“Magic thoughts,” he said, thinking his dreams now were more complex and almost more necessary.
“Mm….” He heard a sound and looked up to see that she had gotten out of bed and was waddling (well, she was twenty-nine weeks along) to the chair by his bed.
“Doesn’t feel right, you doing that,” he said, feeling again the weight of the plaster and slings and such on his wrenched shoulder and broken arm. He understood these things would be off in two weeks, and then, if he took to physical therapy well, he could go home in early February. Except, he knew from listening to Aiden, home wasn’t going to be where he left it.
“It’s what you do,” she said simply. “You can’t move and I can.” She dropped the side rail on his bed so she could lean her head against his on the pillow, and he didn’t mind. In fact, he wished he could move his hand and stroke her hair. They seemed to have moved beyond friends this past month, and more to brother and sister.
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he said. He would too. Ariadne had been one of his best teachers regarding what was real and what was honest. He tried hard to remember everything she’d taught him.
“So don’t worry so much about the scars,” she said, like she was picking up a dropped stitch. “My baby isn’t going to come out pretty. Baby’s going to have a gap right here.” She drew a triangle with her upper lip as the bottom and the septum of her nose as the top point. “They say it’s going to be pretty bad—not bad enough to risk the pregnancy by operating when the kid’s still in my stomach, but, you know. Like a rabbit.”
Jeremy nodded. “That’s why they called it a harelip,” he said. God knew where he got that bit of information, but, well, trust him to have it.
“Right,” she said, nodding and smiling sadly. “And it’s hard. All the things you want for your baby, and you don’t want them to come out with a strike against them, right?”
“No,” he said gruffly. Oh God. She sounded so sad. So sad, and all he had for her was the worst part of himself. He couldn’t do that. Probably not. Maybe. “Now see,” he said, thinking of his words, which he finally had now that he had teeth, “see, it’s not such a hardship, not being pretty if you’re loved.”
She laughed, and the sound came out bitter. “You say that because you never had boys make fun of you in high school.”
He made a little whimper. “I need my hand free,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “This would sound better if I could touch your hair.”
Her thin, hard hand crept into his, and he squeezed.
“Thank you,” he acknowledged. “You’re gonna wanna go to the other side of the room in a sec, so that’s really sweet of you. See, when daddy and me were on the grift, we’d look for the plain babies. The plainer the better. My daddy loved an ugly baby, because the ugly babies, they had parents who loved them something fierce. My daddy made our rent for a year selling people a fake agent’s contact number, telling them that their baby had star potential.”
Ariadne stayed right where she was. “Jeremy, that’s awful!”
He squeezed her hand so tight it probably hurt. “It is,” he admitted. “It’s fucking horrible. It’s why I deserved everything Mikey Carelli dished out—but that’s not the point. The point is, my daddy used to think that made those parents stupid, that they deserved to get duped, but these last years, me tryin’ to be honest, I figured out he was wrong. You know why?”
“You didn’t deserve it,” she whispered, and he heard tears in her voice again.
“I did, and like I said, it’s not the point. The point is, Oscar was wrong. Plain wrong. Those people who bought the bullshit about the Hollywood agents, they weren’t stupid.”
“No?” Ariadne had her face tucked against his plastered arm and side, so he wasn’t sure what she looked like, but he suspected she was crying. Well, women did that.
“Mm….” He heard a sound and looked up to see that she had gotten out of bed and was waddling (well, she was twenty-nine weeks along) to the chair by his bed.
“Doesn’t feel right, you doing that,” he said, feeling again the weight of the plaster and slings and such on his wrenched shoulder and broken arm. He understood these things would be off in two weeks, and then, if he took to physical therapy well, he could go home in early February. Except, he knew from listening to Aiden, home wasn’t going to be where he left it.
“It’s what you do,” she said simply. “You can’t move and I can.” She dropped the side rail on his bed so she could lean her head against his on the pillow, and he didn’t mind. In fact, he wished he could move his hand and stroke her hair. They seemed to have moved beyond friends this past month, and more to brother and sister.
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he said. He would too. Ariadne had been one of his best teachers regarding what was real and what was honest. He tried hard to remember everything she’d taught him.
“So don’t worry so much about the scars,” she said, like she was picking up a dropped stitch. “My baby isn’t going to come out pretty. Baby’s going to have a gap right here.” She drew a triangle with her upper lip as the bottom and the septum of her nose as the top point. “They say it’s going to be pretty bad—not bad enough to risk the pregnancy by operating when the kid’s still in my stomach, but, you know. Like a rabbit.”
Jeremy nodded. “That’s why they called it a harelip,” he said. God knew where he got that bit of information, but, well, trust him to have it.
“Right,” she said, nodding and smiling sadly. “And it’s hard. All the things you want for your baby, and you don’t want them to come out with a strike against them, right?”
“No,” he said gruffly. Oh God. She sounded so sad. So sad, and all he had for her was the worst part of himself. He couldn’t do that. Probably not. Maybe. “Now see,” he said, thinking of his words, which he finally had now that he had teeth, “see, it’s not such a hardship, not being pretty if you’re loved.”
She laughed, and the sound came out bitter. “You say that because you never had boys make fun of you in high school.”
He made a little whimper. “I need my hand free,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “This would sound better if I could touch your hair.”
Her thin, hard hand crept into his, and he squeezed.
“Thank you,” he acknowledged. “You’re gonna wanna go to the other side of the room in a sec, so that’s really sweet of you. See, when daddy and me were on the grift, we’d look for the plain babies. The plainer the better. My daddy loved an ugly baby, because the ugly babies, they had parents who loved them something fierce. My daddy made our rent for a year selling people a fake agent’s contact number, telling them that their baby had star potential.”
Ariadne stayed right where she was. “Jeremy, that’s awful!”
He squeezed her hand so tight it probably hurt. “It is,” he admitted. “It’s fucking horrible. It’s why I deserved everything Mikey Carelli dished out—but that’s not the point. The point is, my daddy used to think that made those parents stupid, that they deserved to get duped, but these last years, me tryin’ to be honest, I figured out he was wrong. You know why?”
“You didn’t deserve it,” she whispered, and he heard tears in her voice again.
“I did, and like I said, it’s not the point. The point is, Oscar was wrong. Plain wrong. Those people who bought the bullshit about the Hollywood agents, they weren’t stupid.”
“No?” Ariadne had her face tucked against his plastered arm and side, so he wasn’t sure what she looked like, but he suspected she was crying. Well, women did that.
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