by Stacie Ramey
Most of all, I’m struck by her confidence. How she carries herself so upright when she knows other people are watching. How she’s so sure of her place in the world. Of the magic she carries with each step of her high heels.
And as I fall asleep, I think, I envy her.
Friday, 9:45 P.M.
Hey. Are you ok?
I’m sorry about all of that.
Chip says I’m too much of a hothead. He’s right.
Hope you are sleeping and we can talk tomorrow.
Gnite. Sweet dreams.
Saturday, 11:10 A.M.
Are you there?
I know you’re mad at me but I’m really scared. That guy is talking about pressing charges.
My parents are pissed.
Chip is pissed.
12:33 P.M.
I guess because you’re not answering me, you are pretty pissed too.
It’s not like me to fight like that.
I just couldn’t let him talk about you like that.
I know I should’ve held my temper. And I get that I might have scared you.
But you have to know that’s not me.
1:20 P.M.
You know me. I know you believe in saints and magic, but I’m just a guy.
2:00 P.M.
Please answer me.
3:04 P.M.
OK. I’ll leave you alone.
I’m here for you when you’re ready. If you ever are ready.
I was so happy at the dance and I know I’ve ruined everything.
5:15 P.M.
OMG I heard you are in the hospital.
Twenty-Seven
I spend the next morning staring at the screen of my television, not even paying attention to the show that’s droning on. Mom comes in, takes a gander at the show, and says, “Didn’t know you were so into deep-sea fishing. Hmmm. Good to know.”
I turn the TV off and brace myself for more lecturing about how stupid I was to be out in the elements or how I never listen to her or do what I’m supposed to. But when I look at her face, really look at it, I see that she looks more sad than angry.
“How are you feeling? Better?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Good. Your doctor says you’ll be released tomorrow. We have to keep up with the breathing treatments. You can’t go back to school yet, but you are out of the woods.” She smiles, but the sadness stays in her eyes and the edges of her mouth turn down. She opens her purse, the new one, the black Kate Spade briefcase-y one. The one Rena makes fun of, but I secretly love. She pulls out a file with papers in it. She opens the file, lays the papers out, flattens them with her hands. “I think we need to have a conversation. One that we should have had a long time ago, I guess.”
“Mom?”
The papers look legal, but I can’t read them.
“These are the papers from your settlement. The one right after you were born.”
I sink back into my bed.
“Your Uncle Steve took care of this for us, as you apparently know.”
A tear rolls down my face. This is the conversation I’d always wanted to have, but now all I want to do is stop it.
“Your father didn’t want you to know about any of this. Still doesn’t want you to know about any of this.”
“Mom—”
She holds her hand flat and straight in the air. “No. It’s time you knew.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She’s not even paying attention to the tears that are streaming down her own face. “I was so excited about having you. Especially after we found out you were a girl. Not that I didn’t love Eric, you know I do, but I was excited to have a daughter. And I wanted everything perfect for you.”
“What does that have…”
Mom shifts in her chair and stares at her hands that hold the papers. “Not everything is in these, you know. It’s not the whole story.”
“What is the whole story, Mom?”
“Your father was working a lot. It wasn’t his fault. We needed the money, and his job was very demanding. So, he took as many assignments as he could.”
A knot forms in my stomach.
“I wanted your nursery finished. Dad and I fought. I was having a difficult pregnancy and was supposed to be on bed rest. But that night, I got it in my head that I wanted the wallpaper up. It was so stupid.” Mom takes a shuddery breath. “I…I fell off the ladder. Dad came home and found me, and we rushed to the hospital.” Mom’s all-out crying now, just really going for it. “You were delivered after a difficult labor. No one could tell if it was the fall or the labor that caused your CP, and the doctor had insurance for this kind of thing…so… Even he admitted we’d need money for your care.”
Mom’s clutching the papers so hard now, and I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
“I knew there was a reason you didn’t want to stay in AP classes. I never guessed you’d found out about the settlement. But I should have. And I should have told you all of this a long time ago so that you never felt like we lied to you, but I was scared and Dad said it didn’t change anything anyway. But it was wrong. And I’m so sorry.”
I’m so stuck on everything that she’s said already that I barely hear the next words out of my mom’s mouth.
“It was never the doctor’s fault. It was mine.”
Twenty-Eight
I’m not really sure what I was supposed to say after Mom’s confession, so I lie there and say nothing. For a few minutes we sit stone-cold silent. All the while I try to think of something to say. I will myself to say something, but I’m so busy choking on all of the anger inside of me.
Did it piss me off that Mom did something stupid, and this is why I was born like this? That’s way too simple. I think I’m mainly angry that she never told me. But then this whole other conversation starts banging on the inside of my head and my heart. What if Mom hadn’t been so stubborn? What if she’d waited for Dad? She is still like that, to this day. If she wants to do something, she just does it, no matter how it affects other people.
