The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(60)

“Come on,” he says, turning to start toward the kitchen, unhooking his arm from mine. “Let’s get a drink.”

There’s a keg in the middle of the kitchen floor, sitting on the tile without any ice around it. I imagine the beer is probably warm and flat, and Isaac and I both scrunch up our noses to say that we’ll pass. We laugh, each glad the other isn’t about to lower their standards for alcohol. We move to the counter, where there are a few cans of unopened Coke, slightly cooler than room temperature. Isaac starts talking to a friend, and I take a moment to look around the room. I’m examining the others before I realize what I’m doing. Studying their gestures, expressions. It’s a terrible habit, and I force my eyes away and take a sip of my Coke.

“So where’s your girl?” I hear Romy announce. Instinctively, I look over and meet Isaac’s eyes. He hesitates, and it stings—even though it shouldn’t.

“Uh . . . ,” he says; his brow furrows, and I realize he doesn’t want to say. I smile politely, as if telling him not to worry about it. Pretend I’m not here. He doesn’t want to introduce me to people if he doesn’t have to. Jason’s one thing, but an entire party? Eventually Isaac will have to tell them I died. They’ll know he brought a closer here after the fact. Would they forgive him for bringing something like me around? Someone, I correct. There’s a sharp pain behind my eyes, and I touch my forehead and wince.

I set down my cup and slip out of the kitchen, zigzagging my way through the people in search of refuge. I find a spot on the stairs where I can sit down. The wood is hard and uncomfortable, and I lean forward, my hands hanging between my knees. After a minute, the ache fades and I’m left instead with loneliness.

Get a grip, I tell myself. This isn’t personal. Isaac’s a client. It doesn’t really matter what I think, though, when I feel so slighted. I try not to, but I can’t stop psychoanalyzing myself. Could I have done something differently to make him want to introduce me, to jump at the chance? I sigh, turning the situation over in my head. I’ve never taken this type of rejection so personally before—why? What’s different?

You like him, I think, and then quickly shake the thought away. I close my eyes, resettling myself in my role. I’m on assignment. I’m Catalina Barnes, and I’m here with Isaac to help him say good-bye to me. Nothing more. It’s okay that he’s hurt; it’s part of the process. I just have to get him to the other side of his grief.

A shadow rounds the bannister of the staircase, and Isaac pauses in front of me. He’s holding two cans and reaches one in my direction. I look at it doubtfully, and the first hint of a smile crosses his lips. “Apology soda,” he says. His dark eyes sparkle again, and I’m helpless to resist the charm in his look. I take one of the cans and thank him. Isaac sips from his drink and motions to the stair I’m sitting on.

“Mind?”

I shake my head that I don’t and move over so he can join me. His shoulder brushes against mine, and I’m reminded of how we touched at lunch, carelessly. Freely. I look at him as he stares out at the party with an unreadable expression.

“We don’t have to stay,” I tell him.

“It’s a lot like pretending, yeah?” he asks, not turning to me. “Both of us. You pretend to be her. I pretend you’re her.”

I want to be me, I think. “Yeah,” I say instead. “That’s exactly how it goes.”

He turns, looking me over like he did when he first saw me tonight, as if struck by my beauty. “And what would she say right now?” he asks. “How well did you study her? How much are you like her?”

“I’d say you’re bumming me out,” I tell him, knowing exactly how I would say it. Cute and gentle, something to bring him out of his bad mood, like I’d do after he lost a game. Of course, I know this is so much worse, but that’s the closest experience I have to compare it to.

Isaac smiles, his expression a little faraway, thinking back on something. Around us, the music changes, and the next song comes on, more bass, more swerve. It seeps into our bones, and I realize how entirely close Isaac and I are sitting now. He licks his bottom lip. “Do you know what I’d say?” he asks.

I’m caught up in his dark eyes. “What?” I ask.

“Let’s dance.” He holds out his hand, and I’m frozen, wanting desperately to take it, but doubting that I should. Do we really want more attention on us?

Isaac tilts his head, smiling softly. “Come on,” he says in that raspy voice.

Dreamlike, I reach and slide my fingers against his, energized by his touch. He pulls me to my feet and then leads us into the crowd. The smell of sweat and perfume is around us, sickly sweet and savage at the same time. Isaac finds us an empty spot near the window.

It’s the perfect location, partly hidden in the shadows. The house is old and the windows don’t offer the sort of protection from the wind that they should. The pane lets in a cool, gentle breeze. It prickles up my arm and tickles the back of my neck. The song on the stereo is slow and sexy, the rhythm little more than a sway.

I look around at the others, mostly couples. They’re not slow dancing; they’re each in their own orbit, girls holding their hair off their shoulders, eyes closed. Guys whispering, touching the girls’ exposed waists just above their jeans. The bass is heavy; the voice is scratchy. The rhythm is intoxicating, and I move in time with the music. I close my eyes, letting the sound deepen and take me over. It’s been a long time since I’ve given in like this, danced in any fashion.