A Five-Minute Life

“It’s our last morning in New York,” I said.

And one of the last times I might be able to do something simple on my own, like make a coffee run.

“Take your phone,” he said. “Where are you going? Across the street?”

“Yep. I’ll be right back.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

I grinned. “And then you’ll send the warships to come get me?”

He didn’t smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Don’t say goodbye to me yet.

I blew him a kiss at the door and headed out.

The day was already muggy and stifling, the sunlight ridiculously bright. But I inhaled it all in and wondered how much time I had before the slow slide back into oblivion began.

“Cheery thought,” I muttered as I waited at the light to cross the street. “Don’t go looking for it.”

And maybe it won’t find me. Maybe my neurons have gotten their shit together and don’t need the Hazarin anymore.

I got in line at the bakery. The morning manager, Gregory, was behind the counter and he gave me a smile and a wave. I waved back, and I pulled my phone out and powered it up. A zillion phone calls and texts from Delia, Dr. Chen, and Rita awaited.

Bad idea.

I started to put the cell back in my shorts pocket when it chimed a text from Jimmy.

You OK?

Half a dozen smart-ass jokes came to me in response.

I’m great. I love you.

Love you, he sent back.

A smile split my face. I’d never had a man say that to me before. Out loud or in a text. I had a serious boyfriend in high school, but we parted as friends after graduation. A few hookups at art school but no one I loved. No one who loved me back. And now I loved a man more than I’d ever loved anyone or anything. The other half of my soul.

I looked at Jimmy’s words, encased in a cheerful little blue bubble but crossed with the lightning bolts from my cracked screen.

Not whole. We’re both a little cracked and imperfect, but I love us.

I took a mental snapshot of Jimmy’s text and tucked my phone away.

“How are you today, sweetheart?” Gregory said when it was my turn to order. With his salt-and-pepper beard, he reminded me of my dad. “What’ll it be?”

“Two coffees. One black…”

“The other with, to quote you: a metric crap-ton of cream and sugar.” Gregory beamed, then cocked his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m just sad to leave. Today’s our last day in New York.” The words pummeled me in the heart.

“That’s too bad,” he said as he busied himself with my order. “But all good things come to an end, right?”

I swallowed and nodded. “I don’t want to go back. I want a little more time.”