jumps down and goes to get the phone.
Whoever it is, they can fuck off. I’m going to nap and then I’m going to go to the commons for a pint of ice cream.
“Hello?” I hear Kimber say. “Yeah, Ms. Kavanagh, she just got here. I’m sorry she worried you.”
There’s a pause. “I don’t think she wants to come to the phone right now.”
Another pause.
Then, “Oh my god. Okay, yeah, I’ll get her on. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
Somewhere in the fog of my brain, I understand that something isn’t right. I raise my head and turn to look at Kim, who’s holding the phone away from her ear and looking at me with wide eyes.
“Mia, you really need to talk to your mom,” she says.
Her tone spreads a numb sort panic inside me. I climb down the ladder and take the phone from her. A heaviness settles in my gut, a small ball of molten lead that burns me up inside. When I put the phone to my ear, I hear my mother’s hitched breathing and realize she’s crying. My mouth tastes like bile.
“Mom?” I croak. “What’s going on?”
“We were worried sick, Mia, damn it,” she sobs, and I know it’s bad because Mom doesn’t swear. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? For hours and hours. We couldn’t take it if both of you…”
Everything around me goes very quiet and very still, like I’m frozen in a bubble of time.
“Both of us?” I repeat.
Mom’s crying too hard to answer and then Dad comes on the line. He’s not crying, but his voice sounds ragged and old.
“It’s your sister,” Dad says. “She was in a car accident with Damien last night. He was driving, and the police are pretty sure he was drinking.”
My knees give out under me. Kimber grabs me as I sink to the floor.
“What?” I whisper.
“He’s got a broken arm,” Dad says. He’s stating the facts in this mechanical voice, like turning computer will help him stay strong. That’s a bad sign. The last time I heard him like this was when we found out Nana had cancer.
“I don’t care about him,” I say, and I mean it. “What about Iris?”
There’s a pause. It feels like it goes on forever, swallows me whole. Then Dad says, “She’s still in surgery. They… keep telling us her condition is critical and they’re doing all they can.”
My mouth moves without sound for a few seconds before I manage to say, “But she’s alive. She’s going to be okay. Right?”
He doesn’t say anything. My mother’s crying echoes in the background.
“Dad,” I beg, my voice cracking. “Tell me she’s going to be okay.”
“I think you’d better come back home as soon as you can, baby,” he says. “We’ll wire you some money for a plane ticket. Turn your phone back on. I have to go be with your mother now.”
“Dad?” Tears are welling up in my eyes, my throat, my entire body. I feel like I’m drowning.
He’s barely audible as he says, “I love you, baby. Come home.”
The line goes quiet and I know he hung up. I drop the phone into my lap. Kimber’s sitting on the floor next to me, her arm around my shoulder. She says something, but I don’t register it.
My sister’s in the hospital, unconscious and alone, surrounded by cold metal and sterile people she doesn’t know.
My sister’s dying 800 miles away.
Reality crashes and I twist my hands into my hair as the room falls apart all around me, because this is my fault.
12
A fter someone’s seen you completely lose it on a public street right before your first real date, you can’t expect them to pretend that it never happened.
That’s what I keep telling myself as I stuff another spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia into my mouth. I’m wrapped in three different blankets on the couch and binge watching New Girl like it’s going out of style. It seems like the thing to do. After all, it’s not like I’m going to be going on any more dates, probably ever.
I swallow my ice cream and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I haven’t worn my
Whoever it is, they can fuck off. I’m going to nap and then I’m going to go to the commons for a pint of ice cream.
“Hello?” I hear Kimber say. “Yeah, Ms. Kavanagh, she just got here. I’m sorry she worried you.”
There’s a pause. “I don’t think she wants to come to the phone right now.”
Another pause.
Then, “Oh my god. Okay, yeah, I’ll get her on. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
Somewhere in the fog of my brain, I understand that something isn’t right. I raise my head and turn to look at Kim, who’s holding the phone away from her ear and looking at me with wide eyes.
“Mia, you really need to talk to your mom,” she says.
Her tone spreads a numb sort panic inside me. I climb down the ladder and take the phone from her. A heaviness settles in my gut, a small ball of molten lead that burns me up inside. When I put the phone to my ear, I hear my mother’s hitched breathing and realize she’s crying. My mouth tastes like bile.
“Mom?” I croak. “What’s going on?”
“We were worried sick, Mia, damn it,” she sobs, and I know it’s bad because Mom doesn’t swear. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? For hours and hours. We couldn’t take it if both of you…”
Everything around me goes very quiet and very still, like I’m frozen in a bubble of time.
“Both of us?” I repeat.
Mom’s crying too hard to answer and then Dad comes on the line. He’s not crying, but his voice sounds ragged and old.
“It’s your sister,” Dad says. “She was in a car accident with Damien last night. He was driving, and the police are pretty sure he was drinking.”
My knees give out under me. Kimber grabs me as I sink to the floor.
“What?” I whisper.
“He’s got a broken arm,” Dad says. He’s stating the facts in this mechanical voice, like turning computer will help him stay strong. That’s a bad sign. The last time I heard him like this was when we found out Nana had cancer.
“I don’t care about him,” I say, and I mean it. “What about Iris?”
There’s a pause. It feels like it goes on forever, swallows me whole. Then Dad says, “She’s still in surgery. They… keep telling us her condition is critical and they’re doing all they can.”
My mouth moves without sound for a few seconds before I manage to say, “But she’s alive. She’s going to be okay. Right?”
He doesn’t say anything. My mother’s crying echoes in the background.
“Dad,” I beg, my voice cracking. “Tell me she’s going to be okay.”
“I think you’d better come back home as soon as you can, baby,” he says. “We’ll wire you some money for a plane ticket. Turn your phone back on. I have to go be with your mother now.”
“Dad?” Tears are welling up in my eyes, my throat, my entire body. I feel like I’m drowning.
He’s barely audible as he says, “I love you, baby. Come home.”
The line goes quiet and I know he hung up. I drop the phone into my lap. Kimber’s sitting on the floor next to me, her arm around my shoulder. She says something, but I don’t register it.
My sister’s in the hospital, unconscious and alone, surrounded by cold metal and sterile people she doesn’t know.
My sister’s dying 800 miles away.
Reality crashes and I twist my hands into my hair as the room falls apart all around me, because this is my fault.
12
A fter someone’s seen you completely lose it on a public street right before your first real date, you can’t expect them to pretend that it never happened.
That’s what I keep telling myself as I stuff another spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia into my mouth. I’m wrapped in three different blankets on the couch and binge watching New Girl like it’s going out of style. It seems like the thing to do. After all, it’s not like I’m going to be going on any more dates, probably ever.
I swallow my ice cream and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I haven’t worn my
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