When I get home, I check my nightstand. The pills are there, waiting in their yellow bottle. I think about the day after the funeral, when I laid them out on the coffee table. There weren’t many of them then, so I’d bought a bottle of vodka to wash them down with. Then Sheila knocked on the door. I put the pills back in the bottle, hid them in the nightstand. I’ve been adding to them since.
Sheila insists on driving me to Optimize Optical for the rest of the tests. I watch videos in a white room with a one-way mirror. Once I’ve watched a video, a voice comes over the speaker.
“What did you see?” it asks.
“It was a boy’s birthday party,” I say. “He received no presents, but everyone wished him well.”
Click goes the intercom. Another video plays.
After three videos, Dr. Gray brings me into her office.
“What did I watch?” I ask.
“You tell me,” she says.
“Give me something,” I say.
She inhales slowly, then removes her heels. The left, then right. Her feet smell sour. Her face is angelic.
“It was a funeral,” she says. “That’s why there were no presents.”
The backs of my eyeballs burn and my eyelashes are wet. Dr. Gray hands me a tissue from across the desk. “You might not be able to tell because of the lenses,” she says. “But I am worried about you.”
I dab my eyes gently, look at the bloodied tissue. “Do you think we should remove them?”
“Do you want to?” she asks.
I think of the world before the lenses. The peeling wallpaper of my living room, the horror of the creeping cockroaches. The gray skies and concrete buildings. No sight of my husband anywhere. “No,” I say.
“Let me consult with the other doctors,” Dr. Gray says. “We’ll review your test results and make a decision of what would be the best option for you.”
I tell Sheila I’m considering having the lenses removed so that she’ll stop asking. She hugs me. We meet Ivy in a new bar across town. At the shiny high-top, Sheila proposes I move in with her.
“We can get a two-bedroom,” she says. “You can move out of that shithole with the bad memories.” I force a smile. Nod.
“That’s fantastic!” Ivy says.
“I should have offered sooner,” Sheila says. She stands to get another round.
“How’re your eyes?” Ivy asks. “That was so weird when they started bleeding at work.”
“They’re much better. I’m considering getting the lenses removed, though.”
“They didn’t work as well as you thought?”
“They work,” I say, spying a man over her shoulder. He has the thick curls that catch the dim light of the bar, the slope of the nose emerging as he turns, the jawline pulsing when he grins.
“Why are you getting them removed? You’ve seemed better lately.”
He turns and our gazes meet. He smiles, as far as I can tell. He lifts a hand to wave.
“I am happy,” I tell Ivy.
“Then, I don’t understand.”
Sheila returns with the three beers, setting them on the table. She notices me staring and glances over her shoulder to see the man, hand caught in the air.
“Ew,” she says. “Those lenses have really removed your standards.”
“Leave her alone,” Ivy says. “Isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?”
“What an eye to see that ogre as being hot.” Sheila sips her beer. I smile at her, then stand. “Where are you going?” “I’m giving him my number,” I tell her.
“How about you wait until after you get those lenses removed? If you still want to go out with him, I’ll hunt that troll down and give him your number myself.”
“He can’t be that bad,” I say, moving to leave. Sheila grabs my arm, shakes her head.
Ivy turns to look at the man, then back at us.
“He does look a little sketchy,” Ivy says. She clears her throat. “There are plenty of fish in the sea. Let’s keep looking, huh?”
My husband stares at us from across the bar. My husband is waiting for me. When I turn away from him, my chest tightens. It’s unbearable to not go to him when he’s in the room, to not speak to him. “Here,” Sheila says, handing me a napkin. “Wipe your eyes.”
I blot my eyes, drink the beer in front of me. Ivy tells Sheila about our new receptionist who wears shirts for dresses and does cocaine in the office bathroom. I laugh at Ivy’s jokes, sip Sheila’s beer when mine is finished. When the bell chimes over the door, I glance up to see my husband leaving.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell Sheila and Ivy. I walk toward the bathroom in case Sheila is watching, then quickly slip into the street. Dark night snakes in between the quiet buildings. He’s nowhere to be found. Down one block to the left, back up to the right. The cold bites my bare ankles. Eventually, there are no more places to look. I shiver beneath the glowing streetlight. I look up at the stars. They pin the sky above all of us. Behind me, a man clears his throat.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.
I don’t care what’s coming. You can’t care when you get what you want.