I stand outside the Holtzmann's apartment door with the cactus and bear claw I bought earlier, contemplating exactly what I want to say to her. So many thoughts and emotions are running through my head that it's getting harder and harder to form a coherent sentence. I wish I could just look at her and she know exactly what I'm thinking. It would make this so much easier.
Alright, suck it up, Gilbert. Just do it. You've got this. It's just Holtzmann.
Finally, I gather enough courage to extend my arm and knock. It's louder than I intended it to be because of the tremor in my hand. At first, I don't hear anything on the other side, so I knock again, softer this time, with a little more control. Then the sound of footsteps shuffle closer to the door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming, hold your horses!" Holtzmann shouts from the other side of the door.
When the door opens, I'm immediately taken aback at the engineer's appearance. From afar, she probably looks like regular old Holtz wearing an Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and mismatched black and pink socks. Her face is what concerns me. She looks haggard and tired; her eyes have heavy bags and dark circles underneath them. Her pupils are incredibly dilated and her eyes are so bloodshot there's almost no white left in them.
"Erin?" Her voice wavers, as if she's unsure of what her next course of action should be.
"Holtzmann? Are you okay? You look like you haven't slept in a week!"
"Um, yeah, I'm fine. What are you doing here?" Her voice is cold and distant. So much so that I almost give up and leave, certain I've lost her completely.
"I... um, well." I rub the back of my neck and take a breath. Easy, you got this remember? "Can we talk?"
Her eyes shift across my face and she swallows hard. I can almost physically feel how guarded and wary she is right now.
"Yeah. If you want to. Come in," she says opening the door completely and standing aside to let me through.
I step inside and the smell of patchouli wafts through the air. The ambiance of the entire apartment is relaxed and calming. The walls are painted a light orange color and candles and incense line the hallway. There are pictures of the restaurant and the family along the walls and one in particular catches my eye. A teenage Holtz is holding a large gold trophy in the air while her parents hug her from each side. She looks happy. A smile passes my lips at how adorable she is.
"We can talk in the living room, if that's okay." Holtz walks past me without looking at me. It hurts more than I want to admit, my smile disappearing completely. I don't want to give up, but I'm starting to think maybe I'm too late.
"Sure. Wherever you want." I answer.
I follow her to the living room and it's pretty obvious this is where she's been holed up for the last few days. There are blankets and pillows on the couch, empty glasses and bowls on the side table, and a plate of cookies on the coffee table. Holtz rushes to the couch and grabs the blanket and pillows, throwing them on the recliner across the room.
"Do you want something to drink? Or eat?" She asks. Her voice is very hoarse. She almost sounds sickly.
"Those cookies look pretty good," I smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"Um, you don't want those cookies," she says, looking down at her feet sheepishly.
"How come?"