Something even deeper than a scream is building up inside me. It’s dark and full and heavy. It breathes fire and wants me to shoot steam at Mom, like a rabid teakettle. And as angry as I am, as hurt as I feel, I still know that releasing that scream would be a bad thing.
So instead I grit my teeth and bite back the furious words.
Eventually Mom clears her throat and says, “I better check to see when they plan to send you home.”
As soon as she leaves, I burrow the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and release the scream into my pillow. And the tears come. Free and easy and sloppy and horrifying.
Mom might have done this. Mom. Not Dr. Jacoby. It might not have been medical malfeasance after all—it could have been Mom and her inability to take no for an answer.
Then, because the universe really wants me to suck it, the door opens again, and Julian walks in. I bury my face in my hands and just sob. This is all too much.
His hand goes on my arm. “Jenna. Are you okay? What happened?”
I’m too busy trying to turn away from him, to keep him from seeing the horror show I’ve become. My eyes are dripping, my nose is dripping, God only knows what my mouth is doing, and he’s here. Why is he here? I don’t have much time to process any of this, because he pulls me close to him and lets me cry into his shoulder.
“Hey. Shh. It’s okay.”
I can barely breathe, and he keeps holding me and rocking me and rubbing my back, which I realize is exposed to the air, since I’m in—shoot me—a hospital gown. And I smell of hospital sick. And I’m not wearing a bra, so my boobs are free beneath the gown and pressed against the boy’s chest, currently. None of this horror helps me stop crying.
Julian is holding me like this when the door opens again. Rena stands
in the doorway, upset, and I wonder what the hell I’ve done to her to piss her off, too.
“Look,” she says. “I know this all sucks. I know your life sucks, but our mother is out there breaking all the way down. They are thinking of sedating her. Dad is a mess. He and Uncle Steve got in another fight. And now, the boy you blew off is taking care of you. I just can’t take it anymore.”
“What—”
“Just because you have CP doesn’t mean your life is one big telethon.” And with that, she leaves. The line I once thought was funny and sarcastic is way too real.
Rena pops back in to land the final blow. “Oh, by the way, Mom told me to tell you they’re keeping you another day.” The door shuts, and I cry harder.
Julian stares at me. “What just happened?” he asks. “Why’s Rena mad at you? What happened with your mom?”
I shake my head. No way I can get all of those words out.
Julian hands me my phone. “You can tell me later if you want. Okay?”
I nod, sniveling and trying to control my breathing.
“Let’s get you cleaned up a little. You’re kind of a mess.” But he smiles as he says it.
Before I can protest or complain or tell him I’d rather be alone, Julian hops up and heads into the bathroom. He’s back in an instant with a wet washcloth that he uses to wipe the tears off my face. He brushes my hair back off my face. “That’s better.”
I slow my breathing and look up at him. He still bears the marks from the fight, the line of stitches on his forehead above the purple bruise painted over his eye. His lip is still scabbed. What would it feel like to kiss him now? Would he make a noise if we kissed? A combination of small discomfort mixed with longing?
“Jenna,” he says, “I know you’re upset. I’m not even sure what about. So maybe the best thing, the nicest thing, would be for me to just leave you alone.”
My heart cramps. Water leaks out of my eyes.
He looks at his hands and rubs the thumb of one hand over the back of the other. “But I just want to tell you,” he says, his voice cracking, “I didn’t mean to fight those guys. It just happened.” He gives me an earnest stare. “I let them get to me.”
And this is when words finally come. “Because you were embarrassed of me.”
He stares at me like I’ve wounded him. “No, Jenna. Not that.”
“Then what?”
“I was mad at you. So mad.”
“Why?”
“Because I remember everything. I remember you. And if you liked me, why did you have to hide behind anonymous texts?”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Couldn’t you see how excited I was to see you when I came back? Didn’t you think I felt the same way about you?”
“No,” I say. “No. I thought you were too good for me.”
His eyes get mad and his mouth turns down, and he shakes his head like he can’t believe what I just said. “See? That’s what I mean. I remember what you were like before, when we were kids. You were so adventurous. You always had so much fun. And I wanted that girl back.” And now he’s crying, too. “And when we ended up in the same class and then the texting…” His voice keeps breaking, and I know I’ve done this, I’ve hurt him this way. “Don’t you remember before?”
And I do remember. We used to all play in the woods, me and Eric and Rena, and sometimes Julian. When we first moved in to the neighborhood, he was one of the boys on the bikes, but he soon became part of our crew. No matter what we were doing, we were always laughing, Julian and me. Right up until that day in seventh grade when he moved away.
Here, now, talking to Julian, I whisper, “I do remember. I do.”
He nods.
