“I just wanted to come say good night,” he said. “And to let you know I called Skunk, and he’s going to help us out with some stuff.” He nodded, awkwardly, before finally just saying, “And . . . I wanted to check on you. How you doing with everything going on? School isn’t your favorite place, Momly’s going through what she’s going through, track is stressful, I’m sure, and Maddy, I know can be a handful because she’s got your mother in her.” He smirked just for a second.
“I’m cool.”
“Yeah?” He didn’t seem surprised by my answer, but he leaned in anyway and asked, “You sure?” He looked at me like he could see that thing on my face that Becca saw. That I saw in hers. That look that says I got thoughts somewhere I can’t get to. Under-thoughts.
But what was I supposed to say? I mean, I was fine because I had to be.
“Yeah, I’m sure, why?” I faked, but before he could call me on it, I changed the subject, which, when I think about it, might be one of my hidden talents. “What’s the plate for?”
“Oh,” Uncle Tony said as if he had forgotten about it. He reached behind his back and grabbed it, then sat right beside me. “Well . . . I was wondering if maybe you would have a cupcake with your uncle.” He extended the plate to me. “Go on. Your ma won’t know, and you better not tell Momly or Maddy on me.” A wink and a grin.
I gave him a blank stare. Folded my arms across my chest.
“Go on,” he nudged. “For me.” I sighed, bit down on my lip, and pretended to pick up a cupcake. Held the invisible cupcake to my lips, took a bite.
“Good, right?” Uncle Tony said, doing the same, his eyes starting to water. “Strawberry.” I kept my hand to my mouth, now covering it. Keep it together. Come on, Patty. Keep it together. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but think about my life without my little sister, without Momly. My life without my mother, or uncle. And even though I was grateful for all of them, I wondered how my life would be different if my dad had just . . . woke up. Why couldn’t he have just woke up? If he was here, I could just be . . . regular. But I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say nothing. So I just nodded at my uncle, who was now wiping tears from his own cheeks, and swallowed my pretend cupcake. And then, it all burst out of me. All those stupid tears I’d been cramming back finally broke loose. I cried me a flood.
The next morning I didn’t send Ma a smiley-face text like I normally did. But that’s because Uncle Tony took off work—something that never happened—so that he could fill in for Momly and take Ma to the hospital dialysis unit to get her blood cleaned. And because Momly was in the same hospital, I convinced Uncle Tony to take me and Maddy with him.
It was super early, like around six thirty in the morning, when we left the house and piled into Uncle Tony’s SUV. There were papers all over the backseat, half-full cups of coffee in the cup holders, and a few french fries—hard yellow twigs—that must’ve been there forever on the passenger seat, wedged between the cushions. His SUV didn’t smell like clean. It didn’t have that nose-itchy scent that we were used to in Momly’s car. It still smelled poisonous, but not the good kind.
When we pulled up in front of Ma’s house, our other house, Maddy ran to the door like usual.
“Once, Maddy,” I reminded her.
“I know!” she shot over her shoulder, pushing the doorbell. “Coming,” Ma said through the wood. The sound of locks unlocking. Ma opened the door and pushed on the screen door, which I held open so Maddy could get her hug, which was extra-extra-long this morning. Then I gave Ma a kiss on the cheek and wheeled her out to the car. I mean . . . SUV. Uh-oh. I hadn’t thought about the fact that Uncle Tony didn’t drive a regular car. A car like Momly’s. One that Ma could hoist herself into. So as I pulled up to the passenger side, Uncle Tony hopped out of the SUV and came around to help.
“Hey, Bev,” he said, opening the passenger door.
“Hey, Toon,” Ma said, looking up at him. She reached up, took a chunk of his arm between her fingers, and pinched.
“Ouch!” Uncle Tony yelped.
“That was for taking so long to call me yesterday!” Ma growled. “And by the way, you look terrible in the morning.”
“You don’t look so great yourself.” He gave it right back, smirking.
“Yeah, but I got dirty blood. What’s your excuse?” Ma grinned like—won! She has the best smile.
“My wife is in the hospital,” Uncle Tony deadpanned. His face changed, and Ma knew that even though she was trying to lighten the situation, the joke was over.
“Sorry, Tony. I don’t . . . I don’t mean to be insensitive. I’m so sorry this had to happen to Emily, of all people.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s just a concussion and a broken arm. But it could’ve been worse.” Uncle Tony glanced at Maddy. Ma did too.
We had to go. No time for jokes, and no time for tears, because Ma had to get to dialysis, and we had to make sure we got to the hospital before Momly went into surgery.
First we had to get Ma in the SUV, and when I say we, I really mean Uncle Tony.
“Come on, let’s get you up here,” he said, lifting her from the chair like a baby. He set her in the seat the same way my dad used to do me. I gotta admit it was weird seeing Ma be lifted up. Be held like that. And he lifted her out of the SUV just as carefully when we got to the hospital. I’d already pulled her chair from the back and unfolded it, ready to roll.
“First stop, Emily’s room,” Ma commanded. But we made a pit stop in the dialysis unit first. It was a room with a bunch of people sitting around hooked up to machines. Some were missing a foot, or a leg, just like Ma. Others looked pretty regular. It was like a blood-cleaning club, complete with magazines and newspapers, but most people were looking up at a TV screen showing one of those early morning shows like Good Morning America. They had some lady on there demonstrating how to cut a pineapple into the shape of an owl.
“Shoot, by the time I do all that, I could’ve just ate the doggone fruit!” a woman wearing a blue hat was saying as we came farther into the room. Her silver hair was stuffed under it, wisps sticking out the sides like she was hiding an old cat up there. She noticed my mother. “Hey, Bev.”
“Hey, Theresa.” Then Ma spoke to everyone else in the room. “Hey, y’all. These my babies, Patty and Maddy.”
Everyone did that weird whiny thing grown-ups do when they meet kids they’ve been hearing about. I’m surprised one of them didn’t ask me how track was going. I knew they knew I ran. Both my mothers talk too much.
“And this my brother-in-law, Tony. Emily’s husband.” I learned then that the whiny thing isn’t just for kids, but also for adults that adults had been hearing about. “Y’all know Emily’s in here? She’s upstairs. Got in a car accident yesterday.”
“No,” Theresa moaned, in shock.
“She’s okay, she’s okay,” Uncle Tony said, doing the calm down hands. He gave my mother the really? face. That’s the face you give people when you wanna say, You really just gon’ air my business out in the streets like that? Um . . . this is Beverly Jones. The queen of the air-out.