Chapter 80. Breathing again

Chapter 80. Breathing again
Saturday tasted like freedom for the first time in a week. No rumbling fever, no cough, just weak sunshine and the permission slip Mom finally signed: “Yes, you may go out—jacket, scarf, home by dusk.”
I fired a text to Alice—my default social setting—only to get a swift rain-check GIF of two otters holding paws: Boris kidnapped me for an indie-film marathon. Love you, soggy noodle.
I could have gone solo. I could have tapped Irene’s name and typed Coffee? My thumb hovered over her thread—the last bubble still her flat glad you’re okay. Nothing before or after. When did glad stop feeling like enough? I backed out before the little typing dots could betray me.
Me: Fever cleared. I owe the rye seedlings a progress inspection. Fancy a park lap + coffee?
The reply came in under a minute.
Lara: Photosynthesis demands control variables: sunlight & conversation. 20 min? NE gate of the park.
I threw on my tech-wear jacket— a little dramatic for a tame stroll, but it matched the new strand of rebellious bravery curling inside my chest— and caught the bus.

Lara was already there, seated on the wrought-iron fence by the tulip beds, phone tucked away, gloved fingers worrying a takeaway cup like a restless scientist with too much caffeine. Her hair—ink-black, blunt bob—caught the noon glare; tiny golden hoops flashed at her ears. She hopped down when she saw me and offered the cup.
“Latte with your usual hyper-syruped. Antipyretic and socially acceptable.”
“Hi to you, too,” I laughed, accepting the warmth.
She matched her pace to mine on the gravel path, boot-heels clicking a steady metronome. “How’s the residual fatigue curve?”
“Flattening. No more hallucinating Victorian snowstorms, at least.”
“That’s promising. Your bean tray said medical leave is overrated—sprouted two centimeters in your absence.”
I grinned. “Rye behaving?”
“As though it fears your wrath. Every stalk straight as a ruler.”
Conversation unwound effortlessly: symbiosis metrics, prom rumours, her theory that cafeteria mac-and-cheese is actually a polymer experiment gone rogue. She cracked dry little jokes that landed like clever footnotes. I found myself laughing—really laughing—until my cheeks hurt in a good way.
We detoured onto a quieter loop where pine needles muffled footsteps. Lara’s shoulder brushed mine—once, then again, not by accident. It wasn’t invasive; more like she was calibrating distance.
“You look steadier,” she observed, eyes scanning my face the way she’d scan fungal hyphae—methodical but gentle. “No glassy stare, healthy colour.”
“Mom packed me with electrolytes.” I nudged her lightly. “And soup fairy deliveries.”
Her lips curved. “Happy to run more trials if you relapse.”
Something in her tone—clinically teasing, but warm—loosened a knot around my ribs. Lara’s attention felt like standing under a heat lamp: constant, controlled, safe. Not a wildfire, not a blizzard.
“How’s it with… Irene?” she asked, so casual I almost missed the careful neutrality.
I shook my head. “Nothing. Haven’t heard from her. Not since that short text.”
She hummed, sympathetic, not smug. “Communication latency can be hard to model.”
“That’s one way to phrase it.” I kicked a pinecone. “Part of me keeps waiting for some… I don’t know, grand gesture?”
“Gestures lose statistical significance if they’re not repeatable,” Lara said, then softened, catching my expression. “But wanting them? Perfectly human.”
We reached a wooden bridge over the duck pond. A chill breeze rolled off the water; I tugged my jacket closed. Lara shucked her scarf—pepper-gray wool—and draped it across my shoulders like a lab coat being offered before a dissection.
“Better,” she said.
The scarf smelled faintly of cedar and notebook paper. I exhaled steam, confusion swirling with comfort. “You’re very… attentive.”
She shrugged. “Environmental control is half the experiment.” She paused, voice dropping. “Also—I like making you smile. Pure bias, no scientific integrity at all.”
Heat rose in my cheeks; I ducked my head, watching a mallard cut ripples across the green water. For a heartbeat, everything went still—her proximity, the crisp air, the sense of being seen but not burned.
Yet Irene’s absence ghosted the edge of the moment. The storm vessel of my heart thumped, reminding me which weather pattern it still tracked.
Lara seemed to pick up the shift. She stepped back, giving the scarf a gentle tug to settle it right. “Coffee refill? There’s a cart near the rose arbor.”
“I should probably cap caffeine,” I said. “Still on recover-mode.”
“Fair.” She offered a palm, face open. “Walk you to the bus then?”
I nodded. We started back, silence comfortable, every so often punctuated by her pointing out a lichen patch or a rare sparrow. At the park gate she reclaimed her scarf, looping it once around her own neck, and met my gaze.
“I meant it—no pressure. I’m around for anything. Be it the notes or experiments. Or other things.”
“Thank you.” I surprised myself by tracing the edge of her coat sleeve with my fingertip—a quiet gratitude. “Today was… easy.”
“Easy can be good.” Her smile twitched sideways. “Text me if you need easy again.”
She let me go first, watching until I was halfway down the block before turning the opposite direction.
On the ride home I pressed my forehead to the cold window. Lara’s presence still lingered like cedar; safe, steady. Yet beneath the calm, a flutter of worry: Did seeking easy make me a coward? Or was it self-preservation?
My phone buzzed—a meme from Alice, cats parachuting into a pie. I laughed softly, then opened Irene’s thread on reflex. Still nothing. Thumb hovered, then retreated.
One step at a time. Lara provided oxygen; Irene was still the stormcloud blotting half my sky. Today I’d chosen oxygen. Tomorrow? My heart wasn’t done forecasting.
But as the city blocks scrolled past and dusk seeped violet over the rooftops, I let myself admit: calm felt surprisingly good in my lungs. Whether it was cure or just respite, I couldn’t say. For tonight it seemed like I could finally breathe freely again.