The Care and Handling of Roses With Thorns by Margaret Dilloway Page A

pressure meds. He did it before. Seems like I’m a better bet.”
    “I can’t discuss another patient’s case.” Her expression closes off. She steps back, done with the conversation. “I have to go.”
    I grimace. I feel myself being pushed down, down, down to the very bottom of the kidney list. I accept the fact that if I don’t do this test at all, I will not get a transplant. At least, not from this doctor.
    “Listen. I have never had a bad response when a patient is premedicated. We’ll put you on a Benadryl and Prednisone drip. We’ll use only a tiny amount of dye.” Dr. Blankenship studies my face.
    “And then I’ll get put on top of the list?” This is what I want, to not wait in dialysis purgatory forever.
    “You have my word.” Dr. Blankenship awkwardly puts her hand over mine. Her hand feels like it needs to be de-iced.

7
    I T IS S ATURDAY. T HE DAY IS COOL. O NLY A LITTLE WIND. M Y house has its porch light on, despite it being mid-morning. My car alarm beeps, and I wonder if it woke Riley. I squeak the door open. Being a guardian is so difficult. Who knew I’d go from zero to sixty in parental anxiety? If I’d had her all these fifteen years, I would have had time to get used to this raw worry, not have it blossom all at once.
    I used to long for a normal life, a life like the one Becky had. I used to sit in front of the big mirror on my mother’s dresser, thinking I could step through it, like Alice, to a parallel life. One where my kidney reflux was discovered and fixed early on. Where I had gotten married fairly young, and begun having babies with some decent man. I used to want six. Three boys, three girls. I had names picked out for them, all from Greek myth. Cassandra, Alexandra, Penelope. Ulysses, Jason, Hector. I would have needed an accommodating husband with a short last name.
    But now, I’m thinking maybe it’s better that I didn’t become a parent. Maybe I could never have handled it in the first place, based on how I am handling Riley. Not that I have done anything bad.
    It’s just that I’m used to being alone, doing what I want, not thinking about kids, other than my students. When my students went home, they were no longer my worry. I could think about roses, piddle around in my greenhouse as much as I wanted.
    Riley is up and talking on the phone. The television is on. So is the radio in the kitchen, to some rock music with bass I can feel in my bowels. It sounds like pure noise more than music. I turn off the radio and study my niece.
    She looks healthy. No signs of partying or illness are in the room. In fact, she appears to have straightened up. She has on thick socks with pictures of roses on them that I recognize as mine. What else has she looked through while I was gone? She turns her head away from me.
    I go into the bedroom to give her privacy and shut the door, hearing her say, “I love you too, Mom,” before she hangs up.
    I reappear, wondering what my sister had to say for herself. “How’s your mom?”
    “She’s great. She loves Hong Kong. Nonstop, like she is.” Riley says this without a trace of bitterness. “She’s going to bring me some cool souvenirs.”
    “She ought to just bring you herself, not junk.” I sit on the chair opposite my niece and put my feet on the coffee table.
    “She needed to take the job.” Riley chews on a hangnail, stares out the window. “When she comes back, she says we’re going to buy a house. They pay her housing, so she’s saving up.”
    I somehow doubt my sister has a real plan to save money, but I don’t say anything to Riley. “Did she say when she’d be back?”
    “She doesn’t know yet. The Hong Kong assignment might be longer than she thought.” Riley gets up. “She said it might be through the summer.” She rubs the heel of her hand into her eyes to stave off tears. “It’s a good opportunity for her, isn’t it?”
    I see it all then. Becky is no good for her. Riley would be better off if she