Girl Out of Water(19)

I look over at her and raise my eyebrows. “So, have a crush on anyone?”

“No!” She blushes and looks down at the comforter. “I mean, not really. There are a few guys I kind of like.”

“Do any of them like you?”

She shrugs. “How would I know?”

“You could ask one,” I suggest, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’m a wealth of dating advice. I’ve only dated a few guys. The longest was for a full six weeks before I realized his favorite thing about the beach was watching all of the girls in bikinis. So most of my romantic knowledge comes not from my experiences but from hearing Tess talk about hers. I wonder if she’s already targeted her first summer fling of the season. She loves tourists because she doesn’t have to break up with them. The end of summer does that for her.

“I don’t know,” Emery says. She hugs the pillow tighter. “It’s too scary, you know? When someone is really cute and funny? Your whole body feels weird. It’s hard to get the right words out.”

I expect an image of Eric to flash in my mind, but it isn’t him—it’s someone taller with dark skin and glasses. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I push the thought away and clear my throat. “Hey, you want to watch a movie or something?”

She nods, so I open my laptop and pull up Netflix. We scroll through the movies, and I let Emery pick one she wants. I don’t mention I’ve already seen it twice.

“Hey, Anise?” she asks as the opening credits play.

“Yeah?”

“Mom is going to be okay, right?”

Mom. I think of the postcard my mom sent and the note I left behind and how at any minute she could breeze through the front door like she left two days not two years ago. I hate that a small part of me wants to see her. I don’t need anything from her. Maybe when I was younger I thought I did, but I don’t now. If anything, I need her to stay out of my life. I wish she never sent that fucking postcard because once again I’m wasting time thinking about her, why she always leaves, and if she’ll ever come back.

I wrap an arm around Emery and lean into her. “Yeah,” I say. “Your mom’s going to be okay.”

Her shampoo smells like ocean water. I breathe her in.





Five


The hospital is packed. Sunday afternoon must be prime visiting time. It reminds me of those perfect summer days in Santa Cruz when everyone is outside. The nurses and doctors are like the locals, filling out charts, taking care of patients. They’re completely comfortable in this frenzied environment. The families are like the tourists, eyes flicking back and forth over the chaos, trying to find their place in the throng.

We file down the hallway. Every few steps someone rolls by in a wheelchair, or a doctor rushes past. Emery’s joined us today, but she’s lagging so far behind it’s like she’d be perfectly fine with never making it to her mom’s room.

As we approach the door, Dad turns toward all of us—and by all of us, I mean Parker and Nash—and says, “Okay, guys. Now remember, your mom just had surgery, so be sure to be quiet and—”

Before he can finish speaking, both boys scoot around him, burst into the room, and start singing Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor” on maximum volume.

Dad and I rush in behind them to find them dancing with lots of arm pumping. I’m about to shush them before we get kicked out of the hospital when I notice that Aunt Jackie is laughing and clapping along to the beat. Bruises and scratches still cover her pale face, and her legs are still strung up in the Frankenstein contraption, but she’s smiling, and I’m not going to be the one to ruin her good mood by muzzling her kids.

It turns out I don’t have to be the one to ruin her fun because just as Parker and Nash are reaching the climax of the song and climbing on top of the armchairs, a nurse appears in the doorway. I’m sure the last thing she wants to deal with are two nine-year-old boys belting out Destiny’s Child. “What’s going on in here? Boys, please lower your voices!” she commands in one of those whisper yells that seem exclusive to hospitals and libraries.

“Sorry.” Dad turns on his charming smile, which is alarming to see on my own parent, and leans in to speak quietly with her.

Her expression turns from annoyed to flattered. “All right,” she says. “Just keep it down. This is a hospital.”

“Absolutely,” Dad says. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

Thankfully Parker and Nash are finishing the song and moving on to giant bows.

We all clap, even the nurse. Well, hers is one of those unenthusiastic golfer claps. She gives the boys another warning look and Dad a smile before leaving.

“My favorite song! That was wonderful, guys,” Aunt Jackie says, still smiling. “You sing beautifully out of tune like your father. He couldn’t even sing ‘Happy Birthday’ without the neighborhood cats howling. Now come give me a kiss.”

The boys go to her bed and kiss her cheek with more gentleness than I knew they possessed. Then they settle down into the armchairs. Parker grabs the remote and flips through the TV channels, and Nash pulls out his Nintendo 3DS. Performance over, I guess.

“Hey, sweetie,” Aunt Jackie says.

It takes me half a second to realize she’s not talking to me. I turn to find that Emery has yet to enter the room. She’s still standing in the doorway, her hip pressed against the frame.