“I brought twin sheets,” I said, puzzled.
“So did I,” Dana laughed. “Maybe accessible rooms have double beds? We’ll just have to go shopping. Oh, the hardship!” Her eyes twinkled.
My mom, huffing under the weight of one of my suitcases, came into the room. “Shopping for what?”
“Sheets,” I said. “We have double beds.”
She clapped her hands together. “We’ll drive you girls to Target before we leave.”
I would have rather gotten rid of my parents, but Dana took her up on it.
“First, let me have a look around,” my mother said. “Maybe there are other things you need.” She traipsed into our private bathroom. It was amply proportioned, with a handicapped accessible shower. “This is perfect,” she said. “Let’s put a few of your things away, and make sure you have somewhere to dry your catheters.”
“Mother,” I hissed. I really did not want to discuss my freakish rituals in front of my roommate.
“If we’re going to Target,” Dana said from the common room, “we should look at the rugs. It echoes in here.”
My mother hurried out of the bathroom to humiliate me further. “Oh, Corey can’t have an area rug while she’s still working on walking. She could trip. But where do you girls want Hank to install the television?” my mom asked, turning about.
I jumped on the change of topic. “My father is hooking us up with a flat-screen, and a cable subscription,” I said to Dana. “If that’s okay with you. Not everybody wants a TV.”
Dana put a thoughtful hand to her chin. “I’m not much of a TV watcher myself…” Her eyes flashed. “But there may be um, certain sorts of people who will want to gather in our room, say, when sporting events are on?”
My mother laughed. “What sort of people?”
“Well, have you met our neighbor yet? He’s a junior.” My new roommate’s eyes darted towards the hallway.
“Across the hall?” I asked. “In the other accessible room?” It wasn’t the first place I’d look for a hot guy.
She nodded. “You’ll see. Just wait.”
Our shopping trip took far longer than I’d hoped. My mother insisted on paying for Dana’s new bedding, with the argument that the peculiar accessible beds were all our fault. Dana chose a comforter with a giant red flower on it. I chose polka dots.
“Very cheery,” my mother said approvingly. My mom had always liked the cheery look. But after the year we’d just had, she clung to cheery like a life raft. “Let’s get the matching shams, ladies. And…” she went into the next aisle. “An extra pillow for each of you. Those beds won’t look right otherwise.”
“She doesn’t have to do this,” Dana whispered.
“Just go with it,” I said. “Wait…” I beckoned, and Dana leaned down so I could add something privately. “Take a peek at the rugs. If you see anything good, we’ll come back another time.”
She frowned at me. “But I thought…”
I gave her an eye roll. “She’s insane.”
With a wink, Dana ducked into the rug aisle.
When we got back, my father was standing in the center of our empty room, flipping channels on the TV he’d mounted on our wall. “Success!” he called out.
“Thanks, Dad.”
His smile was tired. “No problem.”
As irritating as I’d found my mother this past year, things were even trickier with my father. He and I used to talk about ice hockey all day long. It was our shared passion, as well as his livelihood. But now an uncomfortable silence hung between us. The fact that I couldn’t skate anymore just killed him. He’d aged about ten years since my accident. I hoped that with me out of the house, he would be able to get back into his groove.
It was time to ease my parents into hallway, and send them on their way. “Guys? There’s a barbecue for First Years on the lawn. And Dana and I are going to it. Soon.”
My mother wrung her hands. “Hold up. I forgot to install your night-light.” She darted into my bedroom, while I bit back an angry complaint. Seriously? I hadn’t had a night-light since I was seven. And when my brother went off to Harkness four years ago, there wasn’t any handholding for him. Damien got only a plane ticket and a clap on the shoulder.
“She can’t help herself,” my father said, reading my face. He picked his tool kit up off the floor and made his way toward the door.
“I’m going to be fine, you know,” I said, wheeling after him.
“I know you are, Corey.” He put one hand on my head, and then took it away again.
“Hey, Dad? I hope you have a great season.”
His eyes looked heavy. “Thanks, honey.” Under other circumstances, he’d be wishing the same for me. He would have inspected my safety pads, and we would have found a corner of the room to accommodate my hockey bag. He would have booked plane tickets to come out and watch one of my games.