from within. The black outlines flickered as I stared.
“Teel?” I asked.
“You were expecting someone else?” The efficiency of his tight smile was underscored by the stopwatch that he held in his right hand. I was willing to swear that the thing had appeared from nowhere; surely, I would have seen it when I noticed the flickering flames on his wrist. He nodded as he watched the second hand tick past some noteworthy point, and then he raised his left hand to the pulse point in his neck. After fifteen seconds, he was apparently satisfied with his heart rate, because he nodded and thumbed a button on the stopwatch. “Ready? Get set, go!”
“Go where?” I asked. If I kept my gaze tightly locked on the genie, I could just avoid the queasiness that assaulted me every time I looked at the nothingness around me.
“To the Garden, of course!”
“What are you talking about?”
He bounced on his feet like an overly enthusiastic personal trainer, the kind who should be shot at dawn. “The one right in front of us!” He drilled into me with those thermonuclear eyes. “Let’s go, now. You can see it. You can make it real!”
I barely managed not to groan. “Teel, can you just stand still?”
He jogged over to my side. “Okay, now. Take three deep breaths.” He settled one broad hand on my chest, watched as my lungs filled, arching his fingers as I exhaled. “There you go. Another. One more, deeper now. Hold it. Hoooold it!” I clamped down on the air in my lungs until I thought I was going to explode. “And exhale! Excellent!”
Again, he fiddled with his stopwatch. I had no idea what he could possibly be timing. My breathing? I felt like I was confined with some insane paramedic, someone who was measuring the time between my contractions, intent on helping me deliver a healthy baby. Um, if I were actually pregnant. Which we’d all established, cataclysmically, that I was not.
“Okay, now,” Teel said, turning away and obviously not noticing—or not caring—that I wasn’t bouncing along
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