Girl Out of Water(47)
Without another word, she turns on her heel and stomps off toward the side of the courts, where she locked up her bike. I glance at her friends one more time. None of them say bye to Emery or seem upset that she has to leave. They’ve turned back to one another, chatting quietly. I wondered what happened. It must feel terrible to be ignored by your friends.
Emery refuses to speak to me as we head back to the skate park, except for a blunt “fine, whatever,” after I ask as nicely as possible that she not go anywhere without telling me first. I can’t tell if I’m mad at her or her friends or myself. Maybe I’m just mad at everyone and everything. The weight of making sure these exhausting, wonderful kids are safe is overwhelming.
No wonder my shit excuse for a mom couldn’t handle it.
The second we walk through the skate park entrance, Lincoln ambushes me in almost an identical fashion to how I just ambushed Emery. He grabs my shoulder and locks eyes, melting and welding me to the ground. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “Shit, Anise, you can’t fucking do that.”
Emery has already slipped away from my side, so in a skate park surrounded by dozens of people, it feels as if Lincoln and I are the only ones here. “Do what?” I ask.
“Go off like that! Run off all freaked out without telling me what’s going on.”
“I—Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t have time. I was worried about Emery.”
“You were worried about Emery. I get it, okay?” His face changes. “But don’t you understand that maybe… Fuck, Anise.” I’ve never seen him flustered like this, and it makes me feel unsteady. “Don’t you get that I was worried about you?”
The pause is long as I digest what he’s saying. Lincoln was worried about me. And we’ve only known each other for a few weeks. It’s hard for me to process, so I ask, “Why? Why were you worried about me?”
He laughs, which is a relief because it’s such a Lincoln thing to do. He takes me by the shoulder again, this time guiding me toward our friends and family, and as we walk, he answers, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ten
Aunt Jackie comes home tomorrow, which means tonight I’m moving into Emery’s room, which would be great if she’d spoken a word to me in the last five days. Okay, she’s said, “Parker, please tell Anise she managed to undercook mac and cheese,” and she’s also said, “Nash, please tell Anise she managed to overcook mac and cheese.” But that’s been the extent of our communication. I feel like I fucked everything up. She hasn’t been back to the courts since that day. If I hadn’t chased her down, maybe she would’ve made up with her friends, been happy again, and therefore be talking to me. But it’s not like I could’ve shrugged my shoulders and said oh well, my cousin is missing.
Dad, even with working overtime all week, has noticed something is off between us. But now more than ever, I’m driven to defend Emery, like if I bolster her silence, she’ll confide in me instead of continuing to stare at me like the scum on the bottom of her flip-flops. So two days ago when Dad asked me if everything was okay between us, I told him we were both on our periods at the same time. And even though Dad has zero embarrassment about menstruation—I mean, he was the one who bought me my first pads—he also has no actual understanding of it, so that was a good enough reason for him.
“Don’t make a mess,” Emery says, her first direct words to me in days, as I load my few items of clothing into the small extra dresser. She’s on her bed, watching me, ready to pounce if I make a wrong move.
I want to explode at her, call her a brat.
I want to hug her, tell her I’m sorry that her friends are mean and that I embarrassed her.
And beyond that, tell her I’m sorry her mom is in the hospital, tell her I’m frustrated my summer wasn’t the one I anticipated, so I can’t imagine how much worse hers must feel.
Instead I just say, “Okay,” and fold my clothing and place it into the drawers as neatly as possible because tomorrow Aunt Jackie will be home, and everything will be okay. Her presence will restore Emery to the Emery I’ve always known, the Emery who spends hours picking out the most perfect seashells and gluing them onto wooden frames, the Emery who laughs when Dad tells a joke, no matter how terrible the joke is, the Emery who snuggles with me in bed as we binge watch episodes of The Office.
Tomorrow Aunt Jackie will be home, and everything will go back to normal, and everyone will be okay.
? ? ?
“Oops, sorry!”
“Behind you!”
“Watch out!”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry!”
Question: how many people does it take to get one woman in a wheelchair into her home?
Answer: too many.
Even with the help of the nurse aid who’s here to set everything up and make sure Aunt Jackie is okay on home care, it still takes us about twenty awkward and uncomfortable minutes to get Aunt Jackie inside of the house. Dad constructed a temporary wheelchair ramp to the garage door, but that was before we realized the garage entrance was too narrow for the wheelchair. So then we had to move back to the front door and manually lift the chair and Aunt Jackie into the house. At one point, Dad offered to just pick up Aunt Jackie and bring her inside, but she was too worried he’d accidentally bang her legs on the door frame.