The pain became tolerable. The nausea bearable. The boredom wasn’t. Gyver finished all our summer reading. I’d never known a month could feel so long; I’d run out of things to say to my parents weeks ago. Mom’s refrain was: “I think you look better. Do you feel better?” Dad’s was: “Can I get you anything? Want to play Go Fish?” There was never enough time for Gyver to visit or enough contact with the outside world. I missed the Calendar Girls. I missed Jinx. I missed Ryan, cheering, and my life. I could handle the shots, the bone marrow tests; it was the waiting that was the worst.
It had been an eternity. A shapeless eternity where days and nights blurred with pain, boredom, and repetition. Where my body belonged more to the doctors and blood counts than me. Where life outside the hospital seemed like another world, one I was no longer a part of.
Then, five weeks later, it ended. “Your numbers are looking good and holding steady. It’s time we sent you home. Though we’re not done with you just yet. We’ll see you in late September for your first round of consolidation therapy. And, of course, sooner if you’re feeling at all …” Dr. Kevin continued to lecture me on limitations, statistics; Dad took notes.
My mind locked on the word “home” and tuned out the rest.
Chapter 7
My parents were nervous about my homecoming. They tried to hide it, but there was an undercurrent of “now what?” in the looks they exchanged as they carried my bags from the car. Jinx was in cat bliss. She followed me like a puppy, twisted through my legs until I had no choice but to pick her up or trip.
“I think Gyver overfed Jinx. She feels heavier.” Either that or I was weaker, because my arms began to shake pathetically.
Mom looked up from the grocery list she was writing for Dad. “You might want to shower and get dressed.”
I looked at her notepad: quinoa, acai berries, salmon. “What is this stuff? Since when do we eat kale? What is kale?”
“It’s a superfood. Your dad read about it,” Mom answered defensively. “You’ll like it. You’re a healthy eater, but it couldn’t hurt to eliminate some of the junk food.”
Healthy eater? Had they seen Iggy’s menu? But she looked so anxious, the pen in her hand was quivering. “I’m sure it’s great.”
“You’ll love it. It’s good to have you home. I’ve missed you so much.”
I opened my mouth to ask how she could miss me when she’d spent almost every moment by my side, but she’d already turned away, opening the fridge and clucking at its contents. “I hope no one’s expecting a gourmet dinner. There’s nothing in here for me to work with.”
“Do you want me to pick something up while I’m out?” Dad began listing options and Mom criticized each in turn.
I scratched Jinx below the chin. She purred and nuzzled closer. Mom had moved on to complaining about her neglected garden; Dad was scanning the grocery list. I slowly climbed the stairs, plopping Jinx on my bed before heading to the bathroom.
The shower felt amazing—real water pressure. I took my time, wrapped myself in cozy towels and rested before smoothing on lavender lotion to cover any lingering hospital smells. I twined my hair into two loose braids—pretending not to notice how much had stayed tangled on my fingers and in the drain while shampooing. Digging through my suitcase, I found my horseshoe and rehung it above the bedroom door, picked up Jinx, then headed downstairs.
Mom unloaded strange foods from Whole Foods bags. New diet, new grocery store: I might be home, but things had changed.
“Pajamas?” Her face tightened in disappointment. “I thought you might like to get dressed for a change.”
“I’m not going anywhere today.”
“But you’re home now. And better. You don’t have to go back there for seven weeks. You don’t need to wear pajamas anymore. People don’t wear pajamas in the middle of the day unless they’re sick.” A box of organic, whole-wheat crackers dented beneath her fingers.
Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. If Mia wants to wear pajamas it’s okay. She’s still healthy.”
Mom inhaled a shaky breath. I noticed she wasn’t dressed in her wrinkled gardening clothes today. She had on khaki capris and a button-down shirt. Her hair was smoothed in a twist and she had on makeup. She looked like Mom again. She needed me to look like Mia.
“You’re right,” I piped up with a silly-me smile. “What was I thinking? I’ll go change.”
Mom exhaled and placed the mangled crackers in the pantry. “Well, if that’s what you want.”