hear shuffling overhead. She’s finally moving. I purposely didn’t mention that Char and Crystal have the appointment before ours. Mom can’t bear anyone seeing her like this, and the possibility of running into her ex–best friend is sure to keep her burrowed under the covers for life. I’m scanning the refrigeratorshelves, looking for something to ease Mom’s stress, when I hear her bedroom door open.
“East?” she moans, as if my name takes too much energy to say. I slam the fridge and race upstairs. Her door is open, but she’s back in bed and her room looks like a tornado churned through her closet and flung everything out.
“But—but you promised.…”
Mom rolls onto her side with a moan and pulls the blankets up so I can’t see her face. “Please. I’m sorry. I just can’t. Not today.”
I pick up this fraying, stretched-out gray sweater thing. “Here. Put this on. You’ll look good in this,” I try. But she doesn’t even lower the blanket to look.
“I’m so sorry, East. Please just reschedule. I’ll do it another day, I promise. I feel too awful to get out of bed.” She’s whimpering into her pillow and I just stand there unable to feel my limbs. Finally, I manage to back out of the room and close the door behind me before I burst into tears. I’m an idiot to think anything could ever change, that anything good could ever really happen. What’s the point of even trying?
Five seconds later, I’m curled in a ball beneath my covers, sobbing. My arm has just enough life in it to fish around my night table for some Reese’s Pieces—and to send my alarm clock crashing to the floor. I sit up. Sunshine is streaming in through my lace curtains and here I am in bed just like my mother. I fling myself out of the bed and pick up the clock—it’s noon! I spin around to grab my phone and speed-dial Char’s home line.
“Char!” I blurt into the phone. “Thank God I caught you.”
“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay. You so need to de-Shroud,” Char is saying as my fingers twirl the hair in my ponytail into knots in the Park Avenue Bariatrics waiting room.
“I’m going to vomit.”
“Stop. It’s three-twenty-five already. Betsy and my mom will be finished any minute. You have to get your act together. Get back into that psyched-up state. C’mon.” I nod glumly and dig through my bag for a comb and another Jujube bear.
“She shouldn’t have blown you off. You’re so right. But—”
“Shhh,” I say. “Everyone can hear you.”
Char lowers her voice. “Look. She promised to stay awake and wait for your call. You told her about her allergies, right?”
I freeze.
“Quick, call her now,” Char whispers loudly enough for the receptionist on the other side of the glass partition to hear, and then we’re huddled over my phone listening to it ring and go to the answering machine.
“Mom!” I plead. “Please get up. Dr. Glass and I will be calling soon. You have allergies, okay? That’s why you’re not here.
Allergies
. Please remember. And please pick up when we call.”
There’s a worried expression on Char’s face when I snap my phone shut, but she stows it away quickly. “This can still work, East. It really can. Just stay cool. Your mom has allergies, that’s it. Nothing terrible. Just play it the way we planned.”
I shake my head. “Even if Dr. Glass will do the interview by phone, my mother’ll be zoned out. How can she convince anyone I have a supportive family environment?”
Supportive family environment
. Just that phrase has my eyes filling up again.
Char leans over and rubs my arm. “The interview isn’t a big deal. Betsy talks about the postsurgery eating and exercise program and asks some general questions. That’s it. Your mom can so handle it. And if she sounds zoned, you’ll tell Betsy it’s the allergy medication. We need to get this right. Right?”
We
. Char and me. That’s the only
we
I can count on. “Right,” I whisper as the
“East?” she moans, as if my name takes too much energy to say. I slam the fridge and race upstairs. Her door is open, but she’s back in bed and her room looks like a tornado churned through her closet and flung everything out.
“But—but you promised.…”
Mom rolls onto her side with a moan and pulls the blankets up so I can’t see her face. “Please. I’m sorry. I just can’t. Not today.”
I pick up this fraying, stretched-out gray sweater thing. “Here. Put this on. You’ll look good in this,” I try. But she doesn’t even lower the blanket to look.
“I’m so sorry, East. Please just reschedule. I’ll do it another day, I promise. I feel too awful to get out of bed.” She’s whimpering into her pillow and I just stand there unable to feel my limbs. Finally, I manage to back out of the room and close the door behind me before I burst into tears. I’m an idiot to think anything could ever change, that anything good could ever really happen. What’s the point of even trying?
Five seconds later, I’m curled in a ball beneath my covers, sobbing. My arm has just enough life in it to fish around my night table for some Reese’s Pieces—and to send my alarm clock crashing to the floor. I sit up. Sunshine is streaming in through my lace curtains and here I am in bed just like my mother. I fling myself out of the bed and pick up the clock—it’s noon! I spin around to grab my phone and speed-dial Char’s home line.
“Char!” I blurt into the phone. “Thank God I caught you.”
“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay. You so need to de-Shroud,” Char is saying as my fingers twirl the hair in my ponytail into knots in the Park Avenue Bariatrics waiting room.
“I’m going to vomit.”
“Stop. It’s three-twenty-five already. Betsy and my mom will be finished any minute. You have to get your act together. Get back into that psyched-up state. C’mon.” I nod glumly and dig through my bag for a comb and another Jujube bear.
“She shouldn’t have blown you off. You’re so right. But—”
“Shhh,” I say. “Everyone can hear you.”
Char lowers her voice. “Look. She promised to stay awake and wait for your call. You told her about her allergies, right?”
I freeze.
“Quick, call her now,” Char whispers loudly enough for the receptionist on the other side of the glass partition to hear, and then we’re huddled over my phone listening to it ring and go to the answering machine.
“Mom!” I plead. “Please get up. Dr. Glass and I will be calling soon. You have allergies, okay? That’s why you’re not here.
Allergies
. Please remember. And please pick up when we call.”
There’s a worried expression on Char’s face when I snap my phone shut, but she stows it away quickly. “This can still work, East. It really can. Just stay cool. Your mom has allergies, that’s it. Nothing terrible. Just play it the way we planned.”
I shake my head. “Even if Dr. Glass will do the interview by phone, my mother’ll be zoned out. How can she convince anyone I have a supportive family environment?”
Supportive family environment
. Just that phrase has my eyes filling up again.
Char leans over and rubs my arm. “The interview isn’t a big deal. Betsy talks about the postsurgery eating and exercise program and asks some general questions. That’s it. Your mom can so handle it. And if she sounds zoned, you’ll tell Betsy it’s the allergy medication. We need to get this right. Right?”
We
. Char and me. That’s the only
we
I can count on. “Right,” I whisper as the
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