I realize there is one question I need answered. “Did you know it was me? The texts?”
He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Not at first.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“It was a few things. You didn’t text or answer when you’d been hurt. That was suspicious. Then you said some things that reminded me of how we used to be.”
“Yeah.”
“And I looked up the thirty-six saints thing. It’s Jewish mysticism.”
“Yeah.”
“So I figured that was another check in the it-could-be-Jenna column.”
I nod.
“But I wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Not until the dance.”
I take a breath. Steel myself. “Did you want it to be me?”
His eyes are red and wounded. “Yes. I always did.”
“And now?”
He blows out a breath. “I don’t know.”
I nod.
“I want the old Jenna back. The one who was texting me. The one who doesn’t give up on herself.”
My turn to breathe out heavy.
He holds out a hand. “You don’t want to do that? You don’t want to try again?”
“I don’t think you know…”
“I do. I know all about you. You’re one of the smart ones. You should be in the AP classes. You should be killing it GPA-wise, and all the colleges should be dying to offer you a free ride.”
I shake my head. “That’s not me. That’s just who you think I am.”
He stands up. Kisses me on the forehead. “You bring that Jenna back, the one I fell for in kindergarten, the one I told I was going to marry. Remember her? You bring her back, and I’m all in.” He walks to the door, and I’m terrified that he’s not going to even look back, but he does. “That Jenna is stronger than Mulan, prettier than Cinderella, and smarter than Belle.”
I think of what Julian said about me being that girl he’d had a crush on in kindergarten. It’s not like I didn’t know on some level. For Julian and me, we are now and have always been part of each other’s stories. The question is if we still can be.
The door shuts, and I’m left speechless and stunned.
Twenty-Nine
It’s nighttime and the hospital is quiet like it gets. Visitors go home, and the sick and hurt are left to heal. My door opens, and I’m assuming it’s one of my nurses. When I look up, I see Dad. He’s holding two milkshakes.
“Mocha?” I ask.
“Your favorite.”
He kisses me on the cheek, and that paired with the milkshake makes me believe he doesn’t actually hate me, even though I would totally deserve that after how I treated Mom. He sits in the chair next to my bed and drinks some of his. We stay like this for a few minutes, and eventually he says, “Rough week for you, huh?”
“Understatement.”
“We can talk about the Mom thing later, but aside from that, I think we’ve got Rena not speaking to you and Julian.”
I throw myself back against my bed. “I do not want to talk with you about that.”
“I think you’re going to have to.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Okay. Well, how about I tell you what I know and you can grunt or nod or whatever you feel like doing.”
If Mom is known for her mom-ologues, Dad is known for his directives. Awesome.
“So, from what I hear, Julian attacked a Danbury hockey player because he said something unflattering about you after the big hockey dance.”
“Hockey Homecoming.”
“I stand corrected. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you and Julian have something going.”
I glare at him. “I really don’t think that’s a Dad kind of topic.”
“Also it seems that your sister is also infatuated with a senior hockey player. Am I close?”
“I’m not going to rat out my sister.”
Dad takes a long sip of his milkshake. “This is one of the moments I dreaded having two daughters. Excellent.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Dad.”
“You don
’t need a pep talk from me.” Dad drinks more milkshake. “It may surprise you to know, then, that Uncle Steve is representing Julian. Pro bono.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Perfect. Why don’t we make this a family affair?”
“Rena told me what happened. It was the least we could do.” Dad wipes an invisible crumb off his jeans. “I have eyes, you know. And dads are like guard dogs around their girls. So, I’ve been watching every single guy who has come on your radar since you were born.”
“Okay, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”
“Julian has been interested in you since you were little. You couldn’t keep him away.”
“So?”
“So, that means something, Jenna. You shouldn’t discount a person’s feelings because of a foolish mistake.”
“It may surprise you to know that you don’t get a vote in who I am friends with or date or—”
Dad continues as if I hadn’t just stood up to him. “Julian? I like him. He’s got to learn to control that temper, but I don’t blame him for his actions. It shows he cares about you, and I like that.”
“Maybe it shows that he’s embarrassed of me.”
“Ahhh… How convenient. This leads us into our next conversation.”
The small bit of mocha shake I’ve ingested turns in my stomach. “Mom?”
“Yes. Eventually. But first, you. Do you know how beautiful you were when you were born?”
“Dad.”
“You were this tiny little warrior baby. Like Wonder Woman.”
“Dad…”
“We were terrified about how you came into this world. And…” Dad’s voice breaks. “Then, when we found out you had cerebral palsy, your mother was so worried.”
“But not you?”
“No. I saw in your eyes how fierce you were.”
I take a sip of shake, trying to act like none of this is getting to me.
“Your mom made a terrible mistake, no question. And the thing is, we will never know if that’s what caused your condition. But as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter.”