16 Things I Thought Were True by Janet Gurtler

shoulder with one last look around my bedroom. Next time I’m in here, I’ll have met my father. I walk out, stopping in the hallway in front of Mom’s, room and tap at her door. There’s no response, but I push it open anyway.
    â€œMom?”
    She’s lying on the bed, on top of her covers. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and the black velour shorts she bought me for Christmas last year.
    She coughs, sounding fragile and tired. “How’re you feeling?” she asks me.
    â€œI’m good,” I tell her. “How are you feeling?”
    She coughs again. “I miss my cigarettes.” She pushes her bottom lip out. The hospital stay seems to have cured her of her lipstick addiction. With her pale face and untidy hair, she looks like a little girl who woke up from a nightmare.
    â€œYou’re doing great.”
    â€œI’m scared,” she says with a sigh.
    I don’t know if she’s scared because of her heart condition or because I’m starting out on a trip to finally meet my dad. I don’t ask. She could have pulled out everything in her arsenal to stop me from going to Victoria—pity, fear, guilt, whatever it took. But she hasn’t. I know she wants to tell me not to go, and I respect her restraint even though resentment swirls around my overactive brain. She hasn’t brought up his name again. We haven’t discussed him once—or why I’m going to Victoria. We’re following family protocol by not discussing it.
    â€œI want to smoke so badly,” she says.
    Jake’s laughter floats into the room from the front hall.
    â€œThat’s your friend with Jake?” She places her book on the bed beside her and slowly moves into a sitting position and then swings her feet over the side of the bed.
    I almost tell her Amy’s not a friend exactly, that she’s more like a chatty coworker with a car. But it makes both of us happy to think I have friends again, so I nod.
    â€œWhat about the boy? Adam? Is he coming here too?”
    â€œNo. I told you. We’re picking him up after. He lives closer to the outside of town.”
    She sighs. “I’m still not happy about you traipsing off with two kids I don’t know.”
    â€œLiar,” I say lightly. “You’re happy I’m going somewhere with real people.”
    She stares at me as she pushes on the bed and slowly stands. “It has been a while, but this isn’t exactly the way I would want it.”
    I swallow the sarcastic responses that pop in my head.
    She takes a shaky step forward. “Can you bring me my robe?”
    â€œSure.” I put down my backpack and reach for the pink terry cloth robe on the door handle behind me. Everything about it is familiar, even the faint odor of smoke that clings to it. I hold it, proud of her for giving up her cigarettes even though she loves them so much.
    For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I could give up the Internet if I had to. But that thought makes my head and stomach hurt, so I take a deep breath and hand her the robe.
    She stares me down with her practiced Mom glare as she puts her arms into the sleeves, and when she pulls the belt around her, it emphasizes her tiny waist. She’s incredibly thin, and I remember how physically fragile she is right now.
    â€œIt’s going to be all right,” I say softly and move to help her walk, but she shakes her head and wobbles forward.
    â€œJust be careful.” She touches the side of my face. “Be careful.” She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say more, but then clamps it shut, shakes her head, and clears her throat. “Well, come on, I need to meet this Amy girl.”
    I pick up my bag and follow her to the hallway. When we turn the corner to the living room and front foyer, Jake is leaning against the wall, smiling down at Amy. She’s talking a mile a minute. He’s watching her as if she’s explaining the